"The Room"
This is long but please take the time to read it!
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.
"It’s the bomb. It’s the best thing I ever wrote." It also was the last.
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.
Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in
a file room full of cards detailing every moment of his life. But it was only
after Brian’s death that his parents realized that their son had described his
view of heaven. Brian’s parents framed a copy of Brian’s essay and hung it
among the family portraits in the living room. Brian’s parents want to share
their son’s vision of life after death.
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 ya! rds, 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 agai! nst 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 and I
was set free. But my friends there were still cards that were written that
said……."I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."- Phil. 4:13
and "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes
in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16
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 hopefuly our file called "People I shared the gospel
with" will get bigger.
MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!
Marilyn Sails
Lexington, KY