Harley Died on Sunday - she succumbed to the same fate as Duke at around 10-11 years old Labrador Retrievers have hip dysplasia an eventually cannot get up and must be put down. She died peacefully in her sleep Saturday night. She was a great dog, we had her for a little over 7 years. I am reprinting this Blog I printed on her a couple of years ago...Good Bye Girl..........
"Harley" is a chocolate lab we have had for about 4 years. She was probably 3-4 when we got her. She will bark like she will take your head off, but will love you to death, once she knows you are a friend. I had a black lab "Duke" we had for 11 years, that succumbed to bad hips, he could not get up on his own,had a stroke, and had to be put down. We took Duke to the Vet and he gave us the news that Duke would not get any better. He could be given some drugs that would help for a while but he would need to be helped up every time he would lye down or sit. The only other option was to have him put down. Although, it was a terrible option it was the best for Duke, rather than see him suffer. I cried that day, because of the loss of such a friend. We got Harley the year before because we knew Duke was getting old and would soon leave us. Duke had been run over when we lived in Atlanta but survived the accident and lived for many years after.
I write this in view of Harley and what a comfort she is: I freely admit that I am not always perfect, and many times she has not been treated with the utmost respect she deserves,but she is always there. This morning it was 22 degrees, she slept in the garage, at 6 am I let her out, fed her and she did her usual romp with me down the hill to feed the horses. The driveway is about half a mile. She runs down the hill sits or lyes down until I am ready to return to the house and then she runs back up the hill, a little slower coming up, but then, she sits on top of the hill sitting in all her majesty, in front of the house daring anyone to come up the hill.
I call her to me and it does not matter what I have done or not done, It does not matter, if I have been good or evil to her, I will get the tail wag, the body wiggling in all shapes, sit down in front of me and will sit there and let me pat her on the head and let me pass on my gratitude, to her for all she has done for me.
I don't deserve the love, but it is given freely.
I am grateful for the unconditional Love Harley shows me.
I am grateful to Harley, that she can make the saddest person smile.
I am Grateful to Harley because she helps me heal and brings me comfort.
I am Grateful to God, He created Harley to help me through life.
I am Grateful that the animals reveal compassion, teach hope and forgiveness, and serve as a barometer to measure feelings.
Harley is Great, she was created by God and she helps me through the day. It does not matter whatever is going on, She will show me love, just as God does.
What a great companion.
God is Great God is Good. Harley is a messenger from God.
Michael Mack, An American
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
This is the best Attorney You can get. I have him on retainer but he is accepting more clients.
After living what I felt was a 'decent' life, my time on earth came to
the end.
The first thing I remember is sitting on a bench in the waiting room of
what I thought to be a court house.
The doors opened and I was instructed to come in and have a seat by the
defense table.
As I looked around I saw the 'prosecutor.'
He was a villainous looking gent who snarled as he stared at me.. He
definitely was the most evil person I have ever seen.
I sat down and looked to my left and there sat My Attorney, kind and
gentle looking man whose appearance seemed so familiar to me, I felt I
knew Him.
The corner door flew open and there appeared the Judge in full flowing
robes.
He commanded an awesome presence as He moved across the room I couldn't
take my eyes off of Him.
As He took His seat behind the bench, He said, 'Let us begin.'
The prosecutor rose and said, 'My name is Satan and I am here to show
you why this man belongs in hell.'
He proceeded to tell of lies that I told, things that I stole, and in
the past when I cheated others. Satan told of other horrible
perversions that were once in my life and the more he spoke, the
further down in my seat I sank. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't
look at anyone, even my own Attorney, as the Devil told of sins that
even I had completely forgotten about.
As upset as I was at Satan for telling all these things about me, I was
equally upset at My Attorney who sat there silently not offering any
form of defense at all..
I know I had been guilty of those things, but I had done some good in
my life - couldn't that at least equal out part of the harm I'd done?
Satan finished with a fury and said, 'This man belongs in hell, he is
guilty of all that I have charged and there is not a person who can
prove otherwise.'
When it was His turn, My Attorney first asked if He might approach the
bench. The Judge allowed this over the strong objection of Satan, and
beckoned Him to come forward.
As He got up and started walking, I was able to see Him in His full
splendor and majesty.
I realized why He seemed so familiar; this was Jesus representing me,
my Lord and my Savior.
He stopped at the bench and softly said to the Judge, 'HI, DAD,' and
then He turned to address the court.
'Satan was correct in saying that this man had sinned, I won't deny any
of these allegations. And, yes, the wage of sin is death, and this man
deserves to be punished.'
Jesus took a deep breath and turned to His Father with outstretched
arms and proclaimed, 'However, I died on the cross so that this person
might have eternal life and he has accepted Me as his Savior, so he is
Mine.'
