--- PScooby478@xxxxxxx wrote: > From PScooby478@xxxxxxx Tue Jul 29 09:56:31 2003 > From: PScooby478@xxxxxxx > Date: Tue, 29 Jul 2003 12:56:31 EDT > Subject: Fwd: The Room > To: dagent.geo@xxxxxxxxx > > > > ATTACHMENT part 2 message/rfc822 > From: Rundaroadz@xxxxxxx > Date: Tue, 29 Jul 2003 06:13:39 EDT > Subject: Fwd: The Room > To: CBinkjunky@xxxxxxx, dawnprodriguez@xxxxxxx, ronndeb1972@xxxxxxxxx, > SgtMajCleotis@xxxxxxx, jnett@xxxxxxxxxxxx, > dancing_princess13@xxxxxxxxxxx, ctaj@xxxxxxxxxxx, Lbhuminbird1@xxxxxxx, > BobbysGtownMom@xxxxxxx, mikah@xxxxxxxxxxx, zipzeronada@xxxxxxxxxxxx, > Macon2005@xxxxxxx, LuvMargie@xxxxxxx, naomidavid_32177@xxxxxxxxx, > TrailBlzrRT180@xxxxxxx, PScooby478@xxxxxxx, GRACEME1126@xxxxxxx > > > > ATTACHMENT part 2.2 message/rfc822 > From: GeorgiaRhythm03@xxxxxxx > Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 11:54:04 EDT > Subject: The Room > To: undisclosed-recipients:; > > An oldie on the internet but well worth repeating... Long but worth the time > :) > > 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 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, 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? Finall y 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 to as many people as you can so the love > of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" > file just > got bigger, how about yours? > ===== "Winky is not knowing how sir, winky is not knowing how?" -=Winky / Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire=-" __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free, easy-to-use web site design software http://sitebuilder.yahoo.com
