Friday, October 12, 2007

The Room

Just went to Terri's blog and if you plan to view the awesome colors in New Hampshire, please read her instructions..they are very informative.

I had this message sent to me a few days ago, and I think it is too awesome not to pass along. I know it is a bit long, but please take a few minutes to read it. And you may need a Kleenex, and this is just a suggestion.

Have a blessed, wonderful day!!!



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


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.

He 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?






FlipFlop Mom said...

WOW... you always have GREAT things here girl!!!!!!!!!