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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 "Guys 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
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 throug 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 never, 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 wouldn'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 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?
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