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 seemingly
endlessly 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 "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 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 20 years 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 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 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 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 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.
Joshua Harris
I had a LINK to this great website
but it is no longer available
A printable version of The
Room is available
HERE
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