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---------------------- Forwarded by Jackie Hewett/ET&S/Enron on 03/07/2001
03:55 PM --------------------------- Ronnie Brickman 03/06/2001 01:15 PM To: gennallen@hotmail.com, Matt Ammerman <upper.room.youth@crosswalkmail.com<, amy.baker@enron.com @ Enron, ballardjk@yahoo.com, Bob Bandel/ET&S/Enron@Enron, CallieB23@aol.com, lylelinda@logixonline.net, David Boothe/ET&S/Enron@Enron, sjbrick@yahoo.com, "lori britton" <lori.britton@dumas-k12.net<, Ricky Brown/ET&S/Enron@Enron, David Carbajal/ET&S/Enron@Enron, rd_cates@yahoo.com, sarah_kate_2002@yahoo.com., jed@amaonline.com, <mkdean@pldi.net<, sdevor@hotmail.com, dodsonshelley@aol.com, George E Gardner/ET&S/Enron@Enron, aalbers@amaonline.com, <kristi@tcfa.org<, graybillart@us.inter.net, vpgraybill@nwosu.edu, sally_gunter@hotmail.com, "mark haney" <jmh@logixonline.net<, Jackie Hewett/ET&S/Enron@Enron, Danny Hostetler/ET&S/Enron@Enron, Randy Howard/ET&S/Enron@Enron, <JHubbard@NEELY.com<, Rich Jolly/ET&S/Enron@Enron, Fred Jordan/ET&S/Enron@Enron, <dickkauk@swbell.net<, Steve Klimesh/ET&S/Enron@Enron, "Chelsea Kroger" <chelseakroger@hotmail.com<, Bobbie LaChapelle/GPGFIN/Enron@Enron, Rick Loveless/ET&S/Enron@Enron, Sigrid MacPherson/GPGFIN/Enron@Enron, <floral@logixonline.net<, <gcmlwd@nts-online.net<, Angela Mendez/GPGFIN/Enron@Enron, Greg Mall/ET&S/Enron@Enron, "Rhett O'Briant" <robriant@itlnet.net<, John Ragsdale/ET&S/Enron@Enron, "Robyn Penry" <rrpenry@hotmail.com<, dross@logixonline.net, simpson5@itl2.itlnet.net, <cherylas@amaonline.com<, <rsturkie@arn.net<, artaylor124@hotmail.com, mthomason@logixonline.net, <TTouch5923@aol.com<, Lonnie Trout/ET&S/Enron@Enron, Dianne Unruh/ET&S/Enron@Enron, mwallace@fone.net, Gloria Wier/ET&S/Enron@Enron, Walt Williams/ET&S/Enron@Enron, mmpmw@aol.com cc: Subject: The Room This is an old story, maybe you haven't heard or seen it before. I thought it was worth passing on. ???? I think it will touch your heart............. <<<? About this story - Here is some background on the author that you <<<? might be interested in.? Procrastinating as usual, 17-year-old <<<? Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for the <<<? Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting. It was his turn to <<<? lead the discussion so he sat down and wrote. <<<? He showed the essay, titled "The Room" to his mother, Beth, before <<<? he headed out the door. "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 - the crepe <<<? paper that had adorned his locker during his senior football season, 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. <<<?????Brian seemed to excel at everything he did. He was an honor student. <<<? He told his parents he loved them "a hundred times a day", Mrs. Moore <<<? said.? He was a star wide receiver for the Teary's Valley Football team <<<? and had earned a four-year scholarship to Capital University in Columbus <<<? because of his athletic and academic abilities.? He took it upon himself <<<? to learn how to help a fellow student who used a wheelchair at school. <<<? During one homecoming ceremony, Brian walked on his tiptoes so that the <<<? girl he was escorting wouldn't be embarrassed about being taller than him. <<<? He adored his kid brother, Bruce, now 14. He often escorted his <<<? grand-mother, Evelyn Moore, who lives in Columbus, to church.? "I always <<<? called him the "deep thinker", Evelyn said of her eldest grandson. <<< <<<?????Two years after his death, his family still struggles to understand <<<? why Brian was taken from them. They find comfort at the cemetery where <<<? Brian is buried, just a few blocks from their home. They visit daily. A <<<? candle and dozens of silk and real flowers keep vigil over the gravesite. <<< <<<?????The Moore's 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 again someday." Mrs. Moore said.? "It just hurts so bad now." <<< <<<? ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ <<< <<<?????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 <<<? 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 and began flipping <<<? through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that <<< <<<?????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 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 <<<? 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. <<<? 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." <<< <<<?????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?
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