"THE ROOM"
as written by a 17 Year Old Boy.
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
By Brian Moore, age 17, 2 months before his death on May 27, 1997.
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?
