The Room !!!?

The Room

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's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while

cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian had

been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his

life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, 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 Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore 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. Moore said.

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


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, 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?

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.

10 Answers

  • Anonymous
    1 decade ago
    Favorite Answer

    Awesome... This shot a chill of reality down my spine...

  • 1 decade ago


    I liked it but have to know...

    Is this really an essay written by a 17 year old or something made up ??

    Where did the original essay end???

    It seems to me that something was assed at the end.

    It kind of ruined it for me with the spam ending.

    You should have been smart enough to remove the chain mail ending.

  • 4 years ago

    She is just trying to eliminate crumbs. In our house, we eat where ever we want. I am eating in the computer room right now and my husband is eating on a tray in front of the tv. We never did the traditional "dinner at the table" thing when our son was with us either unless we had other people over.

  • This is why I stopped going to church in the first place. I think there was a point in there somewhere, and I am sure I know the end result is that I should trust in Jesus.

    I did read the whole thing and feel myself dumber for it. What a waste of time. Who is this for, anyway?

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  • 1 decade ago

    amen! amen! amen!

    "count it all joy when they prosecute you".

    i have had several on-line groups.

    i talk YESHUA in public.

    i pray for people.

    i have had a hitch-hiker ministry in the past.

    i have giving money to others in check-out lines.

    i'm also a pathetic sinner.

    Compared to ADONAI, i'm nothing.

    Compared to the world, i'm everybody.

    Compared to myself, i'm just a nasty sinner whom

    deperately needed a SAVIOR.

    Source(s): Complete Jewish Bible New King James Tanakh
  • 1 decade ago

    Sorry that one I have read numerous times been around for awhile read via email etc etc..

  • 1 decade ago

    Nice story, sangy.

  • Anonymous
    1 decade ago

    wow that was deep. a real eye opener.

  • Anonymous
    1 decade ago
  • 1 decade ago


    way too long to bother reading

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