Fw: Heaven can Wait....True story

[Guest guest]

From: Kendra <rkendra@...>Subject: Heaven can Wait....Date: Wednesday, April 7, 2010, 5:20 PM

Lis, here it is in case you can't open the doc....

Dear All,

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

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.

'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.

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 's death that Beth and Bruce 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. said.. 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 's framed a copy of '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.

said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's

vision of life after death. "I'm happy for .. I know he's in

heaven. I know I'll see him.

Here is '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."

3:16

For by grace are

you saved through faith, and that not of your selves, it is the gift

of God, not of works lest any man

should boast. Eph.

2:8-9

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.

Thanks,

R~

A. Kendra N

Senior Manufacturing Engineer

MOOG

Aircraft Group

20263 Western Ave.

Torrance, CA 90501

(Phone:

(310)-618-6517

(Cell:

(310)-803-7965

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Fax: (310)-618-6400

+

E-Mail:

rkendra@...

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