Wow Mukoma T, God bless you, that was a really touching story you shared with us.
Thanks again. On Thu, Jan 20, 2011 at 12:14 PM, Tinashe Musere <[email protected]>wrote: > I can only imagine... > > > "THE ROOM" as written by a 17 Year Old Boy. > This is excellent and really gets you thinking about what will happen > in 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's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it > while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teays Valley High School > in Pickaway County. > > Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted > every piece of his life near them, notes from classmates and teachers, > and 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. > > > > > > Here is Brian's essay entitled: > > > > > "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 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, and 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. > > "For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever > believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16 > > > > > > > I am not as good as I should be, neither am I yet as good as I could > be, but I THANK GOD, I am much better than I used to be...being > Perfected onto His Glory! > > > > -- > Best Regards > > Tinashe Musere > Love God, love His people! > > -- > You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups > "tribewithavibe" group. > To post to this group, send email to [email protected]. > To unsubscribe from this group, send email to > [email protected]<tribewithavibe%[email protected]> > . > For more options, visit this group at > http://groups.google.com/group/tribewithavibe?hl=en. > > -- ....Loving God includes loving people. You`ve got to love both. 1 John 4:21 (MSG) -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "tribewithavibe" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected]. To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected]. For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/tribewithavibe?hl=en.
