Archive for NEWS, prophecy, dreams, ZionsCRY, Bible, teaching, visions
  Forum Index -> Misc

I can only imagine

> [Original Message]
> From: <>
> To:
> Date: 7/3/2010 10:11:10 AM
> Subject: FW: I Can Only Imagine
> I can only imagine...
> Heaven as written by a 17 Year Old Boy
> 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
> 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
> 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
> 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
> 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
> 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
> 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
> 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
> My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about
> 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.
> ____________________________________________________________

The LORD is my Shepherd
Here is a beautiful song by father and daugher sung in Africaanse.

. Forum Index -> Misc
Page 1 of 1
Create your own free forum | Buy a domain to use with your forum