CARL'S GARDEN Author Unknown

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 WW II. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WW 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 form 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 tormenters 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?"

It was Carl.

I'M TOO BLESSED TO BE STRESSED and TOO ANOINTED TO BE DISAPPOINTED! Author Unknown

I refuse to be discouraged, to be sad or to cry.
I refuse to be downhearted and here's the reason why:
I have a God who is almighty; who is sovereign and supreme;
I have a God who loves me, and I am on his team.
He is all wise and powerful; Jesus is His Name; though everything else is changeable, My God remains the same.

I refuse to be defeated.
My eyes are on my GOD.
He has promised to be with me, as through this life I trod.
I am looking past my circumstances, to heaven's throne above.
My prayers have reached the heart of God.
I am resting in His love.

I give thanks to Him in everything.
My eyes are on His face.
The battle is His; the victory is mine; He will help me win the race.
I repeat, I'M TOO BLESSED TO BE STRESSED!"

GETTING IT JUST RIGHT By Sally I. Kennedy

My husband enjoys relaxing in the living room, listening to me play the piano. Amateur though it is, I try to get it just right. He is gracious, and praises my playing, then I try even harder.

One year for his birthday, I planned to surprise him with a tape of me playing his favorite songs. Oh boy! Was that ever a project! Taping, re-taping, and patching it into my hand-held recorder was more than tedious. Still, I wanted to get it just right.

My piano playing is riddled with mistakes, yet to my husband it sounds wonderful. He doesn't notice the errors. He simply enjoys the music I am making.

How often we want to do everything just right for our heavenly father. We want to please him, be as good and nice as possible, make him proud of us. Because we are human, we can never be perfect and do everything just right. However, what is so cool is that in God's eyes, we are perfect. He loves us just as we are, and sees us as we will be.

What a relief we don't have to get everything just right for Him. God has already gotten everything just right for us. When we believe in Jesus, and His sacrifice for us, it all falls into place. Perfectly.

That is good news.

I AM A SOLDIER By David Langerfeld

I am a soldier in the army of my God.
The Lord Jesus Christ is my Commanding Officer.
The Holy Bible is my code of conduct.
Faith, Prayer, and the Word are my weapons of Warfare.

I have been taught by the Holy Spirit,
...trained by experience,
....tried by adversity,
....and tested by fire.

I am a volunteer in this army, and I am enlisted for eternity.
I will either retire in this Army or die in this Army;
But, I will not get out,
...sell out
....be talked out
....or pushed out.
I am faithful, reliable, capable, and dependable.
If my God needs, me, I am there.

I am a soldier.
I am not a baby.
I do not need to be pampered,
...petted,
....primed up,
....pumped up,
....picked up,
....or pepped up.

I am a soldier. No one has to call me,
...remind me,
....write me,
....visit me,
....entice me,
....or lure me.

I am a soldier. I am not a wimp. I am in place,
...saluting my King,
....obeying His orders,
....praising His name,
....and building His Kingdom!

No one has to send me flowers, gifts, food, cards, candy, or give me handouts.

I do not need to be cuddled, cradled, cared for, or catered to.

I am committed.
I cannot have my feelings hurt bad enough to turn me around.
I cannot be discouraged enough to turn me aside.
I cannot lose enough to cause me to quit.

When Jesus called me into this Army, I had nothing.
If I end up with nothing, I will still come out even.
I will win.

My God will supply all my needs.
I am more than a conqueror.
I will always triumph.
I can do all things through Christ.

Devils cannot defeat me.
People cannot disillusion me.
Weather cannot weary me.
Sickness cannot stop me.
Battles cannot beat me.
Money cannot buy me.
Governments cannot silence me, and
Hell cannot handle me!

I am a soldier.
Even death cannot destroy me.
For when my Commander calls me from this battlefield,
He will promote me to a captain.

I am a soldier, in the Army,
I'm marching, claiming victory.
I will not give up.
I will not turn around.
I am a soldier, marching, Heaven bound.
Here I stand! Will you stand with me?


"Choose you this day whom you will serve... but as for me and my house,
we will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:15


PRAYER
"Lord, fill me with your Holy Spirit and give me joy in seeking you more closely. Increase my faith in all your promises, my hope in the joys of heaven, and my love for You as my All."

HOW RICH ARE YOU? By Harold Sala

"And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward" (Matthew 10:42).

How rich are you? In 30 seconds you can take inventory, seeing how you rate in comparison to the rest of the world. I'll ask you four rather basic questions, and you can simply give a yes or no answer.

Question #1: Do you own more than one pair of shoes? Not too difficult to answer judging by the display of footwear on the floor or shelf of your closet.

Question #2: Do you own your own car, truck, or motorcycle? Again, not too tough when you consider the difficulty you may have finding a parking place for that second car, boat, or camper.

Question #3: Do you have a choice of food each day? Last question: Do you have more than one change of undergarments?

Listen carefully to how most people in the world answer. If you answered yes to three of those four questions, you are rich compared to most of the people in our world because only one in ten people around the world can answer yes to even three of those questions.

And you think you have it tough? Yes, riches are relative. When we were living in Asia, one of our children asked, "How come we are so rich here and so poor when we go home, [meaning to the States]?"

Most of the people of the world live only a meal away from hunger. Having no refrigerator they go to the market each morning to supplement their diet of rice or beans. Shortages, storms, or famine affect them, especially the poor of the world who grow poorer each day. According to the United Nations, 42,000 die of starvation each day. For them, poverty is terminal. But of course it is hard for most of us to relate to that as we look in the mirror and plan our next diet.

Riches and wealth are relative, yet no matter where you are in relationship to the rest of the world, what you have and need is intensely personal. If you are hungry, the condition of the rest of the world isn't as important as your immediate need. If you are a single mother and your income is exhausted and you live in a large city
surrounded by thousands of unfriendly strangers and no help is in sight, you are faced with a crisis of major proportions.

Bob Pearce, a man great in compassion who founded World Vision, wrote, "I have lived in Asia and seen the wretchedness and poverty and the revulsion of disease and the disgust of ignorance. I have also noticed that when you look the other way it is so much easier to pass by until you do not see it at all. The pain of suffering has been totally masked out by the little world you live in. Hunger, be it physical or
spiritual--lies at our doorstep. We do not ask for it; we do not like it; but nevertheless it is there. The needs of people knock one at a time. Eventually every person must answer the question, "What am I going to do about it?"

You can, of course, say, "That's not my problem!" and shut the needs of others from your mind; or you can say, "I can't change everything, but I can do something about the pain at my elbow."

Two friends were walking on a beach covered by starfish washed ashore by a high tide. The starfish were destined to die soon in the burning sun on the sandy beach. One man began picking up starfish and gently tossing them in the ocean. The friend says, "What are you doing? What difference does it make? You can't begin to save all of them." "True," he said, "but it makes a difference to the ones I save."

So is it, friend, with those you can do something about. Frankly, I don't have all the answers, but as I have come to grips with the enormity of the problem, it's amazing how I begin to see needs and hear the Spirit of God say, "Help, here!" or "Do something about this!" And when you do that, you do make a difference.

Resource reading: Matthew 10:37-42.