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 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 hands.  "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.