Fw: The Room and the story behind it

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The story behind the story "The Room".17-year-old 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 Iever wrote." It also was the last.'s parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it whilecleaning out the teenager's locker at Teays Valley (Ohio) High School. had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted everypiece of his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, hishomework.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 's death that Beth and Bruce realized that their son had described his view ofheaven. It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feellike you are there," Mr. said. 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 lineand was electrocuted. The s framed a copy of 's essay and hung itamong thefamily portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point.I think wewere meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. said of theessay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life afterdeath. "I'm happy for . I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him.=====================================================================================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 to catch my attention was onethat read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through thecards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the nameswritten on each one. And then, without being told, I knew exactly where Iwas. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system formy 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 andexploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others asense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder tosee 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 HaveRead,"; "Lies I Have Told,"; "Comfort I have Given,"; "Jokes I Have Laughedat." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled atmy brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in MyAnger";"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I neverceased to be surprised 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 each of these thousands oreven millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each waswritten in my own handwriting. Each signed with mysignature.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," Ifelt 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 itsdetailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had beenrecorded.An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No onemust ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have todestroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn'tmatter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But, as I took it at oneend 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 steelwhen I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the fileto 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. Ipulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fellinto 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 andcried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. Therows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filledeyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hidethe key.But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw > >Him. No, please not Him. Nothere. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open thefiles and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in themoments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper thanmy 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. Helooked at me with pity in His eyes. But, this was a pity that didn't angerme. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cryagain. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said somany 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 tosay was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be onthese cards.But, there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name ofJesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the cardback. 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 were still cards to be written. "I can do all things through Christwho strengthens me."(ians 4:13)"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believesin Him shall not perish but have eternal life." ( 3:16)=====================================================================================If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the loveof 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 EVERYONE YOU KNOW, CHRISTIAN OR NOT!"LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE CARD" AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

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