The Notebook: A Life Lesson
“Hey, Ron, check out that box over there and see what we can get rid of,” said Chet.
I pulled the box to me and began going through the sweaters, magazines and umbrellas. I wondered how people could lose so many things in a church and just not think of what happened to them.
The Bible was beautiful. I opened it and saw the name, Orthel Hopkins. I shook my head. His mother should have been looking for this already. Or maybe he had been hiding something else in his Bible cover so she didn’t know yet. I set it aside and would sneak it to him another time.
Read. The word jumped out at me. It was my hand writing. It looked like one of my notebooks. But why was it here?
“. . . had a great time and posted some fun vacation pictures for you. . .”
“Chet, I’ll be back later.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I only lived minutes away. The car didn’t even have time to cool inside before I was pulling into the driveway.
I dropped my keys trying to open the door. Bending down hurt but I didn’t stop or even stutter in my movements. I just wanted inside.
My laptop was waiting. The lid was open, ready to hit the power button. I read the names on the list again as the screen came on. It took forever for the facebook screen to load but finally I was able to log in.
The names were of faces that all looked similar. I knew the faces. I had seen them in my mind before. Why had the notebook been at the church, who had read it? Had anyone read it? I knew the faces.
Flashes came back from the white walled room. Those were just imagined faces though. I wasn’t supposed to remember anything. But they weren’t imagined. There they were. But this notebook . . . it wasn’t a memory notebook from my bedside.
I had been keeping memory notebooks the entire time. The notes were not like the ones now. They were more a journal. I leaned back and stared down at the faces. Memories started flooding, emotions, feelings, events, words.
In a matter of minutes I had discovered something. I had found out that I wasn’t alone. There was a world with people who cared about me, shared lives with me to make me happy, a world that took pictures so I could see that happiness.
I closed my eyes. I had thought I kept my memory notebooks to help me with each day, but I had been keeping them this whole time to help me remember my life and my loves. You never know what simple little word will make a difference in your world, or someone else’s. How powerful are words? They create or bring back memories, emotions, love. They can also bring back and create worse.
I had been choosing my words for the past year to create better in the world. Now I knew it wasn’t something that had come from me, but something that I had learned from others . . . from faces.
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