Archive for April, 2009
A Teenagers View of Heaven
Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009Very thought provoking. Hope you read it to its end!!!!!
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 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 Moores 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.’
Brian’s Essay: 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 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 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,seemed 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, 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 ‘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 so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My ‘People I shared the gospel with’ file just got bigger, how about yours?
IMPORTANT – How to Lock Your Car and Why
Friday, April 10th, 2009I locked my car — as I walked away I heard my car door unlock. I went back and locked my car again three times. I looked around and there were two guys sitting in a car in the fire lane next to the store. When I looked straight at them they did not unlock my car again.
How to lock your car safely – While traveling, my son stopped at a roadside park. He came out to his car less than 4-5 minutes later and found someone had gotten into his car, and stolen his cell phone, laptop computer, GPS navigator briefcase…..you name it…
He called the police and since there were no signs of his car being broken into – the police told him that there is a device that robbers are using now to clone your security code when you lock your doors on your car using your key-chain locking device..
They sit a distance away and watch for their next victim. They know you are going inside of the store, restaurant, or bathroom and have a few minutes to steal and run. The police officer said to manually lock your car door-by hitting the lock button inside the car, that way if there is someone siting in a parking lot watching for their next victim it will not be you.
When you hit the lock button on your car upon exiting…it does not send the security code, but if you walk away and use the door lock on your key chain – it sends the code through the airwaves where it can be stolen. Something totally new to us…and real.
Be aware of this and please pass this note on…look how many times we all lock our doors with our remote…just to be sure we remembered to lock them….and bingo someone has our code…and whatever was in the car…can be stolen.
Stutter
Friday, April 10th, 2009A little girl raises her hand. ‘I had a kitty-cat who stuttered.’
The teacher, knowing how precious some of these stories could become, asked the girl to describe the incident.
‘Well’, she began, ‘I was in the back yard with my kitty and the Rottweiler that lives next door got a running start and before we knew it, he jumped over the fence into our yard!’
‘That must’ve been scary,’ said the teacher.
‘It sure was,’ said the little girl. ‘My kitty raised her back, went Sssss, Sssss, Sssss’ and before she could say ‘Shit!’, the Rottweiler ate her!
The teacher had to leave the room.