Christianity Oasis Forum

[Angelwings]

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.."


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"

"JESUS IS LORD"