The room

Nov 21 23:44 UTC 2000

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
endlessly 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 I 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 20 years to write 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 "Songs I have listened to," 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 music, but more by the
vast amount of 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 mattered 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 the hurt
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, 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.


"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Phil. 4:13

This story is one of the best e-mail story I have ever read.

"For God so 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 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?

response 4 of 70:

Nov 22 02:35 UTC 2000

Dog!  I feel like I just watched a train wreck.  It was horrible, but I 
couldn't stop.  

response 6 of 70:

Nov 22 03:36 UTC 2000

I don't know. I skimmed bits and pieces. I don't know if it  was the short
paragraphs, or the emotionalism of it all, but just reading bits and pieces
made it read rather like bad fetish cyberporn.

I'm not about to read it slowly. That would disillusion me.

response 8 of 70:

Nov 22 04:58 UTC 2000

If we never had a lustful thought, children wouldn't come about.  So nyah.

And what's so bad about listening to music?  I had a good laugh imagining
Jesus signing off on "Second Week of Deer Camp" and "Back that Ass Up".

response 10 of 70:

Nov 22 13:37 UTC 2000

Re

response 12 of 70:

Nov 22 16:10 UTC 2000

I'd rather like to have a catalog of all my lustful thoughts.  It'd make 
wonderful reading on a slow Sunday afternoon.  I wonder if there's a 
photographic record as well...  

And really--wouldn't god have switched over to CD-ROMs by now?

response 14 of 70:

Nov 22 18:06 UTC 2000

Just for bru, I went back and reread it. And thought about it.

I was right. I'm disturbed now. It's sick that anyone would write such tripe.
It's not cynical to believe that I'm not ashamed of who I am and what I've
done, and that I don't need the blood of a martyr to justify my own acts.

response 16 of 70:

Nov 22 19:30 UTC 2000

Ick.  What a dumb story.  I bet the author has an absolutely *huge* file of
cards labelled "times I've written dumb stories to try to shame people into
attending church".

response 18 of 70:

Nov 22 19:39 UTC 2000

Hmm... isn't it a form of therapy to actually be able to confront a rationap
account of something you've been supressing?  There are things that I've felt
terrible about but which really weren't that bad once I'd grown up and thought
about what a dumb little incident it was.
(sorry about that last sentence running on so long)

response 20 of 70:

Nov 22 21:46 UTC 2000

I liked the story.  I certainly can't say that I believe all that much
of the Christian Bible, but I do think it has some poignant parables and
much wisdom to offer.  

To me, the passage above speaks to the importance of forgiveness, and
gives one example showing the power that can be gained by forgiving.  

Your milage may vary.

response 22 of 70:

Nov 22 23:42 UTC 2000

I guess my tolerance for this kind of thing is higher than most -- while this
parable wasn't the best written I've seen, it did have an interesting view
of how forgiveness and God work -- one that could be very inspiring to the
right person at the right time. I was talking to a co-worker today about the
idea that too many people are too cynical these days, and that what we both
would like would be a good inspirational message -- evne if others were to
call it saccharine and hokey. I think I'll have to see what she thinks of
this. 

response 24 of 70:

Nov 23 00:44 UTC 2000

#22> Why is it cynical to ... oh wait, I already asked that.