The Black Book Gift

An infrared heating lamp with no on or off switch and certainly no filter; that’s what the sun already felt like on this early August morning. It made not sweating impossible. My skin felt more like a sieve than it did skin; as soon as I would drink water it literally would pour out with me.

It was like other jobs you didn’t want to do; you put it off until you had to do it. Cleaning out her house was never high on anybody’s list because they knew she was just one piece of junk mail short of being called a hoarder. At least she had boxed up everything and I never took the time to go through anything because in my mind, junk is in the eye of the beholder, and in this beholder‘s Eye, it was all junk.

As I heaved box after box into that dumpster, one didn’t quite make it to the top and bounced back down on top of me. It might’ve been just a box of old papers, but it was cinder block heavy just the same. In blink-of-the-quickness when it hit me on the shoulder, the box literally exploded and all of its contents went across the driveway. One of those contents made it further across the driveway than the rest the boxed up clutter; maybe that’s the only way that I had the chance to even notice it. Most likely, it was the only way I could’ve ever noticed it. It was a thin-tattered black moleskin notebook. As I bent to pick it up, I realized it seemed thicker than what it possibly could be because a lot of the pages had already been dog-eared folded down. As I began paging through it, I recognized my grandmother‘s hand writing. It strangely felt like a scavenger hunt now ready to begin.

It felt and smelled even older as I carefully flipped through it. Her scratchings looked like directions to something that was much bigger than anything I had ever held in my hands, and promised even much more than some ordinary adventure.

Fragile page after fragile page took me on a literal scavenger hunt to neighbor's garages, to former places of work, to a mausoleum in a cemetery, to a car dealership where my grandmother always bought her cars, to a butcher where she got select cuts of meat, to her hairdresser's and finally to a bank with a key to a safe deposit box at a bank in a neighboring state. Of course, my grandmother would have left the key, the last clue to her eccentric scavenger hunt with her hairdresser.

My grandmother had already been dead for nearly 18 months and I was just now getting around to cleaning out her house so I could sell it. I'm mot sure that any of the contents were City Mission worthy or curbside on Bulk Trash day. I just wanted to clean it out, do as litte as I had to do to sell it as is; be done with it; put a period at the end of a very long sentence.

I didn’t tell anybody what I found that day, who would care for an old black moleskin notebook with some gibberish scratchings? A scavenger hunt. One that I began almost begrudgingly. It felt like a game I didn't want to play with nothing to put back in the box after it was over. Still, I started the scavenger hunt, one place, one destination, one clue at a time.

When I finally ended up at the PNC Bank in Cleveland, Ohio with key in hand, to open the safety security box. The key slid effortlessly in the lock and with a subtle click, I opened up the box to see what exactly the little black moleskin book hinted.

Actually, the box was bigger, if not three times bigger than other boxes that I envisioned it could be. I felt like a Prince opening up some treasure chest. As I started going through the box, yes, there were jewelry pieces, rings, watches, necklaces, earrings, my great grandfather‘s discharge papers from the army in World War I and even discharge papers from my great grandfather's great grandfather from the Civil War. And then, at the very bottom, CASH. Twenty 100 dollar bills. Some crinkled, none crisp in a manila envelope with a note attached inside.

“If you have taken the time to come this far and find this money, you now have the due diligence and responsibility of turning it over to North Royalton Christian Church as my final donation of tithes and offering to them."

The first thought that came to my mind was, "Oh hell no; no way am I turning this money over to the church that she attended a long time ago in devotion to a minister that died even longer ago. I don’t know who or what she promised but it ends with me. I’m not gonna turn this over."

And even as these thoughts were machine gunning through my mind they simultaneously began tsunami-like rippled thoughts of the different ways I was going to spend this money without anyone ever knowing that I had the money to spend. A used car, a down payment on a bigger car, a new bed instead of the futon I was sleeping, a nice vacation, a pantry full of groceries or a refrigerator to hold them, some much needed new clothes and some shoes? The pounding ideas were thundering and even more tempting.

It seemed like with every breath, every heartbeat that I had at that moment there was a new idea as to what or how I could spend this money.

With all those possibilities in mind, even as I was leaving the bank, making my way back home, there was no one more shocked than me the day that I actually went to North Royalton Christian Church on a Sunday where there was only about 35 people attending and handed over this Manila envelope to the pastor I had never met before.

I asked him to open up the envelope in front of me; I don’t believe I’ve ever seen more of a surprised, shocked look on any persons face than his. Even though he was way past middle-age I don’t think he ever received any kind of an offering in any kind of a plate or any kind of an envelope like this one before; $2000.00 dollars doesn't make a lot of noise in an offering plate but it does cause for some attention.

As a final gesture, a further offering, I also gave him the little black moleskin book of my grandmother's to see if he could make any more sense out of it that I couldn’t. He admitted he only knew my grandmother by name and reputation and how, on behalf of the congregation, he was appreciative of not only her gift, but me, the gifter of it.

He invited me to stay for the worship service and the coffee hour following; I declined. I was kind of numb for the action that I just completed and to be honest, I was already a little bit more regretful that I didn’t spend it in other ways or at least take a little bit as some kind of deserving finders fee.

Peace? I felt none as I heard the distinct sound of the parking lot gravel crunching beneath my tires.

I seriously thought that was the end of it; I mean what else could come from it? I’d be less than honest not to tell you that there were many times that I still didn’t regret handing that Manila envelope over to the minister whose name I don’t even remember. A distinct, unknown form of PTSD that kept me awake, often after going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, all for a not so measly $2000.

I love how when life shocks you and there’s no way that you could believe beyond your wildest imagination that you could be shocked any deeper, more resoundingly, that it has a way of doing it just the same.

It was in a stack of mail that day and I almost threw it away because like other important pieces of paper that almost looked as if they are real but aren’t; this one actually had a stamp on it. I also noticed the return address was from North Royalton Christian Church. It wasn’t on fancy stationary but a rubber stamp that wasn’t evenly stamped, put on correctly.

As I was leaning against the front door in a small shaded spot that kept me from the hot August sun, I was grateful that I was actually leaning as I began to read the letter. The minister had signed it but it also was signed by a lawyer, who was the Elders Chairman. Even as I was reading the words I didn’t quite understand them; it was almost as if they were in Arabic instead of English, but the meaning was not disputable:

“...and we know how much your grandmother, Viola would be proud of you. It seems that she had a faith in you that you might not of even had in yourself in turning over his donation to North Royalton Christian Church. As her lawyer, and Chairman of the Elders, I’ve been instructed to give you $20,000.00 for your good and faithful service in following her wishes. Please feel free to call me at your convenience to arrange transfer of funds. We sincerely pray now for your continued success and blessings. What Viola has begun in you has obviously far exceeded both her and your expectations. It seems, indeed, she has written this most magnificent sentence in the book of your life that will forever give in new meaning and purpose.

We are returning to you the little black moleskin notebook that you gave to us, it seems fitting that you should have it as you continue the rest of your story and perhaps begin stories for others to share and benefit.

Blessings and Peace

The Elders of North Royalton Christian Church"

I slowly let my back slide down the door I had been leaning on; the hot afternoon sun flooded fully down on me. Sweat moistening my face. I smiled, thinking, "When the unexpected becomes the unexpected the expected will never be the same." Not a bad definition for Life; fully lived, one unanticipated, one unforseen step at at time. Not one for the books, or a black moleskin notebook for sure.

Sometimes the best gift is the one never given and still received.