the gardener

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 WWII.

Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, 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.

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 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