Inspirational Christian Story
In that place between wakefulness and dreams,
I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for
one wall covered with small index card files, which stretched from floor
to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my
attention was one that read "People I Have Liked." I opened it and began
flipping 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 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."
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 short 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 own signature.
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 an 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
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 3 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. 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
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.
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
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.
- by Joshua Harris
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Date Created: 01/10/03