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...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 Moore's 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
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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? 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
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.' - John 3:16
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