A
letter from one of YellowAirplane's readers
Brian's Story, Jesus and his
Card file
This story was added 2-28-03 and was submitted by Phil Sisson
Makes you think!
This is a long one, but please take
the time to read it. It is so good!!
Subject: The Room
| 17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short
time to write something for a class. The subject as 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 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 wee! p. 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 love! d 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?
IF THERE IS ONE EMAIL THAT I HAVE READ
THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE WORLD, IT IS THIS ONE, PLEASE PASS THIS
TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW, CHRISTIAN OR NOT! "LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE
CARD" AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!
|
