THE OLD FISHERMAN

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance ofJohn Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented theupstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.

One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at thedoor. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardlytaller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped,shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face
      lopsided fromswelling, red and raw.

Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to seeif you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morningfrom 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 looksterrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments . . ."

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I couldsleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in themorning."

I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I wentinside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the oldman if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up abrown paper bag.

When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with hima few minutes. It didn't take long time to see that this old man had anoversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for aliving to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, whowas hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way ofcomplaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks toGod for a blessing.

He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which wasapparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him thestrength to keep going. At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children'sroom for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatlyfolded 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 greatfavor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I havea 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. "Itold him he was welcome to come again.

And on his next trip he arrived alittle after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish anda quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shuckedthem that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. Iknew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get upin order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a timethat he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden.Other times we received packages in the mail, always by specialdelivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach orkale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three milesto mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doublyprecious.

When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a commentour next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did youkeep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can loseroomers by putting up such people!"

Maybe we did lose roomers once ortwice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps theirillnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family always willbe grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to acceptthe bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse, As she showed meher flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a goldenchrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it wasgrowing in an old dented, rusty bucket.

I thought to myself, "If thiswere my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friendchanged my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing howbeautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out inthis old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out inthe garden."

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imaginingjust such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," Godmight have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "Hewon't mind starting in this small body."

All this happened long ago-and now, in God's garden, how tall thislovely 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)