Safe Am I - In the Arms of Jesus!
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 16:7

The  Little Ole' Fisherman

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance
of John 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 over-sized 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.

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., so 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 illnesses 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 Inheritance
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