~A little inspiration to remember to carry your cross and spread His word. He died for us, so we are called to live for Him.~17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time towrite 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'sthe bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote..' It also was the last.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day afterMemorial Day.. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car wentoff Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emergedfrom the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and waselectrocuted..The Moore 's framed a copy of Brian's essayand hung it among the family portraits in the living room... 'I think Godused him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make somethingout of it,' Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to sharetheir son's vision of life after death. 'I'm happy for Brian. I knowhe's in heaven. I know I'll see him.'
Brian's Essay: The Room....
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I foundmyself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the onewall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in librariesthat 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 tocatch my attention was one that read 'Girls I have liked.' I opened itand began 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 knewexactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crudecatalog 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 andcuriosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly openingfiles and exploring their content... Some brought joy and sweet memories; othersa sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to seeif anyone was watching..
A file named 'Friends' was next to one marked'Friends I have betrayed.' The titles ranged from the mundane to theoutright weird 'Books I Have Read,' 'Lies I Have Told,''Comfort I have Given,' 'Jokes I Have Laughed at .' Some werealmost hilarious in their exactness: 'Things I've yelled at mybrothers.' Others I couldn't laugh at: 'Things I Have Done in MyAnger', 'Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.' Inever 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 lifeI had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill eachof these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed thistruth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked 'TV Shows I havewatched', I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cardswere packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found theend of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but moreby the vast time I knew that file represented...
When I came to a file marked 'LustfulThoughts,' I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only aninch, 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: Noone must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroythem!' In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matternow. I had to empty it and burn the cards.. But as I took it at one end andbegan pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I becamedesperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I triedto tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file toits slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pityingsigh. And then I saw it.. The title bore 'People I HaveShared the Gospel With.' The handle was brighter than those around it,seemednewer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than threeinches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on onehand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deepthat they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on myknees 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, everknow of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed awaythe tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.. Iwatched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. Icouldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myselfto look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Whydid He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from acrossthe room.. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity thatdidn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and beganto cry again. 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 of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began tosign 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. Hisname 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 Hisblood. He gently took the card back.. He smiled a sad smile and began to signthe 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 tomy side..
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, 'It isfinished.' I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock onits door. There were still cards to be written....
'I can do all things through Christ whostrengthens me. '-Phil. 4:13 'For God so loved the world that He gaveHis only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternallife.' My 'People I shared the gospel with' file just got bigger. I hope yours will too.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day afterMemorial Day.. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car wentoff Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emergedfrom the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and waselectrocuted..The Moore 's framed a copy of Brian's essayand hung it among the family portraits in the living room... 'I think Godused him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make somethingout of it,' Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to sharetheir son's vision of life after death. 'I'm happy for Brian. I knowhe's in heaven. I know I'll see him.'
Brian's Essay: The Room....
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I foundmyself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the onewall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in librariesthat 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 tocatch my attention was one that read 'Girls I have liked.' I opened itand began 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 knewexactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crudecatalog 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 andcuriosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly openingfiles and exploring their content... Some brought joy and sweet memories; othersa sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to seeif anyone was watching..
A file named 'Friends' was next to one marked'Friends I have betrayed.' The titles ranged from the mundane to theoutright weird 'Books I Have Read,' 'Lies I Have Told,''Comfort I have Given,' 'Jokes I Have Laughed at .' Some werealmost hilarious in their exactness: 'Things I've yelled at mybrothers.' Others I couldn't laugh at: 'Things I Have Done in MyAnger', 'Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.' Inever 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 lifeI had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill eachof these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed thistruth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked 'TV Shows I havewatched', I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cardswere packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found theend of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but moreby the vast time I knew that file represented...
When I came to a file marked 'LustfulThoughts,' I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only aninch, 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: Noone must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroythem!' In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matternow. I had to empty it and burn the cards.. But as I took it at one end andbegan pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I becamedesperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I triedto tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file toits slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pityingsigh. And then I saw it.. The title bore 'People I HaveShared the Gospel With.' The handle was brighter than those around it,seemednewer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than threeinches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on onehand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deepthat they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on myknees 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, everknow of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed awaythe tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.. Iwatched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. Icouldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myselfto look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Whydid He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from acrossthe room.. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity thatdidn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and beganto cry again. 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 of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began tosign 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. Hisname 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 Hisblood. He gently took the card back.. He smiled a sad smile and began to signthe 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 tomy side..
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, 'It isfinished.' I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock onits door. There were still cards to be written....
'I can do all things through Christ whostrengthens me. '-Phil. 4:13 'For God so loved the world that He gaveHis only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternallife.' My 'People I shared the gospel with' file just got bigger. I hope yours will too.
What did you think of his view of heaven? What is yours?
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