Enron Mail

From:theresa.zucha@enron.com
To:joanne.rozycki@enron.com, debra.perlingiere@enron.com,holly.keiser@enron.com, sandy.haldeman@enron.com, martha.keesler@enron.com, esmeralda.gonzalez@enron.com, keegan.farrell@enron.com, e-mail <.adela@enron.com<, e-mail <.brenda@enron.com<, e-mail <
Subject:FW: How Tarnished Will Your Handle Be.
Cc:
Bcc:
Date:Tue, 23 Oct 2001 10:34:23 -0700 (PDT)

this is awesome!

Theresa Zucha
Enron North America Corp.
1400 Smith St., EB3884
Houston, TX 77002
Phone: 713/345-4582
Fax: 713/646-3490

-----Original Message-----
From: "Cinda Salinas" <csalinas@shipperswarehouse.com<@ENRON
Sent: Tuesday, October 23, 2001 12:00 PM
To: Mary Dean; Zucha, Theresa; Thrower Deanna SSgt 75 MSS/DPMAR-O; Alicia Montemayor; jwilburn@shipperswarehouse.com; akoffel@shipperswarehouse.com; petemontemayor@shipperswarehouse.com; amcguffey; MARK COMIRE; lefthander@juno.com; LindaE1002@aol.com; lyarddog@yahoo.com; SWOG2000@aol.com; Debbie Burnham; BSpears@rifood.com; Thomas B. Gage \(E-mail\)
Subject: Fw: How Tarnished Will Your Handle Be.

Wow, this is really awsome! God is so great, and His love is so infinite!
I wish I had e-mails for those who don't already know Christ and what He has
done for us, but you will all enjoy this.
love ya'
cinda

----- Original Message -----
From: "Thrower Deanna SSgt 75 MSS/DPMAR-O" <Deanna.Thrower@HILL.af.mil<
Sent: Tuesday, October 23, 2001 8:00 AM
Subject: FW: How Tarnished Will Your Handle Be.


< If you haven't already read before...great message.
<
< -----Original Message-----
< From: Benning Quentin TSgt 311 CS/SCMP
< [mailto:Quentin.Benning@brooks.af.mil]
< Sent: Tuesday, October 23, 2001 6:22 AM
< To: 'Hayes, Tracy D'; 'Michele Willis'; 'Sanders, Elizabeth C, TSgt, 11
< FM/FMF'; Thrower Deanna SSgt 75 MSS/DPMAR-O; 'Williams, Zetra'
< Subject: FW: How Tarnished Will Your Handle Be.
<
<
< very good
<
< -----Original Message-----
< From: Williams, Zetra MSgt [mailto:WILLIAMZ@eur.disa.mil]
< Sent: Tuesday, October 23, 2001 2:48 AM
< Subject: FW: How Tarnished Will Your Handle Be.
<
<
< Lengthy...but good reading...
<
< Zetra M. Williams, MSgt, USAF
< DISA Defensive Information Operations Sr. Analyst
< DSN 314-434-5314
< CMCL 011-49-711-68639-5314
< Subject: FW: How Tarnished Will Your Handle Be.
< The Room... beware this is really powerful.
<
< 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 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 write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? 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 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, 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 mattered now. I had to empty it and burn the cards.
< 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.
<
< 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. Then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt
< 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. 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.
<
< "For God sent not his son into the world to condemn the
< world, but that the world through him might be saved."
< John 3:17
<
< 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?
<
<
<
<
<
<