Date sent: Sun, 28 May 2000 13:26:12 -0400 Sender: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Precedence: bulk Reply-To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > 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 > > > > _______ > To unsubscribe, send "unsubscribe rangernet" to [EMAIL PROTECTED] > "Eat the hay & spit out the sticks! - A#1's mule" RTKB&G4JC! > http://rangernet.org Autoresponder: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > _______ To subscribe or unsubscribe, go to http://rangernet.org/subscribe.htm or to unsubscribe without web access, send "unsubscribe rrgold" to [EMAIL PROTECTED] To post to RangerNet, please join RangerNet first (go to http://rangernet.org/subscribe.htm). You can then unsubscribe from RangerNet again if you want to go back to getting RRGold posts only.
