This is a great devotion. I'm told that the orginal author is Joshua
Harris, but several others claim to have wrote it.
I've used this devotion a few times with youth and adults. It sure does get
the point across.
Cookie
>From: "Commander Pier" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
>To: "RangerNet" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
>Subject: [RR] The Door
>Date: Sun, 28 May 2000 13:26:12 -0400
>
>THE ROOM
>
>In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
>There were no distinguishing features save for one wall covered with
>small index card files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly
>endlessly in either direction, having very different headings. As I drew
>near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read,
>"People I Have Liked", I opened it and began flipping 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 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 short life to write 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 own
>signature.
>
>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 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 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 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. 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
>
>
>
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