House Church Talk - The Room - false story

[Tim Poole]

Thanks for the correction. My daughter in college sent me this and it didn't
occur to me that it could be false. In Christ, Tim

----- Original Message -----
From: "Janet Murphy" <dreamgirl at indy.rr.com>
To: <House Church Talk  at housechurch.org>
Sent: Monday, September 20, 2004 7:45 AM
Subject: Re: House Church Talk -  The Room - false story


> http://www.snopes.com/glurge/room.htm
>
> Sorry, but this story is not completely true.  The deceased was a
> plagiarist.
>
> janet
> www.janetmurphy.net
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Tim Poole" <pooletim at hotmail.com>
> To: <House Church Talk  at housechurch.org>
> Sent: Sunday, September 19, 2004 5:49 PM
> Subject: House Church Talk -  The Room
>
>
> > 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.
> >
> >
> >     --- Info and subscription management at
> https://housechurch.org/talk ---
> >
>
>
>