thedrifter
02-14-03, 01:07 PM
Sent to me by Tude...........
This is long but I hope you will take time to read it.
The Room
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a
class. The subject as 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 Teays Valley High School in
Pickaway County. 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 which strengtheneth me."- Phil. 4:13 "For God so loved
the world that He gave His only Begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." "But God
commendeth
His love towards us in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for
us"-Romans 5:8. "For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord
shall be saved" Romans 10:13.
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
The best part of life is when your family becomes your friends, and
your
friends become your family"
This is long but I hope you will take time to read it.
The Room
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a
class. The subject as 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 Teays Valley High School in
Pickaway County. 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 which strengtheneth me."- Phil. 4:13 "For God so loved
the world that He gave His only Begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." "But God
commendeth
His love towards us in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for
us"-Romans 5:8. "For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord
shall be saved" Romans 10:13.
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
The best part of life is when your family becomes your friends, and
your
friends become your family"