| 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
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. I
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 t his 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." |
