THE ROOM

[DarkenedSoul]

> 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 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?
>
>
>IF THERE IS ONE EMAIL THAT I HAVE READ THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE
WORLD,
>IT IS THIS ONE, PLEASE PASS THIS TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW,CHRISTIAN OR
NOT!
>
>LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE CARD AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!
>
>
>
>You don't have to share this with anybody, no one will know whether
you did
>or not, but you will know and so will He.