The Room

#1 12-29-2007, 08:34 AM

Someone sent this to me and I thought I would share with my AFF friends !!

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room .There were no distinguishing features, save for one wall covered in 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 I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told , I know exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system of my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in detail my memory could not match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I randomly began opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories. But others, a sense of shame so intense, I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file marked "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", even "Jokes I have laughed at." some were almost hilarious at their exactness, "Things I have yelled at my brothers" . but others I couldn't laugh at. "things I have done in my anger", " Thing I have murdered under my breath at my parents". I never ceased be surprised by the content. Often there were many more than I had expected. Sometimes fewer than I had hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of life that I had lived. Could it be possible that in the time in my 14 years to write each one of these thousands or possibly millions of cards. But each card confirmed the truth. Each one written in my own handwriting, each one signed with my signature.

When I pulled out a file marked "Songs I have listened to" I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, yet after 2 or 3 yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, ashamed. Not so much by the quality of music, but by the vast amount of time I knew the file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful thoughts", I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled it out only a inch, not willing to test its size, and I drew out a card. I shuddered at its content. I felt sick that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke in 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 an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now, I only had to empty it and burn its cards. But as I took one end and pounding it agents 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 agents 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 the handle, and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then I began to weep sobs so deep they started in my stomach and shook through me. I cried out of shame. The overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of files swirled in my tear filled eyes. No one must ever see this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then, as I pushed the away tears, I saw him. No , not him, not here, oh… anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as he opened the files and began to read their cards. I couldn't bear to watch his response. And moments I could bring myself to look at his face. I saw sorrow deeper than my own. He seamed intuitively to go to the worst boxes. Why did he have to read every one?

Then he turned and looked at me from across the room. he looked at me with pity in his eyes .but this pity didn't anger me. I dropped to my knees, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He came over to me and put his arm around my me. He could've said so many things, but he didn't say anything, he just cried with me.

Then he got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one of the room, he took out a card and one by one, began to sign his name over mine on each card. No! I yelled, rushing toward him, all I could think to say was, " No, no!" as I grabbed 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 continued 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 hope that this touches you just as it touched me