The Room

A note from Deanie about the story :

I do not know if this is a true story or not. I did not know this youg man, but I have saved his story in my folder for many years. It is thought pervoking and I hope that you enjoy it as I have through the years!

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 GOD !!!!


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