The Afterlife

[patrick]

In 1995 Brian Moore was seventeen and at High School when he wrote this wonderful short story about the afterlife. Shortly afterwards he was involved in a terrible car crash, which he survived, only to be electrocuted by stepping upon downed power lines. His family found this story some years later.

The Room By Brian Keith Moore In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save 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 right to left as far as the eye could see, had very different headings. As I walked up to the wall of files,the first to catch my attention was one that read, "People 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 entire life. The actions of my every moment, big and small, were written in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, mixed 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 common, everyday things to the not-so-common-"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 Have Yelled At My Brothers and Sisters." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in 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 less than I had hoped. The sheer volume of the life I had lived overwhelmed me. Could it be possible that I had time in my 17 years to write each of these thousands or millions of cards? But each card confirmed the truth. Each card was written in my own handwriting. Each card was signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To", 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 music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented. When I came to the 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 such a moment had been recorded. A feeling of humiliation and anger ran through my body. 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 had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took the file 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. That was when I saw it. The file 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 3 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 the hurt 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. Then as I looked up through my tears, I saw Him enter the room. No, please not Him. Not here. 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. The few times I looked at His face I saw such sadness that it tore at my heart. 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 in 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 the door. There were still cards to be written.

 

full article 

http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/t/theroom.htm

[patrick]

It is probably fair to say this story is enculturated, nevertheless it is inspiring. 

[patrick]

HEAVENLY ADVICE

 'God doesn't force anyone to heaven, hell, or anywhere. We are free to choose and build our destiny. Nevertheless, all destinies eventually lead back to God.'  Edgar Cayce

' If I lived a billion years more, in my body or yours, there's not a single experience on Earth that could ever be as good as being dead. Nothing.'  Dr Dianne Morrissey 

' People who have spiritual love will enter heaven. People who do not have spiritual love will enter hell.'  Emmanuel Swedenborg

From Luke 10:25-28

²⁵ On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

   ²⁶ “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

 ²⁷ He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’

   ²⁸ “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

 

[RL]

ive dreamt of my own room too..

read my report card on working life and groaned. hahaha

[patrick]

yes Reb it is humbling to think about your (mine) own room. Have belief brother.

Reb said:

ive dreamt of my own room too..

read my report card on working life and groaned. hahaha