[sword-devel] An off topic, but seeming necessary email
David Trotz
sword-devel@crosswire.org
Fri, 5 Apr 2002 17:39:31 -0800
This is a multi-part message in MIME format.
------=_NextPart_000_0008_01C1DCC8.D804D5D0
Content-Type: text/plain;
charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
David,
That was a good letter, I liked reading it, I rarely read those types of =
letters since I get them so often in my email, but this one I read. I =
went ahead and checked it's validity... Here is what I found, not too =
far from the truth http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/theroom.htm It =
is a shame Christians feel they must embelish stories to get people to =
read them. Thanks again for sharing David.
In Christ,
David Trotz
----- Original Message -----=20
From: David Overcash=20
To: sword-devel@crosswire.org=20
Sent: Friday, April 05, 2002 4:00 PM
Subject: [sword-devel] An off topic, but seeming necessary email
Hey guys,
I got this email today, really brought me to think on a lot so I =
thought I would forward it:
The story behind the story "The Room". 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. =20
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. =20
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. =
=20
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.=20
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. =20
The Room... =20
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.=20
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. =20
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.=20
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. =20
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 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. >=20
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 runthrough 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. =20
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.=20
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.=20
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.=20
=20
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.=20
=20
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." ---Phil. =
4:13=20
"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=20
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?
-David Overcash
webmaster@eurosoccerclub.net
AIM: FunnyLookinHat
---
Outgoing mail is certified Virus Free.
Checked by AVG anti-virus system (http://www.grisoft.com).
Version: 6.0.338 / Virus Database: 189 - Release Date: 3/14/2002
------=_NextPart_000_0008_01C1DCC8.D804D5D0
Content-Type: text/html;
charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN">
<HTML><HEAD>
<META http-equiv=3DContent-Type content=3D"text/html; =
charset=3Diso-8859-1">
<META content=3D"MSHTML 6.00.2715.400" name=3DGENERATOR>
<STYLE></STYLE>
</HEAD>
<BODY bgColor=3D#ffffff>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>David,</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>That was a good letter, I liked reading =
it, I=20
rarely read those types of letters since I get them so often in my =
email, but=20
this one I read. I went ahead and checked it's validity... Here is what =
I found,=20
not too far from the truth <A=20
href=3D"http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/theroom.htm">http://www.trut=
horfiction.com/rumors/theroom.htm</A> It=20
is a shame Christians feel they must embelish stories to get people to =
read=20
them. Thanks again for sharing David.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>In Christ,</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>David Trotz</FONT></DIV>
<BLOCKQUOTE dir=3Dltr=20
style=3D"PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; =
BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px">
<DIV style=3D"FONT: 10pt arial">----- Original Message ----- </DIV>
<DIV=20
style=3D"BACKGROUND: #e4e4e4; FONT: 10pt arial; font-color: =
black"><B>From:</B>=20
<A title=3Dwebmaster@eurosoccerclub.net=20
href=3D"mailto:webmaster@eurosoccerclub.net">David Overcash</A> </DIV>
<DIV style=3D"FONT: 10pt arial"><B>To:</B> <A =
title=3Dsword-devel@crosswire.org=20
=
href=3D"mailto:sword-devel@crosswire.org">sword-devel@crosswire.org</A> =
</DIV>
<DIV style=3D"FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Sent:</B> Friday, April 05, 2002 =
4:00=20
PM</DIV>
<DIV style=3D"FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Subject:</B> [sword-devel] An off =
topic, but=20
seeming necessary email</DIV>
<DIV><BR></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>Hey guys,</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>I got this email today, really =
brought me to=20
think on a lot so I thought I would forward it:</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV>
<DIV>The story behind the story "The Room". 17-year-old Brian Moore =
had only=20
a<BR>short time to write something for a class. The subject was what =
Heaven=20
was<BR>like. "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a =
killer,=20
It's<BR>the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote." It also was the=20
last. <BR><BR>Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when =
a=20
cousin found it while<BR>cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary =
Valley=20
High School. Brian had<BR>been dead only hours, but his parents =
desperately=20
wanted every piece of his<BR>life near them-notes from classmates and=20
teachers, his homework. <BR><BR>Only two months before, he had=20
handwritten the essay about encountering<BR>Jesus in a file room full =
of cards=20
detailing every moment of the teen's life<BR>But it was only after =
Brian's=20
death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that<BR>their son had =
described his=20
view of heaven. It makes such an impact that<BR>people want to share =
it. You=20
feel like you are there." Mr. Moore said. <BR><BR>Brian Moore =
died May=20
27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving<BR>home from a =
friend's=20
house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in<BR>Pickaway County =
and struck=20
a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck<BR>unharmed but stepped on a =
downed=20
power line and was electrocuted. <BR><BR>The Moores framed a copy of =
Brian's=20
essay and hung it among the family<BR>portraits in the living room. "I =
think=20
God used him to make a point. I think<BR>we were meant to find it and =
make=20
something out of it, " Mrs. Moore said of<BR>the essay. She and her =
husband=20
want to share their son's vision of life<BR>after death. "I'm happy =
for Brian.=20
I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see<BR>him. <BR><BR><BR>The=20
Room... <BR><BR>In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I =
found=20
myself in the room.<BR>There were no distinguishing features except =
for the=20
one wall covered with<BR>small index card files. They were like the =
ones in=20
libraries that list<BR>titles by author or subject in alphabetical =
order. But=20
