The black notebook

There it was. Next to me on the bus was a black notebook. It looked tattered and worn and seemed to be calling out to me to pick it up. I looked around at the other riders nearby. The woman across from me was on her phone. The young man two seats away wasn't interested in anything. I waited to see if he would take it as he exited the bus. There was an older man around my age who looked homeless. I felt his eyes on me. Surely it wasn't his. After all it was a Moleskine notebook. As my stop came up, I grabbed the notebook. I could barely wait to get home to see what was in the notebook. At my humble abode, I opened the notebook to find pages of what seemed like a diary. Daily accounts of someone living and walking around the city looking for people to help, from homeless men and runaway teens, to addicts and those who were mentally ill. I thought this person was an angel of some sort. I felt moved and inspired and wanted to get this notebook back to him. I could tell by the writing the owner was a man as he explained picking up another man to carry him to a nearby hospital. Suddenly, as I turned the page, there was a note, to me! "Go to the subway station and open locker 316."

The next morning, I went to the locker. I looked around and opened it to find a bag with money in it. It was a lot of money. My adrenaline kicked in and I grabbed it and tucked it tight under my arm. As I turn to leave, a familiar face nearby glances at me and smiles. It was the homeless man from the bus. At home I counted it to find $20,000. Oh my! I have never seen and touched that much money at one time. You see, I had recently retired from my job collecting enough to survive. My only son struggled with addiction most of his life and lived on the streets. My loving dog and best friend for 15 years recently died and I had no other family nearby. My car lasted until I retired and at least I was able to pay off the loan. I had some credit card debt but not too much. My dream was to pay off the debt and save money for a down payment on a home to get my son off the street and somewhere away from the connections. In my youth, and before feeling emotionally drained from life, my dream was to buy property and build shelters for men and pregnant teens. Living check to check, not having money nor connections, and not pursuing education was my downfall. I also raised my son as a single mother. Yes, I'm a woman. Sure, I helped people when I could. Strangers, friends, my son's friends, family members, but not as I had dreamed.

Back to the notebook. The pages continued with heartwarming and tragic encounters. Suddenly, while reading, I felt more inspired and began dreaming again having that $20,000. Should I pay off my debt and would I have enough for a small down payment for a home? I had an idea. I started walking the streets meeting the homeless, listening to their stories. I want to do so much but what could $20,000 do and how could I make it grow to residual income? I decided to go to a church and pray for wisdom and guidance. As I approached one, it was empty. Why aren't these homeless being helped? I sat and as I prayed, I wept for the homeless vet, the pregnant unwed teen, the disabled, the addict, then myself and my son. Then I remembered the number of the locker. It was 316. John 3:16, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son. . ." I felt a peace come over me. "Can I help you?" It was the minister. I asked why the church wasn't helping. He explained that the people in our world have become lovers of themselves and because of crime and diseases, there is less love and trust in the churches. I asked if I could help. He said he had a van that I could buy if I wanted to bring those who would hear the message. So I bought the van for $5,000. I told him about my dreams and he mentioned that they had a building not being used that needed work and they had no money. I asked what it would take to get it open to start a soup kitchen and shelter. When he said it would be more than $15,000, probably more than double, my heart sank. But then I had another idea. I went through the church website to raise money for the project. In the meantime I hit the streets, bringing people to the Lord and praying with them for this project to take shape. Many were eager to bring their skills to the table.

One day, there he was again. The homeless man from the bus. He introduced himself as Jimmy. As we spoke, I thought he didn't seem to belong on the street. I shared my dreams, my past, present and future with him. We worked together and I was falling for him. Come to find out he was the angel with the notebook. He put it on the bus and watched as my dreams were being fulfilled. He wasn't homeless. He was an entrepreneur looking for a good project to spend his millions on. Finally, my project was ready for the grand opening. I had tripled the $20,000 in donations. As I looked around before my opening speech, I saw Jimmy but who was that with him? My son! He looked different. Clean and fattened up. Smiling. My heart was beating hard. I called them both up to share their successes. As I spoke, I told the story of the notebook and how we should never give up on our dreams and if we just spread God's word and love, he will give us knowledge and wisdom to fulfill the desires of our hearts. Jimmy and I married and my son now works as a counselor in one of the many homeless shelters that were opened with the help of my God, my angel Jimmy, the downtrodden church, and the many wonderful misfits on the street. The next time you see a notebook, don't judge it by it's cover.