Re: THE ROOM
Posted by: SanInocencio1 <SanInocencio1@...>
As I read this I was struck by the similarity between this story and a story
Josh Harris tells in the book "I kissed Dating Goodbye". I cannot locate my
copy at the moment to verify his source, but this may not have been really
written as described in your e-mail. I agree it is a powerful story, I just
hope the right person is being credited.
Johanna
Life is the ultimate learning experience!
----- Original Message -----
From: Amazing Graze Farms <amazinggraze@valkyrie.net>
To:
Sent: Wednesday, June 27, 2001 10:28 AM
Subject: [HomeSteadHeaven] THE ROOM
THE ROOM an essay by Brian Moore, deceased 5/27/1997
About this story - there is some background on the author that I thought you
might be interested in. Procrastinating as usual, 17-year-old Brian Moore
had only a short time to write something for the Fellowship of Christian
Athletes meeting. It was his turn to lead the discussion so he sat down and
wrote.
He showed the essay, titled "The Room" to his mother, Beth, before he headed
out the door. "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. Brian had
been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his
life near them - the crepe paper that had adorned his locker during his
senior football season, 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.
Brian seemed to excel at everything he did. He was an honor student. He
told his parents he loved them "a hundred times a day", Mrs. Moore said. He
was a star wide receiver for the Teays Valley Football team and had earned a
four-year scholarship to Capital University in Columbus because of his
athletic and academic abilities. He took it upon himself to learn how to
help a fellow student who used a wheelchair at school. During one homecoming
ceremony, Brian walked on his tiptoes so that the girl he was escorting
wouldn't be embarrassed about being taller than him. He adored his kid
brother, Bruce, now 14. He often escorted his grandmother, Evelyn Moore, who
lives in Columbus, to church. "I always called him the "deep thinker",
Evelyn said of her eldest grandson.
Four years after his death, his family still struggles to understand why
Brian was taken from them. They find comfort at the cemetery where Brian is
buried, just a few blocks from their home. They visit daily. A candle and
dozens of silk and real flowers keep vigil over the grave site.
The Moore's 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 again someday." Mrs. Moore said. "It just hurts so bad now."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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 endlessly 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 write 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 "Songs I have listened to," 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 music 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
===================================================
This story above is the best I have ever read.
"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?