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Tiffany92892
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Name: Tiffany
Country: United States
Metro: Pittsburgh
Gender: Female
Interests: Harry Potter, Music, Movies, Musicals, Sports, Reading, Art, Acting, Photography, Cosmetology, Drawing, Shopping
Occupation: Student
Industry: Other
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  tiffany92892
Member Since:
10/12/2004
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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 Teary Valley High School. 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? 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." If you feel the same way
forward it so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People
I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?
You don't have to share this with anybody, no one will know whether you did or not, but you will know and so will He | | |
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