Nobody thinks my Fergie story was funny? Well don't think I'll tell you anything again! Just joking. I think I need to make up for that post with a story that I know everyone will love and is a little bit more serious. This is going to be a long post but please just bear with me?
Have you ever wondered what you would see if you could look over your whole life again? Would you take back all the harsh words? The lies? I have always had a hard time realizing the direct consequence of my actions and the effect they play on all people, especially the saviour Jesus Christ. So when I read this my mind was opened just a little bit and I was able to understand the atonement on a more personal level.
The Room
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that listed the authors or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different readings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was the one that read, 'People 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 every moment, big and small, in 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 names "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 have yelled at my brothers". Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I have done in my anger," "Things I have muttered under my breath to my parents". I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I had hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of life I had lived. Could it be possible that I have time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my handwriting. Each was signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I have listened to," I realized the files grew to contain their content. The cards were packed tightly, and 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 the music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to the file marked "Lustful thoughts," I felt a chill run through my entire 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 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 those 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 strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated ad utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning on 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 and almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box no 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 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 files shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But 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 own 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.
What cards are in YOUR file?
