GOD
LOVES
YOU
&
JESUS
SAVES
SINNERS
GOD
IS
NOT
DEAD.
HE
IS
STILL
IN
THE
SAVING
BUSINESS.
PLEASE
ENSURE YOU READ THIS TO THE END, PREFERABLY WHEN YOU ARE LESS BUSY.
I
can only imagine...
Heaven
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.
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
The
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
