Tuesday, December 2, 2008

An Interesting Essay

I have no idea if this a true story or not, but when I read the essay,
I was very moved. It is an interesting way of putting into perspective
our lives, and how we spend our time. It's lengthy, but if you have
the time, it is definitely worth reading.



A TEENAGER'S VIEW OF HEAVEN
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 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,seemed
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.

4 comments:

Alicia Reagan said...

I remember the first time I read this - you are right - very moving. Sure makes you think!
By the way, I am 31 going on 105 I think.:) I will be 32 in April. My hubby is 38. I always tell him that I had to marry an older man because I was so mature! (yeah right!) I wonder why he always laughs when I tell him that? We will have been married 10 years this Thursday! YEAH!!!

Tammy said...

Wow! You are young! No wonderful you look so great! I don't think I looked that good at 31. By the way, Happy Anniversary to you and your husband! I hope you have something special planned. You sure have a beautiful family. God has blessed you tremendously.

Alicia Reagan said...

Okay, I edited my blog with the pictures so you will have to check it out again.
By the way, I think you are absolutely beautiful AND young so don't cut yourself short. I am trying to work it out that maybe we can meet when I come to TN in January. I hope so!

Tammy said...

Oh, I hope we can meet! That would be great! I'll look forward to January!