THE OLD FISHERMAN
Our house was directly across the street from the
clinic
entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We
lived
downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out
patients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing
supper, there was a knock at
the door. I opened it to see a truly
awful looking man. "Why,
he's hardly taller than my
eight-year-old," I thought as I stared
at the stooped,
shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his
face -- lopsided
from swelling, red and raw.
Yet his voice was pleasant as
he said, "Good evening. I've come
> to see if you've a room for
just one night. I came for a
> treatment this morning from the
eastern shore, and there's no
> bus 'til
morning."
>
> He told me he'd been hunting for a room
since noon but with no
> success, no one seemed to have a room.
"I guess it's my face...I
> know it looks terrible, but my
doctor says with a few more
>
treatments..."
>
> For a moment I hesitated, but his next
words convinced me: "I
> could sleep in this rocking chair on
the porch. My bus leaves
> early in the
morning."
>
> I told him we would find him a bed, but to
rest on the porch. I
> went inside and finished getting supper. When
we were ready, I
> asked the old man if he would join us. "No
thank you. I have
> plenty." And he held up a brown paper
bag.
>
> When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the
porch to talk
> with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to
see that
this
> old man had an oversized heart crowded into that
tiny body. He
> told me he fished for a living to support his
daughter, her five
> children, and her husband, who was hopelessly
crippled from a
> back injury.
>
> He didn't tell it
by way of complaint; in fact, every other
> sentence was preface with
a thanks to God for a blessing. He
> was grateful that no pain
accompanied his disease, which was
> apparently a form of skin
cancer. He thanked God for giving him
> the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in
> the children's room for him. When
I got up in the morning, the
bed
> linens were neatly folded and
the little man was out on the
> porch. He refused breakfast, but just
before he left for his
> bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor,
he said,
>
> "Could I please come back and stay the next
time I have a
> treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep
fine in a
> chair." He paused a moment and then added,
"Your children made me
> feel at home.
>
>
Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to
>
mind." I told him he was welcome to come again. And on his
next
> trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a
gift,
> he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I
had
> ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before
he
> left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left
at
> 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order
to
> do this for us.
>
> In the years he came to
stay overnight with us there was never a
> time that he did not bring
us fish or oysters or vegetables from
> his garden. Other times we
received packages in the mail,
> always by special delivery; fish and
oysters packed in a box of
fresh
> young spinach or kale, every
leaf carefully washed. Knowing
> that he must walk three miles to
mail these, and knowing how
little
> money he had made the gifts
doubly precious. When I received
> these little remembrances, I often
thought of a comment our
> next-door neighbor made after he left that
first morning. "Did
> you keep that awful looking man last
night? I turned him away!
> You can lose roomers by putting up such
people!" Maybe we did
> lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If
only they could have
> known him, perhaps their illness' would have
been easier to bear.
I
> know our family always will be grateful
to have known him; from
> him we learned what it was to accept the
bad without complaint
> and the good with gratitude to
God.
>
> Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse,
As she
> showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of
all,
> a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my
great
> surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
I
> thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in
the
> loveliest container I had!"
>
> My friend
changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she
> explained,
"and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I
thought it
>
wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a
> little
while, till I can put it out in the garden."
>
> She must
have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was
> imagining
just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially
> beautiful
one," God might have said when he came to the soul of
> the
sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small
>
body." All this happened long ago -- and now, in God's
garden,
> how tall this lovely soul must stand.
>
>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> The
LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at
> the
outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."
> (1
Samuel 16:7b)
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