The Story Behind The Room
Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>
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 then- 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
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."
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 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 "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?
My daughter, Kathleen, was 15... too young to seriously date but she had a
boyfriend.
One evening, when I was leaving to pick up my son, Paul, from baseball
practice, she asked if she could just go with her boyfriend to pick up his
little brother at a friend's house. She said they would come right back.
I said, "Alright, just make sure you wear your seat belt, and come right
home."
It was my father's birthday and my youngest daughter, Therese, was already
at my father's house waiting for us to come over with the cake I had yet to
pick up at the store. I left to pick Paul up at school, but decided to take
the highway, rather than the shortcut along the back roads.
After leaving the school, Paul and I ran in the store for the cake and some
last minute goodies. As we were getting into the car, we heard and saw
paramedics, fire trucks, three ambulances and of course a multitude of
police cars.
I got a sick feeling in my stomach and said to Paul, "Somebody needs our
prayers, quick." I wondered if there was a fire or a bad car accident. At
one of the intersections I had to stop to let more emergency vehicles
through, and prayed, "Lord, those people need you right now, go to them and
place your protective hand over them."
We stopped at my parents to drop off the food, before going home to pick up
Kathleen, but my father met me at the car and told us to postpone the party
because Therese had fallen asleep.
"Which way did you go to the school?" he asked, "Because there was a bad
accident on the backroad, I heard someone was killed. It happened just about
the time you had to pick up Paul at the school and I know you always go that
way. I was so happy to see you pull in, I had a gut feeling it was you."
As Paul and I drove the short distance home, I could see our house was dark
and when Kathleen is home alone, she always burned every light.
As I turned off the ignition, tears fell, "It was Kathleen," I told Paul, "I
know it."
I ran in the house and checked our answering machine, no one had called. I
breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that someone would have called by now.
"Paranoid," that's what Kathleen always called me, and that's what I was
telling myself, "Your just paranoid!"
Then, the phone rang. It was her friend's mother, who worked in the
emergency room of our local hospital. She only told me that the three of
them were in an accident and were being transported to the hospital.
I didn't call my husband at work, nor my parents. Paul and I just left for
the hospital. As I pulled into the parking lot, one of the paramedics,
someone we have known for years, met us at our car.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said with tears streaming down his face.
The next thing I remember after was talking to the doctor in the hallway of
the ER. He asked me if I believed in God, and with that my knees gave way.
"No," he said, "you don't understand, do you believe in divine
intervention?"
I stammered, a weak, "Yes." Not having a clue what he was talking about. He
smiled at me and asked, "Do you know what shirt your daughter is wearing,
tonight?"
Nodding no, he told me to go down the hall and look.
"Your daughter is blessed with angels and so are you. From what the
emergency personnel told me, there is no way that your daughter should be
alive, let alone only have a few scratches. "
Kathleen was laying on a cart, waiting for more x-rays. When I got to her,
we both sobbed. As I was hugging her I had the urge to check her shirt,
unzipping her jacket. I read the words, "Jesus Saves."
I knew then, what the doctor had meant.
All three were treated and released.
On the way home that night, Kathleen told this story:
"It was really weird, about a quarter of a mile before the accident, I said,
'Wait, we forgot to put our seat belts on, my Mother will kill me.'
Then a car was coming towards us in our lane, he swerved, and I knew we got
hit on the passenger side of the car, where I was sitting. We got hit a
total of three times because the car kept spinning in a circle. I felt his
little brother's hand on my shoulder, holding me tightly in place.
"But Mom, after it was all over, I could still feel the hand on my shoulder.
I looked and his little brother had flown out the back window of the car, as
we later found out, on the first spin.
"It was an angel, Mom, I know it!"
I knew it too, especially when we went the next day to look at the car, it
had been split in half, right underneath my daughters seat.
The driver of the other car, witnesses said, was traveling 90-95 miles per
hour and the point of impact at that speed was directly at Kathleen's door.
The police report stated that the car door was found fifty feet away from
the accident scene, with the seat belt attached. So when the door broke
loose, "the hand" was the only thing that saved my daughter's life.
The Lord, knew, long before I did that my child was in trouble, and I will
always praise Him for saving her life and restoring mine.
I have been meaning to write this story for the past couple years. Kathleen
just turned 21. While I was writing this I smiled and cried, but it's all
true.
<>< Have You Any Time? ><>
As you got up this morning, I watched you, and hoped you would talk to me, even if it was just a few words, asking my opinion or thanking me for something good that happened in your life yesterday. But I noticed you were too busy, trying to find the right outfit to wear. When you ran around the house getting ready, I knew there would be a few minutes for you to stop and say hello, but you were to busy.
At one point you had to wait, fifteen minutes with nothing to do except sit in a chair. Then I saw you spring to your feet. I thought you wanted to talk to me but you ran to the phone and called a friend to get the latest gossip instead. I watched patiently all day long. With all your activities I guess you were too busy to say anything to me. I noticed that before lunch you looked around, maybe you felt embarrassed to talk to me, that is why you didn't bow your head. You glanced three or four tables over and you noticed some of your friends talking to me briefly before they ate, but you didn't. That's okay. There is still more time left, and I hope that you will talk to me yet. You went home and it seems as if you had lots of things to do.
After a few of them were done, you turned on the TV. I don't know if you like TV or not, just about anything goes there and you spend a lot of time each day in front of it not thinking about anything, just enjoying the show. I waited patiently again as you watched the TV and ate your meal, but again you didn't talk to me.
Bedtime I guess you felt too tired. After you said goodnight to your family you plopped into bed and fell asleep in no time. That's okay because you may not realize that I am always there for you. I've got patience, more than you will ever know. I even want to teach you how to be patient with others as well. I love you so much that I wait everyday for a nod, prayer or thought or a thankful part of your heart. It is hard to have a one-sided conversation.
Well, you are getting up once again. And once again I will wait, with nothing but love for you. Hoping that today you will give me some time.
Have a nice day!
Your friend, Jesus
Have a Blessed Day
Dave and Barbara
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