While cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School.
Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece
of his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, 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 Moores 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."
Brian's Essay:
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
tosee 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 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 >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.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, 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
"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever
believes
in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."
"The Room" was actually written by speaker and author Joshua Harris and is in his book "I Kissed Dating Goodbye." He says it was something that he put on paper as the result of a dream he had while in Puerto Rico for the 1995 Billy Graham Crusade and published in his magazine the same year. Interestingly, Brian Moore was also real. He did attend the high school described in the eRumor and lost his life as the result of a traffic accident shortly after having presented "The Room" for the meeting of Christian athletes. His friends and family believed that he had written it and the story about Brian was passed along to others sincerely. Joshua Harris told TruthOrFiction.com that he appreciates people getting the facts straight about the origins of "The Room" but is more concerned that people hear the message of the story than knowing who actually wrote it.
CLICK HERE to read more about Joshua Harris
Photo of Jesus is by Danny Hohlbohm. CLICK HERE to view his prints available for sale.
