Day 45/366

Gen was blessed with no traffic, and she was on the outskirts of Marysville in less than twenty minutes.  Her head was pounding, so she made a stop at a gas station/mini mart with a drive through coffee bar.  She ordered a mocha latte with an extra shot, and threw in a muffin since she'd missed breakfast as well.

The cashier was chatty and friendly, obviously trying to be helpful.  Gen asked her if a mini-storage was still located down the road, and received an affirmative answer.  She took her change and stuck a five dollar bill in the tip jar, then drove off with a wave and a thank you.

Sure enough, the first mini-storage she checked out was in the address listed and the office was open.  Unfortunately this one used combination locks and not keys.  Back in her car, she marked off the listing and checked her gps for the location of the next place.  Again, disappointment: this one used numeric pads.

Frustrated and tired, Gen took a chance and asked the attendant if he knew of any that used keys for their storage units.  He thought for a moment, then replied, "Sure!  It's a bit of a drive, but there's one like that over on Garden Highway in Yuba City.  Just over the bridge, and a few miles past that."

"Thank you so much," she smiled, and headed back to her car.  She programmed the address into her phone and followed the directions to the business.  Sure enough, when she showed the key to the attendant, he nodded that it went to one of their storage units.  Turns out, the writing on the paper was the locker number and the original name of the place.

Her father had rented a storage unit not long after she was born, and he'd kept up with yearly payments ever since.  Home Storage Service was the original name of the business.  She followed the man down two aisles of units, turned toward the right and five more down.  "The unit you're looking for is midway down this row.  Can I help you with anything else?'

"No, but thanks.  You were a big help."  Gen waited until the man started moving toward the front office before she made her way to 347-B.  Several steps, and she found herself standing in front of the unit, key in hand.  Finally, some answers awaited her.  "Help me out here, Lord," she whispered, then inserted the key and turned.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 44/366

Gen wilted with relief--she finally had a direction to follow!  First things first, though.  She went back inside and dumped her now cold coffee down the drain and placed the mug in the sink.  Grabbing her cell phone from the kitchen charger, she dialed the number for the non-profit she currently worked for to notify them that she was taking one of her last few personal days.

That task complete, she pulled a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from her dressed and made her way into the bathroom.  Pajamas replaced with clothing, she ran a quick brush through her curls, cool water on her face to chase away any sleepiness that remained, and an even quicker brushing of her teeth.

Then she made her way back to the kitchen counter and found a phone book in the junk drawer.  At first she'd thought of looking up storage facilities on her phone, but needed the momentary slow down to get her racing heartbeat more manageable.  Gen flipped through the yellow pages of the directory, stopping on the listings for storage facilities.

She found only two located in the area, but had five more down the hill she might have to check out.  Gen ripped the page from the phone book, grabbed her keys and her wallet and rushed out the door.  The first location was easy to find, a mere mile from her house.  Fortunately the office was open--she hadn't bothered to look at the time when she started driving.

Gen showed the key to the attendant, only to find out that this facility was high tech and used a key pad to secure your belongings.  No, he didn't know who would have a key similar to the one she showed him, but he advised her to try the storage units down the hill.  Seemed that the people living nearby preferred to secure their belongings rather...securely.

She found the second storage site, but again found no such locker.  Frustrated and running low on stable energy, Gen turned her car toward the nearby town and prayed for Got to guide her to the right facility.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 43/366

#mylifeinpages Day 43/366

Sitting and staring at the key and the note attached accomplished a pounding headache, but nothing productive.  Genevieve went to bed early and, knowing sleep would be all but impossible, she took one of the sleep aids her doctor had prescribed for her after her father's funeral.

Her dreams were fragments of her worries and of real events.  Her dad was still trapped, but she couldn't get to him.  The dream would shift, and she was back digging through the bookshelves, desperate to find the key.  She slept, but she didn't rest.

Up with the sun painted sky, Gen took her coffee out on the terrace, curling up on the patio chair and covered with her favorite robe.  Cotton fabric that was whisper soft in a pale lavender shade, the robe had been around for decades.

It belonged to her mom, making it more precious than cashmere.  The sleeves had begun to fray, and three of the fabric covered buttons were missing, but she loved the softness of the fabric.  At times she thought she smelled her mom's perfume, but it was just a memory.

She stared into the distance, clearing her mind as she listened to the sound of her town waking up.  The neighborhood roosters had their usual cockadoodle-off, and a dog howled in the distance.  A light ground fog created a soothing ocean of white, with patches of green bursting through as the sun rose higher.

If she could just shut her brain down and reboot her memories, she was certain she could find the lock that fit that key.  Head tilted back and eyes toward the sky, she sighed--a deep soul sigh, one that dredged up the bits and baubles that clutter us up inside.

"Father God," she began, "I know You know this, but I've been ignoring You.  Even when I have prayed, it's been with my fingers in my ears.  I think I'm a little bit angry with You.  No, I'm a lot angry."

A tear traced a shimmering path down her cheek and splashed onto her hand.  "You've got my mom, and now You've got my dad.  And I have nothing," she sobbed.  "What do You have to say about that?"

