Print Page - A True Story

I've seen this in the past but thought it worthy of sharing again.
Merry Christmas to everyone.
Blessings,
Julie
>THE ROOM
>
> 17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write
>something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like.
>"I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a
>killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote.." It
>also was the last.
>
> Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin
>found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary
>Valley High School. Brian had been dead only hours, but his
>parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near
>them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework.
>
> Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about
>encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing
>every moment of the teen's life.. But it was only after
>Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their
>son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact
>that people want to share it. You feel like you are there."
>Mr. Moore said.
>
> Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He
>was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off
>Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility
>pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a
>downed power line and was electrocuted.
>
> The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among
>the family portraits in the living room. "I think God used him
>to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make
>something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and
>her husband want to share their son's vision of life after
>death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know
>I'll see him."
>
> Brian's Essay: The Room...
>
> In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself
>in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for
>the one wall covered with small index card files. They were
>like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or
>subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which
>stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in
>either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near
>the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one
>that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping
>through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that
>I recognized the names written on each one. And then without
>being told, I knew exactly where I was.
>
> This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog
>system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every
>moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A
>sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred
>within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring
>their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a
>sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my
>shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
>
> A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have
>betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright
>weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have
>Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious
>in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers."
>Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger",
>"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I
>never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
>
> Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes
>fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of
>the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time
>in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions
>of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written
>in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
>
> When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I
>realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards
>were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I
>hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so
>much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew
>that file represented.
>
> When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a
>chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch,
>not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered
>at its detailed content.
>
> I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An
>almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind:
>No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this
>room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the
>file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and
>burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding
>it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became
>desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as
>steel when I tried to tear it.
>
> Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its
>slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long,
>self-pitying sigh.
>
> And then I saw it.. The title bore "People I Have Shared the
>Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it,
>newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box
>not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could
>count the cards it contained on one hand.
>
> And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that
>they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I
>fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the
>overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled
>in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this
>room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed
>away the tears, I saw Him.
>
> No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched
>helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I
>couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I
>could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper
>than my own.
>
> He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He
>have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me
>from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes.
>But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head,
>covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He
>walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so
>many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
>
> Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting
>at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one,
>began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted
>rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I
>pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these
>cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so
>alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His
>blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and
>began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand
>how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I
>heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.
>
> He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."
>I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock
>on its door. There were still cards to be written.
>
> "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil.
>4:13 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son,
>that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal
>life." If you feel the same way forward it to as many people
>as you can so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also.
>My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how
>about yours?

ChristiansUnite Forums

Fellowship => You name it!! => Topic started by: airIam2worship on December 19, 2005, 12:49:56 PM