The Room
Author Unknown
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in a room. There was no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones found 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.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a 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 included, "Books I have read", "Lies I have told", "Comfort I have given", "Jokes I have laughed at". Some were almost hilarious,"Things I've yelled at my brothers". Others I couldn't laugh at, like, "Things I have done in my anger", "Things I have muttered under my breath". Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes less than I had hoped.
The volume of the cards overwhelmed me. Could it be possible that I had the time in my life 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. Each reflected some aspect of my life.
When I pulled out the file marked, "Songs I have listened to", I realized the files contained the contents of my favorite songs. 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 my 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 and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. I thought of the many other things I have done or said for which I would be deeply ashamed for others to know. You know those private things I thought would be forever hidden. But, here they were, all of them, every one of them. Oh, how sick I felt.
A kind of rage broke out in me. One thought dominated my mind; "No one must ever see these cards!" In a 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 realized that 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 feeling 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 said, "People I have shared the gospel with". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost never used. 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 them I began to weep. I cried out of the overwhelming shame of it all. No one must 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. No, not Him. Not now. Not here. Oh, anyone else, 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 that passed I could not bring myself to look at His face. Then in a moment I saw His eyes. 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 an 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 and every 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. These are my mistakes, not His. These are my sins, not His. But there it was, written in red, the name Jesus!
The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with Him blood. As I looked closer at the card I couldn't believe my eyes. The card became empty. The sins, the mistakes, the mis-deeds were no longer visible. They vanished before my eyes.
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 in 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, with tears in his eyes, and said, "It is finished".
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. He looked me in the eyes and said, "There is no lock on the door, it is open for all to see on that great day of my return. There are still cards to be written. Please let me guide you through the rest of your life and I'll make this room a place that will bring glory and honor to our Father. We will make this room a place I will come to show the world your love for me. Will you let me lead you today?"
Have a great day with Jesus and Be There!
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