MatrixWatch
August 7th, 2003, 10:41 PM
This was originally posted over at Matrix-Sites. What do you all think? It looks long, but it actually reads very quickly. I enjoyed it.
>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
>***** 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 *****. 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 ***** 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 ****** 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 ***** 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 He.
>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
>***** 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 *****. 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 ***** 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 ****** 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 ***** 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 He.