Her hand cramped, and she realized she had wrapped her cup tightly, with enough pressure to snap the handle.  A deep breath in, and back out.  Again.  And again.  "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do now.  I don't feel anything, like my heart is numb.  But I'm afraid to feel, so afraid and tired of hurting.

"Are You still there, Father?  Have You left me, too?"  She paused, another tear rolling down her flushed cheek.  Gen sat so still, offering no more words; she'd said enough.  A soft breeze whispered by, lightly moving her long, blonde curls.

A touch on her cheek, as if God Himself dried her tears.  Another feather-light touch, this time on her brow, as if Someone placed a tender kiss on her face. She gasped in surprise, then the tears flowed freely.  Yes, God was with her.  And He understood her fear and her anger.

He responded to her prayer with a sense of His presence, and reminded her that she hadn't lost her parents, but instead they were now where her treasure was stored.  Stored.  Gen sat up, her now lukewarm coffee spilling into the floor.  "That's it!" she cried.  She knew exactly what the key was for.

Her dad had a storage container somewhere, and now she had to find it.  "Thank You, Father.  Thank You."

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 42/366

 

 

Genevieve took the key, the book and her father's Bible back into the living room. She placed everything out on the coffee table, then sat down, studying the pieces to the puzzle her father had left behind.

So, a physical key...hidden in a book...and not just any book, but an obscure title that was never read. That alone proved just how important this key was, and she had a feeling this key was tied to the meeting that never took place that night.

Problem was, it could be a key for a lock box at his home, or could be to a journal. The key could unlock the cryptic words her father had shared with her just before his life ended. And Gen was curious, but not enough to be running wild, trying to unlock anything and everything with the small key.

She had to know someone who might be able to tell her what kind of key she'd found. Now that she'd discovered it, sleep would be a memory. Gen had to find out what her father felt was so important that he would hide it from her.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 41/366

#mylifeinpages Day 41/366

She reached for the book, certain she'd find her answer within its pages.  A worn copy of The Golden Key rested in her hands.  A coat of dust indicated its permanent place on the bookshelf.  The book itself was a rare copy of a tale penned by George MacDonald, a favorite author for her dad.  Gen never saw him read the book, but remembered how important it was to him.

In fact, Pastor Ernie owned a copy of every book written by MacDonald. He claimed that reading The Princess and the Goblin had a profound impact on his life, and as a result was always on the look out for any and all titles written by the obscure author.  Gen remembered the book because for some strange reason it was a topic of conversation just days before his death.

A slim volume, barely a hundred pages, the book felt too heavy to Gen. She rose and hobbled over to the oak desk, wincing as the circulation was restored to her feet.  Desk lamp on to illuminate the late afternoon dusk, she started turning the yellowed pages, hoping her time would not be wasted.

She was in luck.  Between page twenty-eight and twenty-nine she found a half sheet of paper.  Setting the book aside, she focused on the paper in hand.  A small silver key was taped in the middle of the page.  Above that were the initials H.S.S., and underneath the key was 347-D.

She'd found the key.  Now what?

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 40/366

Gen closed the Bible and returned to the bookshelves, running her fingers over each spine, whispering the titles out loud to herself.  "I know it's here," she muttered, a hint of weary frustration in her voice.  "Honestly, Dad, could you have made this any harder?"

Immediately her eyes welled up.  She was just so tired and confused and...alone.  She blinked the tears away and started examining the second shelf, but still didn't see the book she wanted.  Was she going to have to pull every title from the shelf?  Her father had hundreds of books!

He had some shelves doubled up, with books in front of books to have enough space.   "That's it!" she cried, hunting for just such a shelf.  The bottom two, so the wood wouldn't bow under the weight.  Sure enough, Gen found what she was looking for.

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.

Day 39/366

Genevieve pulled the drawer open and picked up the prepaid cell phone.  She couldn't read the text without flipping it open, so for this one moment she wasn't tied to whatever was on the phone.  She carried it with her to the table and sat down, staring down at the device and allowing her mind to drift.

After her father had passed away, Gen felt lost.  Getting up and getting dressed was all she could manage for the first week.  When her bereavement leave was up, the new fight was to get to her work at the non-profit she had once loved.  After a few weeks the fog of grief began to lift, and Gen was able to move forward.

Gen gathered some boxes from work and began packing away her father's things. It was then that she remembered what her father's final words were to her.  Being a pastor's daughter, she was familiar with the Bible.  But that particular passage didn't trigger a memory, so she'd had to look it up. 

Her dad's 'preachin' Bible was the one he used at church, but he had a leather-bound Bible he used for his personal daily reading.  That was the Bible she pulled down from the bookshelf.  Gen found the Book of John and paged over to the eighth chapter.  Running her finger down the page, she located the verse he'd referenced.

"You will know the truth and the truth will set you free," she read out loud.  "What did you want me to know, Dad?"  She sat back on her feet and pondered the verse.  "Know the truth..."  Then she noticed a handwritten note in the margin.  "Provide the key."

Gen thought for another moment and tried to put the two pieces together to unlock her father's cryptic final words.  "Key," she whispered. "I wonder..."

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.