My Lord continued with, 'His name is written in the Book of Life, and
no one can snatch him from Me.
'Satan still does not understand yet. This man is not to be given
justice, but rather mercy.'
As Jesus sat down, He quietly paused, looked at His Father and said,
'There is nothing else that needs to be done. I've done it all..'
The Judge lifted His mighty hand and slammed the gavel down. The
following words bellowed from His lips...
'This man is free. The penalty for him has already been paid in full.
Case dismissed.'
As my Lord led me away, I could hear Satan ranting and raving, 'I won't
give up, I will win the next one.'
I asked Jesus as He gave me my instructions where to go next, 'Have you
ever lost a case?'
Christ lovingly smiled and said, 'Everyone that has come to Me and
asked Me to represent them has received the same verdict as you, ~Paid
In Full.'
May God will bless you.
Michael Mack
An American
the end.
The first thing I remember is sitting on a bench in the waiting room of
what I thought to be a court house.
The doors opened and I was instructed to come in and have a seat by the
defense table.
As I looked around I saw the 'prosecutor.'
He was a villainous looking gent who snarled as he stared at me.. He
definitely was the most evil person I have ever seen.
I sat down and looked to my left and there sat My Attorney, kind and
gentle looking man whose appearance seemed so familiar to me, I felt I
knew Him.
The corner door flew open and there appeared the Judge in full flowing
robes.
He commanded an awesome presence as He moved across the room I couldn't
take my eyes off of Him.
As He took His seat behind the bench, He said, 'Let us begin.'
The prosecutor rose and said, 'My name is Satan and I am here to show
you why this man belongs in hell.'
He proceeded to tell of lies that I told, things that I stole, and in
the past when I cheated others. Satan told of other horrible
perversions that were once in my life and the more he spoke, the
further down in my seat I sank. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't
look at anyone, even my own Attorney, as the Devil told of sins that
even I had completely forgotten about.
As upset as I was at Satan for telling all these things about me, I was
equally upset at My Attorney who sat there silently not offering any
form of defense at all..
I know I had been guilty of those things, but I had done some good in
my life - couldn't that at least equal out part of the harm I'd done?
Satan finished with a fury and said, 'This man belongs in hell, he is
guilty of all that I have charged and there is not a person who can
prove otherwise.'
When it was His turn, My Attorney first asked if He might approach the
bench. The Judge allowed this over the strong objection of Satan, and
beckoned Him to come forward.
As He got up and started walking, I was able to see Him in His full
splendor and majesty.
I realized why He seemed so familiar; this was Jesus representing me,
my Lord and my Savior.
He stopped at the bench and softly said to the Judge, 'HI, DAD,' and
then He turned to address the court.
'Satan was correct in saying that this man had sinned, I won't deny any
of these allegations. And, yes, the wage of sin is death, and this man
deserves to be punished.'
Jesus took a deep breath and turned to His Father with outstretched
arms and proclaimed, 'However, I died on the cross so that this person
might have eternal life and he has accepted Me as his Savior, so he is
Mine.'
My Lord continued with, 'His name is written in the Book of Life, and
no one can snatch him from Me.
'Satan still does not understand yet. This man is not to be given
justice, but rather mercy.'
As Jesus sat down, He quietly paused, looked at His Father and said,
'There is nothing else that needs to be done. I've done it all..'
The Judge lifted His mighty hand and slammed the gavel down. The
following words bellowed from His lips...
'This man is free. The penalty for him has already been paid in full.
Case dismissed.'
As my Lord led me away, I could hear Satan ranting and raving, 'I won't
give up, I will win the next one.'
I asked Jesus as He gave me my instructions where to go next, 'Have you
ever lost a case?'
Christ lovingly smiled and said, 'Everyone that has come to Me and
asked Me to represent them has received the same verdict as you, ~Paid
In Full.'
May God will bless you.
Michael Mack
An American
Monday, February 14, 2011
Graciousness can pay priceless dividends. And it doesn't cost a thing.
Graciousness can pay priceless dividends.
And it doesn't cost a thing.
You may have heard the story about what happened between White House adviser Valerie Jarrett and Four-star Army Gen. Peter Chiarelli at a recent Washington dinner.
As reported by the website Daily Caller, Jarrett, a longtime Chicago friend of President Obama, was seated at the dinner when a general -- later identified as Chiarelli, the No. 2-ranking general in the U.S. Army hierarchy, who was also a guest at the gathering -- walked behind her. Chiarelli was in full dress uniform.
Jarrett, apparently only seeing Chiarelli's striped uniform pants, thought that he was a waiter. She asked him to get her a glass of wine.
She was said to be mortified as soon as she realized her mistake, and who wouldn't be? But the instructive part of this tale is what Chiarelli did next.
