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http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php?v=250&username=xa-4d2b47597ad291fb

A MUST READ

A MUST READ 
touched by this
story – thought I’d
like to share it with
you. I don't really
take this as a
story on heaven
but an account of
your life on earth.
Just read before u
exit.
I can only imagine...
"THE
ROOM" 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 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.
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
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 EVERY
ONE YOU
KNOW, CHRISTIAN OR
NOT! "LET'S FILL
OUR OWN FILE
CARD" AND MAY
GOD BLESS YOU
ALL!
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