Love= Carl's Garden
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. When 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. ----Source Unknown
The Best Mathematical Equation I have ever seen:
1 cross + 3 nails = 4 given That's the whole gospel
message simply stated.
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