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:	post by xmikex at 2006-10-05 14:50:55

I made a re-write of my own:

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. 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. He re 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 fill
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 "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 wasted 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. 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.

And then I saw it.. The title was "People I Have
Shared the Gos pel 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 Marty Janetty.
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 s aw 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 Marty Janetty covered mine. It was
written with His blood. He gently took the card
back. He smiled a sad smi le 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 Marty Janetty who strengthens
me."-Shawn Michaels. 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 Marty Janetty will touch their lives also. My
"People I shared the gospel with" file just got
bigger, how abo ut yours?

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