House Church Talk - The Room

[Tim Poole]

 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?

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.