>> >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
>> >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, FOR THE CHRISTIAN OR NOT!
>> >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.
>>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
>> >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, FOR THE CHRISTIAN OR NOT!
>> >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.