|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
| In that place
between wakefulness & dreams, I found myself in a room. There were no
distinguish- |
| ing features in this room.
Except, the one wall was |
| covered with small 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 &
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 "Girls
I Have Liked." I opened it & 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 cataloge system for my life. Here were written the actions of my
every moment, big & small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. |
| A sense of
wonder & curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening |
| files & exploring their
content. Some brought joy & sweet memories; others a sense of shame & 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 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 Listend To", I realized the files grew to
contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, & 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 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, & 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 in 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 & burn the cards. But as I took it at one end &
began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became
desperate & pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear
it. |
| Defeated
& 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----"People I Have Shared the Gospel With". the handle was brighter
than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle & a small box
not more than three inched 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
& shook through me. I fell on my knees & 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
& hide the key. |
| But then as I
pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him, I thought. Not here. Oh,
anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files & read the
cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments that 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 & 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 & began to cry again. He walked over & 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 & walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took
out a file & one by one, began to sign His name over mine |
| on each card.
|
|
"No!" I shouted rushing 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
& 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 & walk back to
my side. |
| I stood up, & He led me
out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be
written. |
| |
| |
| |
|
|
