Thanks Tinashe so sobering On Thu, Jan 20, 2011 at 12:26 PM, Tsungi Mukandi <[email protected]>wrote:
> 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]<tribewithavibe%[email protected]> > . > For more options, visit this group at > http://groups.google.com/group/tribewithavibe?hl=en. > -- 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.
