House Church Talk - Re:Heaven story Christian Urban Legend or...

[Claire Bennett]

Joshua Harris has the same story in his book, "I Kissed Dating Good-bye."
Either this is an Urban Legend of the Christian Kind, or Joshua Harris
plagarized the story, which he mentioned refered to himself.
----- Original Message ----- 
From: <House Church Talk -request at housechurch.org>
To: <House Church Talk  at housechurch.org>
Sent: Monday, September 20, 2004 9:00 AM
Subject: House Church Talk  Digest, Vol 3, Issue 276


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> Today's Topics:
>
>    1. The Room (Tim Poole)
>    2. The Professor (Tim Poole)
>    3. Re: The Room -  false story (Janet Murphy)
>
>
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Message: 1
> Date: Sun, 19 Sep 2004 18:49:44 -0400
> From: "Tim Poole" <pooletim at hotmail.com>
> Subject: House Church Talk -  The Room
> To: <House Church Talk  at housechurch.org>
> Message-ID: <BAY1-DAV10Q8RPsdlDr0001cd2a at hotmail.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
>  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.
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 2
> Date: Mon, 20 Sep 2004 01:26:43 -0400
> From: "Tim Poole" <pooletim at hotmail.com>
> Subject: House Church Talk -  The Professor
> To: <House Church Talk  at housechurch.org>
> Message-ID: <BAY1-DAV3pvG3GbSEIg0001ee99 at hotmail.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
> The Professor
> Author: Unknown
>
> The university professor challenged his students
> with this question.
>
> "Did God create everything that exists?"
>
> A student bravely replied, "Yes, he did!"
>
> "God created everything?" The professor asked.
>
> "Yes sir", the student replied.
>
> The professor answered, "If God created everything,
> then God created
> evil, since evil exists, and according to the
> principal that our works
> define who we are, then God is evil".
>
> The student became quiet before such an answer. The
> professor, quite
> pleased with himself, boasted to the students that
> he had proven once
> more that the Christian faith was a myth.
>
> Another student raised his hand and said, "Can I ask
> you a question
> professor?"
>
> "Of course", replied the professor.
>
> The student stood up and asked, "Professor, does
> cold exist?"
>
> "What kind of question is this? Of course it exists.
> Have you never
> been cold?"
>
> The students snickered at the young man's question.
>
> The young man replied, "In fact sir, cold does not
> exist. According to
> the laws of physics, what we consider cold is in
> reality the absence of
> heat. Every body or object is susceptible to study
> when it has or
> transmits energy, and heat is what makes a body or
> matter have or
> transmit energy. Absolute zero (- 460 degrees F) is
> the total absence
> of heat; all matter becomes inert and incapable of
> reaction at that
> temperature. Cold does not exist. We have created
> this word to describe
> how we feel if we have no heat."
>
> The student continued, "Professor, does darkness
> exist?"
>
> The professor responded, "Of course it does."
>
> The student replied, "Once again you are wrong sir,
> darkness does not
> exist either Darkness is in reality the absence of
> light. Light we can
> study, but not darkness. In fact we can use Newton's
> prism to break
> white light into many colors and study the various
> wavelengths of each
> color. You cannot measure darkness. A simple ray of
> light can break
> into a world of darkness and illuminate it. How can
> you know how dark a
> certain space is? You measure the amount of light
> present. Isn't this
> correct? Darkness is a term used by man to describe
> what happens when
> there is no light present."
>
> Finally the young man asked the professor, "Sir,
> does evil exist?"
>
> Now uncertain, the professor responded, "Of course
> as I have already
> said. We see it every day. It is in the daily
> example of man's
> inhumanity to man. It is in the multitude of crime
> and violence
> everywhere in the world. These manifestations are
> nothing else but
> evil."
>
> To this the student replied, "Evil does not exist
> sir, or at least it
> does not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the
> absence of God. It is
> just like darkness and cold, a word that man has
> created to describe
> the absence of God. God did not create evil. Evil is
> not like faith, or
> love that exist just as does light and heat. Evil is
> the result of what
> happens when man does not have God's love present in
> his heart. It's
> like the cold that comes when there is no heat or
> the darkness that
> comes when there is no light."
>
> The professor sat down.
>
> "For thou art not a God that hath pleasure in
> wickedness: neither shall
> evil dwell with thee." - Psalm 5:4
>
> ------------------------------
>
> Message: 3
> Date: Mon, 20 Sep 2004 06:45:16 -0500
> From: "Janet Murphy" <dreamgirl at indy.rr.com>
> Subject: Re: House Church Talk -  The Room -  false story
> To: <House Church Talk  at housechurch.org>
> Message-ID: <003701c49f07$4c58ec20$6501a8c0 at indy.rr.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
> 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 ---
> >
>
>
> ------------------------------
>
> _______________________________________________
> House Church Talk  mailing list
> House Church Talk  at housechurch.org
> https://housechurch.org/mailman/listinfo/House Church Talk 
>
>
> End of House Church Talk  Digest, Vol 3, Issue 276
> ***************************************
>