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17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for aclass. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later toldhis father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I everwrote." It also was the last.Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it whilecleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian hadbeen dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of hislife near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework.Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encounteringJesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen'slife. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realizedthat their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impactthat 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 drivinghome from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road inPickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreckunharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the familyportraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I thinkwe were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said ofthe essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of lifeafter death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven.I know I'll seehim."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 withsmall index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that listtitles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, whichstretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction,had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first tocatch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it andbegan flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize thatI 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 mylife. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in adetail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupledwith horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files andexploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a senseof shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see ifanyone was watching.A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." Thetitles 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." Somewere almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at mybrothers." 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 besurprised by the contents.Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than Ihoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Couldit be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of thesethousands 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 thefiles grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yetafter 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 knewthat file represented.When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run throughmy body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its sizeand drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animalrage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see thesecards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insanefrenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty itand burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on thefloor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled outa 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 myforehead 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 pulledon its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into myhands. 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. Theystarted in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. Icried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of fileshelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of thisroom. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away thetears, I saw Him.No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly asHe began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch Hisresponse. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I sawa sorrow deeper than my own.He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to readevery 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 ofthe room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name overmine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to saywas "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on thesecards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The nameof Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took thecard back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't thinkI'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant itseemed 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 werestill cards to be written."I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 4:13 "For Godso 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 didor not, but you will know and so will He.
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