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What Heaven Was Like
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's parents had forgotten about the
essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the
teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School.
Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents
desperately wanted every piece of his life near
them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework.
Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay
about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards
detailing every moment of the teen's life. But it
was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore
realized that their son had described his view of
heaven. It makes such an impact that people want to
share it. "You feel like you are there"
Mr. Moore said.
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.
The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it
among the family portraits in the living room.
"I think God used him to make a point. I think
we were meant to find it and make something out of
it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her
husband want to share their son's vision of life after
death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's
in heaven. I know I'll see him.
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.
"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."- John 3:16
If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as
you can so the love of Jesus will touch their lives
also. My "People I shared the gospel
with" file just got bigger, how about yours?
IF THERE IS ONE MESSAGE THAT I HAVE READ
THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE
WORLD, IT IS THIS ONE,
PLEASE PASS THIS TO EVERYONE
YOU KNOW, CHRISTIAN OR NOT!
"LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE
CARD"
AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!
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© by Brain Moore |
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