Rather than take offense, or try to make Jarrett feel small for her blunder, the general, in good humor, went and poured her a glass of wine. It was evident that he wanted to defuse the awkward moment, and to let Jarrett know that she should not feel embarrassed.
As Chiarelli wrote in an e-mail to CNN Pentagon Correspondent Barbara Starr:
"It was an honest mistake that ANYONE could have made. She was sitting, I was standing and walking behind her and all she saw were the two stripes on my pants which were almost identical to the waiters' pants -- REALLY. She apologized and will come to the house for dinner if a date can be worked out in March."
Now, even if you've never met Chiarelli or followed him in the news, you have to be impressed with him after hearing that story. With his lofty rank in the military, he could have given Jarrett the deep freeze, reproached her and corrected her. But he poured her the wine -- "It was only good fun," he wrote to Starr -- and invited her to a meal at his home. He came out of the incident as a decent and magnanimous person.
It's easy to do, if you care about other people's feelings. Sportswriters who covered the National Basketball Association in the late 1980s and 1990s like to tell a story about Karl Malone, the great forward for the Utah Jazz. It seems that one day in the baggage-claim area of the Salt Lake City airport, a woman was trying to lift her bags from the carousel and, seeing Malone, who was there to pick up his brother from an arriving flight, mistook him for a skycap.
She asked him to carry her bags to her car.
Malone was a wealthy and world-famous athlete at the time. He could so easily have hurt the woman's feelings, rebuked her. But what did he do?
According to longtime Salt Lake Tribune sports reporter Steve Luhm, who covered the incident at the time and who confirmed it to me last week, Malone carried the woman's bags all the way to her car. Only when she reached for her purse to give him a tip did he in a friendly manner introduce himself and decline the offer.
One of the most indelible stories about a person going out of his way to avoid humiliating another person was told in Gay Talese's 1966 Esquire article "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," widely considered to be perhaps the finest magazine profile ever written.
In the article, Talese described a party at the home of Sinatra's former wife, at which Sinatra, who maintained cordial relations with her, was acting as host. A young woman at the party, according to Talese, "while leaning against a table, accidentally with her elbow knocked over one of a pair of alabaster birds to the floor, smashing it to pieces."
Talese wrote that Sinatra's daughter Nancy, also a guest at the party, started to say: "Oh, that was one of my mother's favorite..."
Talese continued:
"[B]ut before she could complete the sentence, Sinatra glared at her, cutting her off, and while 40 other guests in the room all stared in silence, Sinatra walked over, quickly with his finger flicked the other alabaster bird off the table, smashing it to pieces, and then put an arm gently around [the young woman] and said, in a way that put her completely at ease, 'That's OK, kid.' "
It can work the other way, too, and can be remembered just as long. I was once working on a profile of a famous singer, also for Esquire, and one evening we rode in his limousine to a concert hall. As he walked backstage he was stopped by a young, nervous and inexperienced usher with a clipboard who had been assigned to make certain everyone in the area was authorized. The usher asked the famous singer if he was the comedian who would open the show.
The singer did not speak to the young usher or make eye contact with him, but instead walked immediately over to a person in the management of the auditorium and demanded that the usher be dismissed.
The singer, in trying to make the young man who had made a mistake feel small, had only managed to make himself seem tiny. What Gen. Chiarelli did, though -- like Karl Malone, like Frank Sinatra -- was to demonstrate, instinctively and in an instant, what it means to be a big person.
The rest of us may never reach the exalted status of those three men. But kindness knows no social stratum. Every day, we're given the choice. Consideration? It's free of charge. It can echo forever.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of Bob Greene.
I agree with Bob Greene...these acts demonstrate Biblical principles and the Golden Rule..
Michael Mack
An American
And it doesn't cost a thing.
You may have heard the story about what happened between White House adviser Valerie Jarrett and Four-star Army Gen. Peter Chiarelli at a recent Washington dinner.
As reported by the website Daily Caller, Jarrett, a longtime Chicago friend of President Obama, was seated at the dinner when a general -- later identified as Chiarelli, the No. 2-ranking general in the U.S. Army hierarchy, who was also a guest at the gathering -- walked behind her. Chiarelli was in full dress uniform.
Jarrett, apparently only seeing Chiarelli's striped uniform pants, thought that he was a waiter. She asked him to get her a glass of wine.
She was said to be mortified as soon as she realized her mistake, and who wouldn't be? But the instructive part of this tale is what Chiarelli did next.
Rather than take offense, or try to make Jarrett feel small for her blunder, the general, in good humor, went and poured her a glass of wine. It was evident that he wanted to defuse the awkward moment, and to let Jarrett know that she should not feel embarrassed.
As Chiarelli wrote in an e-mail to CNN Pentagon Correspondent Barbara Starr:
"It was an honest mistake that ANYONE could have made. She was sitting, I was standing and walking behind her and all she saw were the two stripes on my pants which were almost identical to the waiters' pants -- REALLY. She apologized and will come to the house for dinner if a date can be worked out in March."
