Friends in Christ,
The following is supposedly
a true story of what one person's perception of heaven must be like, written by
a young man. Regardless of whether it is a true story or not, the truth is that
the message is true and clear. It's worth the time to read this, I guarantee
it!
The Room
The story behind the story
"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
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
The
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 wer e 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 live 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, couldn't 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 Hi s 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?
"LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE CARD" AND MAY GOD
BLESS YOU!