carl's garden

here is something I received from one of my a friend that I have read many times and it has always touched me and I hope that it will touch you in a special way.
Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with
a big smile and a firm handshake.

Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could
really say they knew him very well.

Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone
sight of him walking down the street often worried us.

He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in W.W.II.

Watching him, we worried that although he had survived W.W.II, he may not
make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing
random violence, gangs, and drug activity.

When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring
for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his
characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.

He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared
finally happened.

He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members
approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked,
"Would you like a drink from the hose?"

The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a
malevolent little smile.

As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm,
throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing
everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his
wallet, and then fled.

Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg.
He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help
him.

Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he
couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you
hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.

Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head.

"Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes
clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the
nozzle again and started to water.

Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you
doing?"

"I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm
reply.

Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only
marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.

A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was
unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.

This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and
drenched him head to foot in the icy water.

Whe n they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down
the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing
at the hilarity of what they had just done.

Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun,
picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when
he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled
and fell into some evergreen branches.

As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of
his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the
expected attack.

"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time." The young man
spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he
helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed
it to Carl.

"What's this?" Carl asked.

"It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back. Even the
money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help
me now?"

The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned
something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people like
you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But
every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting
back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You
kept showing love against our hate." He stopped for a moment.

"I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back." He
paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say.
"That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And
with that, he walked off down the street.

Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took
out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet,
he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride
that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his
funeral in spite of the weather.

In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know
sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made
thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your garden as
beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden."

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to
care for Carl's garden."

The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a
knock was heard at the minister's office door.

Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands
holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the young
man said.

The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the
stolen watch and wallet to Carl.

He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around.

As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go
take care of Carl's garden and honor him."

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the
flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.

In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent
member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory
and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn' t care
for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife
just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday."

"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden
shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?" "Carl," he replied.

That's the whole gospel message simply stated.