Now, even if you've never met Chiarelli or followed him in the news, you have to be impressed with him after hearing that story. With his lofty rank in the military, he could have given Jarrett the deep freeze, reproached her and corrected her. But he poured her the wine -- "It was only good fun," he wrote to Starr -- and invited her to a meal at his home. He came out of the incident as a decent and magnanimous person.
It's easy to do, if you care about other people's feelings. Sportswriters who covered the National Basketball Association in the late 1980s and 1990s like to tell a story about Karl Malone, the great forward for the Utah Jazz. It seems that one day in the baggage-claim area of the Salt Lake City airport, a woman was trying to lift her bags from the carousel and, seeing Malone, who was there to pick up his brother from an arriving flight, mistook him for a skycap.
She asked him to carry her bags to her car.
Malone was a wealthy and world-famous athlete at the time. He could so easily have hurt the woman's feelings, rebuked her. But what did he do?
According to longtime Salt Lake Tribune sports reporter Steve Luhm, who covered the incident at the time and who confirmed it to me last week, Malone carried the woman's bags all the way to her car. Only when she reached for her purse to give him a tip did he in a friendly manner introduce himself and decline the offer.
One of the most indelible stories about a person going out of his way to avoid humiliating another person was told in Gay Talese's 1966 Esquire article "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," widely considered to be perhaps the finest magazine profile ever written.
In the article, Talese described a party at the home of Sinatra's former wife, at which Sinatra, who maintained cordial relations with her, was acting as host. A young woman at the party, according to Talese, "while leaning against a table, accidentally with her elbow knocked over one of a pair of alabaster birds to the floor, smashing it to pieces."
Talese wrote that Sinatra's daughter Nancy, also a guest at the party, started to say: "Oh, that was one of my mother's favorite..."
Talese continued:
"[B]ut before she could complete the sentence, Sinatra glared at her, cutting her off, and while 40 other guests in the room all stared in silence, Sinatra walked over, quickly with his finger flicked the other alabaster bird off the table, smashing it to pieces, and then put an arm gently around [the young woman] and said, in a way that put her completely at ease, 'That's OK, kid.' "
It can work the other way, too, and can be remembered just as long. I was once working on a profile of a famous singer, also for Esquire, and one evening we rode in his limousine to a concert hall. As he walked backstage he was stopped by a young, nervous and inexperienced usher with a clipboard who had been assigned to make certain everyone in the area was authorized. The usher asked the famous singer if he was the comedian who would open the show.
The singer did not speak to the young usher or make eye contact with him, but instead walked immediately over to a person in the management of the auditorium and demanded that the usher be dismissed.
The singer, in trying to make the young man who had made a mistake feel small, had only managed to make himself seem tiny. What Gen. Chiarelli did, though -- like Karl Malone, like Frank Sinatra -- was to demonstrate, instinctively and in an instant, what it means to be a big person.
The rest of us may never reach the exalted status of those three men. But kindness knows no social stratum. Every day, we're given the choice. Consideration? It's free of charge. It can echo forever.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of Bob Greene.
I agree with Bob Greene...these acts demonstrate Biblical principles and the Golden Rule..
Michael Mack
An American
Monday, February 7, 2011
A Soldier's Prayer
A Soldier's Prayer
(written by an anonymous confederate soldier, US civil war)
U.S. civil war
I asked God for strength, that I might achieve,
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey....
I asked for health, that I might do greater things,
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things....
I asked for riches, that I might be happy,
I was given poverty, that I might be wise....
I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God....
I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things....
I got nothing that I asked for -
but everything that I had hoped for,
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among all men most richly blessed.
Michael Mack
An American
(written by an anonymous confederate soldier, US civil war)
U.S. civil war
I asked God for strength, that I might achieve,
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey....
I asked for health, that I might do greater things,
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things....
I asked for riches, that I might be happy,
I was given poverty, that I might be wise....
I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God....
I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things....
I got nothing that I asked for -
but everything that I had hoped for,
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among all men most richly blessed.
Michael Mack
An American
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The Whole Gospel Message Simply Stated
When one door of happiness closes another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. - Helen Keller-
Please take the time to read this. I wanted to hurry up and read it, but God slowed me down and I read the whole thing. Guess what, God does what God always does, he blessed me and now it is your turn to be blessed.
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 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.
That's the whole gospel message simply stated.
Michael Mack
An American
Please take the time to read this. I wanted to hurry up and read it, but God slowed me down and I read the whole thing. Guess what, God does what God always does, he blessed me and now it is your turn to be blessed.
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 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.
That's the whole gospel message simply stated.
Michael Mack
An American
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