these files, which<BR>stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly =
endless in=20
either direction,<BR>had very different headings. <BR><BR>As I drew =
near the=20
wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one<BR>that read =
"Girls I=20
have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the<BR>cards. I =
quickly=20
shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names<BR>written on =
each=20
one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I<BR>was. This =
lifeless=20
room with its small files was a crude catalog system for<BR>my life. =
Here were=20
written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in<BR>a detail =
my=20
memory couldn't match. <BR><BR>A sense of wonder and curiosity, =
coupled=20
with horror, stirred within me as<BR>I began randomly opening files =
and=20
exploring their content. Some brought joy<BR>and sweet memories; =
others a=20
sense of shame and regret so intense that I<BR>would look over my =
shoulder to=20
see if anyone was watching. <BR><BR>A file named "Friends" was next to =
one=20
marked "Friends I have betrayed."<BR>The titles ranged from the =
mundane to the=20
outright weird. "Books I Have<BR>Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I =
have=20
Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed<BR>at." Some were almost hilarious in =
their=20
exactness: "Things I've yelled at<BR>my brothers." Others I couldn't =
laugh at:=20
"Things I Have Done in My Anger,"<BR>"Things I Have Muttered Under My =
Breath=20
at My Parents." I never ceased to be<BR>surprised by the =
contents. =20
<BR><BR>Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes =
fewer than=20
I<BR>hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had =
lived.=20
Could<BR>it be possible that I had the time in my years to each of =
these=20
thousands or<BR>even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this =
truth.=20
Each was written<BR>in my own handwriting. Each signed with my=20
signature. > <BR><BR>When I pulled out the file marked =
"TV=20
Shows I have watched ," I realized<BR>the files grew to contain their=20
contents. The cards were packed tightly, and<BR>yet after two or three =
yards,=20
I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it,<BR>shamed, not so much =
by the=20
quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew<BR>that file =
represented.=20
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I<BR>felt a chill =
runthrough=20
my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not<BR>willing to test =
its size,=20
and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed<BR>content. I felt =
sick to=20
think that such a moment had been recorded. =
<BR><BR>An=20
almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No =
one<BR>must=20
ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to=20
destroy<BR>them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size =
didn't=20
matter now. I<BR>had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it =
at one=20
end and began<BR>pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a =
single card.=20
I became<BR>desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong =
as=20
steel when I<BR>tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I =
returned=20
the file to its<BR>slot. <BR><BR>Leaning my forehead against the =
wall, I=20
let out a long, self-pitying sigh.<BR>And then I saw it.. The title =
bore=20
"People I Have Shared the Gospel With."<BR>The handle was brighter =
than those=20
around it, newer, almost unused.<BR></DIV>
<DIV>I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches =
long<BR>fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on =
one hand.=20
And<BR>then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they =
hurt.=20
They<BR>started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees =
and=20
cried. I<BR>cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. =
The=20
rows of file<BR>shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must =
ever, ever=20
know of this<BR>room. I must lock it up and hide the key. <BR></DIV>
<DIV>But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not =
Him.=20
Not<BR>here Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to =
open=20
the<BR>files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His =
response. And in=20
the<BR>moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a =
sorrow deeper=20
than<BR>my own.<BR><BR>He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. =
Why did=20
He have to read<BR>every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from =
across=20
the room. He<BR>looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a =
pity that=20
didn't anger<BR>me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands =
and began=20
to cry again.<BR>He walked over and put His arm around me. He could =
have said=20
so many things.<BR>But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.=20
<BR><BR>Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting =
at one=20
end<BR>of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign =
His name=20
over<BR>mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could =
find to=20
say<BR>was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't =
be on=20
these<BR>cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so =
alive.=20
The name<BR>of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.. He =
gently=20
took the<BR>card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the=20
cards. <BR> <BR>I don't think I'll ever understand how He =
did it so=20
quickly, but the next<BR>instant it seemed I heard Him close the last =
file and=20
walk back to my side.<BR>He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, =
"It is=20
finished." I stood up,<BR>and He led me out of the room. There was no =
lock on=20
its door. There were<BR>still cards to be =
written. <BR> </DIV>
<DIV> "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." =
---Phil.=20
4:13 <BR><BR>"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, =
that=20
whoever<BR>believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." =
---John=20
3:16 <BR><BR>If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as =
you can=20
so the<BR>love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I =
shared the=20
gospel<BR>with" file just got bigger, how about yours?</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>-David Overcash</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2><A=20
=
href=3D"mailto:webmaster@eurosoccerclub.net">webmaster@eurosoccerclub.net=
</A></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>AIM: FunnyLookinHat</FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2><BR>---<BR>Outgoing mail is certified =
Virus=20
Free.<BR>Checked by AVG anti-virus system (<A=20
=
href=3D"http://www.grisoft.com">http://www.grisoft.com</A>).<BR>Version: =
6.0.338=20
/ Virus Database: 189 - Release Date:=20
3/14/2002</FONT></DIV></DIV></BLOCKQUOTE></BODY></HTML>
------=_NextPart_000_0008_01C1DCC8.D804D5D0--