A Teenager's View of Heaven - Just Beautiful!

Not sure if anyone else has read this before?

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote.." It also was the last.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.Brian Moore

This is the entire essay he wrote. It is absolutely beautifully written.

Brian's Essay: 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 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.

[edit on 22-2-2008 by Thurisaz]

Wow, that's a really powerful read that makes you analyze your own life and actions. Thanks for posting this....

Thanks for posting, this was a very moving story.

This is the side of Christianity and other forms of Messianic religion that I like.

Very beautiful.
Is it a real experience he had?

reply to post by Clearskies



I am not sure. I think it was a writing exercise for school. He died soon after it.

Wow.
That is the most powerful story I have ever read. If one person accepts Jesus Christ because of this, then God will have taken the best from the worst tragedy. The loss of human life.

Jesus is the way, the truth and the light. He gave this boy the light of the truth and covered this boy's mortal life and its wrongdoings with his own precious blood. What a wonderful way to explain the lovingkindness and saving grace of Jesus.

This is a very powerful story, and written very well indeed. How wonderful this has been shared with whoever will read and contemplate its meaning. Thank you for the post. A very wonderful read.

I_R

reply to post by Thurisaz


Hi Thurisaz/

Sad, but enlightening and indeed powerful!
It brought tears to my eyes!
This story reminded me of ''St. Theodora's Journey Through the Aerial Toll-Houses''

According to the teachings of the Church, the particular judgment of souls by God is preceded by their torments, or rather a series of tests; these take place in the regions of the air, where the evil spirits have their domain (Eph. 6. 12).
"When the hour of my death came, I saw faces such as I had never seen before, and heard words such as I had never heard. What shall I say?
Cruel and hard to endure evils, of which I formerly had no idea, encountered me then because of my evil deeds.
However, through the prayers and the assistance of our common spiritual father Basil I was saved from these hardships.
But how shall I tell you about that physical pain, that stress and close feeling which the dying experience?
Like a man who, entirely naked, falls into a great fire, burns, melts, and turns into ashes;
read more

The teachings of the Aerial toll houses have been Debated by some Fathers of the Church...
Whilst others have Rejected the teachings


.. one may also depict the toll-houses as an inward personal battle in the soul which has been separated from the body.....
And on life after Death


Well, I believe God gives us and shows us many ways to make our lives good, or better it, or learn from our 'Mistakes'(sin) for it will be eternal...
If there is not a hell or a heaven, then nothing is lost living a righteous life!
But if there is a heaven and a hell.....there is much to lose!
Thanks again Thurisaz,


IX
helen

That was beautiful and very touching.

Thanks for sharing.

reply to post by MissInformation


I am impressed with how this person has interpreted what Christ has done and means to him.

reply to post by Thurisaz


I'm not a Christian but I am impressed too. Is this a vision he had?


[edit on 4-3-2008 by MissInformation]

well, it doesn't say that it was a vision, just a writing exercise for school project, makes me wonder though, if it may have been inspired by something higher?

i dont think this is sad at all. clearly, his vision was a much better place than the temporary existence on earth, and he recognized that. he's in a better place now, so there is no reason this should be sad at all.

A Christian saying that it's sad someone has passed on has always perplexed me, since it seems to be the exact opposite of what the entire religion is about. Or perhaps it's just a subconscious gesture of selfishness, as a sort of crab-in-a-bucket way.

thanks for posting, this was a great read.

The OP is truly humbling.

Sometimes it's just good to stop trying to work everything out, take time out, and ask ourselves, 'Am I ready for eternity?'

I was never wise enough to figure this out myself, but I'm immeasurably grateful someone took enough interest in me to prompt me to take this question seriously.

The busyness of life so easily crowds out the reality: we're all just a missed heartbeat away from the next life.

reply to post by Voidmaster



" The loss of human life. "


is normal....

but the loss of a soul is eternal

we are here for His glory

it's about saving souls, not saving the flesh




Props to the OP
That letter brought tears to my eyes

This is just an inspirational chainmail that was going around the internet for a while, it's not completely true. It is however a wonderful short story and thank you for sharing it with us on BTS!

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, an 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.

www.breakthechain.org

Brian Moore

Brian's Essay: 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 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.

[edit on 22-2-2008 by Thurisaz]

Its like Lord Jesus Christ gave him a vision, he wrote it down faithfully, and then God called him home as his work here on earth was completed.

beautiful, rich, stunningly moving. Thanks for sharing this.

Originally posted by InterestedObserver
This is just an inspirational chainmail that was going around the internet for a while, it's not completely true. It is however a wonderful short story and thank you for sharing it with us on BTS!

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, an 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.

www.breakthechain.org

Wow wee..... so its a chain mail ? a beautiful one that wraps up a great story inside a lie ? thats dirty cheap and wrong.

But the story itself is so beautiful.

That was so beautiful.

I had to read it to my kids. Thanks for shareing.

Originally posted by InterestedObserver
This is just an inspirational chainmail that was going around the internet for a while, it's not completely true. It is however a wonderful short story and thank you for sharing it with us on BTS!

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, an 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.

www.breakthechain.org

OMG

I don't think it is so much chain mail as much as it is plagarism at its finest...

either way, the true author needs to be added... JOSHUA HARRIS

thanks for informing us all!



[edit on 11-10-2008 by Thurisaz]