It's Choice That Determines Your Destiny. - Brian Moore's (Must-Read) Essay

Feb. 13, 2008 - Brian Moore's (Must-Read) Essay

Hey Y'all,

I recieved this forward from a close friend who is at BJU right now. I read over this e-mail again and again, and it brought me to tears. It's long but I think you'll really like it. At the bottom I'll write my reflections on the essay, it's very well done and I can't believe that a 17 year old boy could have such a way with words! He really inspired me!

Miranda

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 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 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 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 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 wasted time that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," a chill ran
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 was "People I Have Shared the Gospel
With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost
unused. I pulled on it s 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 out of shame, from the over-whelming 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 smile d 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.

Everytime I read it I get this shiver up and down my back. There's so much truth to what he said. I've done so many things in my life that I regret doing. We call ourselves christians but we do nothign with our faith. We go by everyday and think that because he has paid for our sins already, it's ok to sin as long as we repent later. I would go into this subject but it would take me far too long to discuss the matter. Besides, the emotional conflict I have with this issue is personal. I think it's personal to everyone in their own little way. So I would like to go deeper into the matter of the "Shared Faith" issue. We think that it's enough just being saved, that others will share the gospel when it's really up to all of us. We think that God saved us and it should be enough to live a boring life by obeying God and trying to stay out of sin. If everyone had this though-that someone else would share their faith so we wouldn't have to, or because we don't have time or don't have people skills because we are shy, no one would be reached. There are so many people out there hurting, they have this void in their heart. They have this burning desire to worship something, so they worship the sin that they are living in when that burning desire was put there by God so that they would willling WANT to serve Him. We need to be willing to serve Him so we can reach those hurting people. When you think about it, everytime you have the opertunity to witness to some one and you choose not to, you have made the decision not to save their soul from going to Hell. So many people tried to reach out to me when I was lost, I think it would be the least I can do to try to reach out to someone else like so many did for me. God died for us, all he asks is that we try to live a pure life and reach out to others. He knows we aren't perfect, and he doesn't expect us to be. He wants us to atleast try to be more like Him though, after all, we were made in His image... What kind of image are we setting for Him, not a very good one at all! I could go on and on but I have run out of time. May God bless you today as you reflect on this.

~Miranda~

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Comments

Feb. 13, 2008 - Yo!

Posted by EyesonAslan

Hey, thanx for stopping bye! I'm Dylan. You might have already known that, idk. But anyhoo... yeah, I understand about the music stuff. I listne to some stuff that kinda scares my parents. lol. It's all Christian music, but its just really hard. Well twas cool to hear from ya. I'll go ahead and add you to my f-list if thats alright. Later.

Peace