Heaven as written by a 17 Year Old Boy
I can only imagine... Heaven as written by a 17
Year Old Boy This is excellent and really gets
you thinking about what will
happen in Heaven. 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 Teays
Valley High School in
Pickaway County Brian had been dead only
hours, but his parents
desperately wanted every
piece of his life near them,
notes from classmates and
teachers, and 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 Moore 's 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. Here is
Brian's essay entitled "The Room."
Page 1 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
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, and 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. "For God so loved the world
that He gave His only Son, that
whoever believes in Him shall
not perish but have eternal
life." John 3:16 If you feel the same way
forward the link to this 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?
Year Old Boy This is excellent and really gets
you thinking about what will
happen in Heaven. 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 Teays
Valley High School in
Pickaway County Brian had been dead only
hours, but his parents
desperately wanted every
piece of his life near them,
notes from classmates and
teachers, and 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 Moore 's 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. Here is
Brian's essay entitled "The Room."
Page 1 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
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, and 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. "For God so loved the world
that He gave His only Son, that
whoever believes in Him shall
not perish but have eternal
life." John 3:16 If you feel the same way
forward the link to this 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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