From an email:
Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much, but he always greeted folks with a big smile and a firm handshake.
Even after living in his 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 his neighbors. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, they worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through the changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flier at his local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing his neighbors had always feared finally happened. Carl 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 of water from the hose?"
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent smile.
As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm and threw 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 up, but was unable to because of his bad leg.
Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to intervene, but he ran out to help as quickly as he could get there. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.
Carl 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. Satisfied 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 hoodlums 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 with the cold water from the hose. Then they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another and 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.
As 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 young man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.
"What's this?" Carl asked.
"It's your stuff," the kid 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 young man shifted his feet, 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 I'm giving it 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.
Carl 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 flier went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden."
The flier went unnoticed by the busy parishioners, but one day there was a knock at the minister's office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flier. "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 young man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done. During 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 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.
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This email reminds me that standing up for truth is much more effective than railing against injustice. This story speaks volumes to me. It has been said that we should view challenge as opportunity. I only pray I can remember this lesson when I need it next!
