MATURE • MENTOR • MINISTER • MAINTAIN • INVESTING IN BLACK FUTURES THRU STRATEGIC LEADERSHIP DEVELOPMENT

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 one's 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 it's small file was a crude catalog system for my life.  Here were written the actions of my every moment, both 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 title 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 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 there were fewer than I hoped.  I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life that 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 card signed with my own signature. 

When I pulled out the file marked "TV SHOWS THAT 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, ashamed, not so much by the quality of the 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 it's 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.  It's 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 couldn't 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 up!  Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to it's slot.  Leaning my forehead against a wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh!

And then I saw it!  The title "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 me throughout!  I fell on my knees and cried.  I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.  The row 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 arms 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!  "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 and so very 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 the 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 begotten Son, 
that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.
John 3:16

On May 27, 1997, Brian Moore, a 17-year-old student at Teays Valley High School, about 15 miles southwest of Columbus, Ohio, survived hitting a utility pole, only to step on a live power line while exiting his vehicle.  He was killed instantly.  Hours after his death, his bereaving family found the story of "The Room" in his locker at school.  The essay was read at his funeral and friends and family, in their grief, began forwarding it to others in earnest. It was published under Brian's byline in the Columbus (Ohio) Dispatch on June 1, 1999. 

Unfortunately, Brian did not write "The Room."  On June 2, 1999, the Dispatch, ran a follow-up piece in which they revealed that Moore was not the author.  Rather, it was written two years prior by Joshua Harris, a missionary, author and, now, senior pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, MD.  "The Room" was originally published in the Spring, 1995, issue of Harris' "New Attitude" magazine.  In the Dispatch article, Beth and Bruce Moore admitted that their son, Brian, had told them he wrote the essay as an assignment for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes.  "The Room" was re-printed in April, 1997 - just one month before Brian's death - as part of Harris' 1995 book I Kissed Dating Goodbye.  "I'm positive he said he wrote this," Brian's mother is quoted as saying.  "If he was here, I'd wring his neck." 

Brian's story and "The Room" are extremely touching on their own, but together form an irresistible one-two punch.  However, forwarding the two together propagates an unfortunate lie that has long served as a bitter and embarrassing scar on Brian's legacy for his friends and family.  Please, break this chain.