The Room

The following is from an email that was circulating last year. It is a little long, but well worth the read. Read this for yourself, then read it for others. Whenever I read it, multiple feelings overwhelm me. I hope this touches you in some way... Kyle

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Procrastinating as usual, 17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting. It was his turn to lead the discussion so he sat down and wrote. He showed the essay, titled "The Room" to his mother, Beth, before he headed out the door. "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.

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 - the crepe paper that had adorned his locker during his senior football season, notes from classmates and teachers, and his homework. 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.

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.

Brian seemed to excel at everything he did. He was an honor student. He told his parents he loved them "a hundred times a day", Mrs. Moore said. He was a star wide receiver for the Teary's Valley Football team and had earned a four-year scholarship to Capital University in Columbus because of his athletic and academic abilities. He took it upon himself to learn how to help a fellow student who used a wheelchair at school. During one homecoming ceremony, Brian walked on his tiptoes so that the girl he was escorting wouldn't be embarrassed about being taller than him. He adored his kid brother, Bruce, now 14. He often escorted his grand-mother, Evelyn Moore, who lives in Columbus, to church. "I always called him the "deep thinker", Evelyn said of her eldest grandson.

Two years after his death, his family still struggles to understand why Brian was taken from them. They find comfort at the cemetery where Brian is buried, just a few blocks from their home. They visit daily. A candle and dozens of silk and real flowers keep vigil over the gravesite. 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 again someday." Mrs. Moore said. "It just hurts so badly now."

Here's the essay:

The Room...

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? 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 "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 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 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. 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. 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, and 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.

This story is the best e-mail story I have ever read. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."

My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?

Random Acts of Kindness

Regent University’s motto and essence is “Christian Leadership to Change the World.” The curriculum touted by the School of Undergraduate Studies challenge students to change the world through the influence of leadership. Jim Kouzes and Barry Posner, authors of The Leadership Challenge, offer us an often quoted definition of leadership: “A relationship between those who aspire to lead and those who choose to follow” (1). While this is fine for describing and analyzing the many facets of leadership in the typical leader-follower dyad; however, there exists another, more simplistic, yet just as powerful type of behavior—random acts of kindness.

According to wikipedia.com, a random act of kindness is “a purportedly selfless act performed by someone to either help or cheer up a stranger, for no reason other than to make people happier. Either spontaneous or planned in advance, random acts of kindness are encouraged by various communities” (2). Random acts of kindness come in many various forms, including monetary gifts, food, clothes, unsolicited favors, and gestures of service. Random acts of kindness are so pervasive, there is even several organizations dedicated to them, one of which is The Random Acts of Kindness Foundation, whose mission is to inspire people to practice kindness and to “provide educational and community ideas, guidance, and other resources to kindness participants” (3).

One great aspect of random acts of kindness is that anyone can do them. Anyone young, old, or in between can be kind. Kindess is not a too used by the rich, nor is it a gift reserved only for the poor. Another characteristic is that random acts of kindness can be delivered in almost any situation. Whether you spend your time in an office, in your home, on the beach, or anywhere in between. Even further, random acts of kindness can be done at any time. You don’t have to wait for someone’s birthday, an anniversary, or Christmas. Random acts of kindness can be done by anybody, any where, and at any time.

I did not decide to write this post out of the blue; very recently, I was the recipient of a random act of kindness. A kindred spirit recognized the value of initiating a random act of kindness. While the act was a monetary gift, her blessing and wish was simply to enjoy a meal with my wife. As many of you know, working full-time and taking classes full-time is not an easy balance. Sometimes the people in our lives can feel unappreciated or even neglected. The timing of this gift along with the specific blessing is nothing short of God-inspired.

An interesting thing happened with this random act of kindness. While at first I felt a little funny and unworthy of this person’s generosity, I began to realize that God blesses people in many ways. She was blessed with the joy of the random act, and I will be blessed to spend a nice evening with my wife. Moreover, however, I have a deeper understanding of God’s blessings, and a renewed spirit of my own giving to others. Random acts of kindness are a simple way to share God’s love.

So, have you ever initiated a random act of kindness? If so, how long has it been since you have? If not, why not? Consider initiating a random act of kindness today. Do it for someone you only casually know, or do it for a complete stranger. It does not matter. Help a neighbor mow their lawn, go out of your way to assist a co-worker, or bless a complete stranger with a random act of kindness. If you do, you will not only be a blessing to someone else, but you will assuredly be blessed.

References:
(1) Kouzes, J. M., & Posner, B. Z. (2002). The leadership challenge. San Francisco, Jossey-Bass.
(2) Wikipedia definition: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Random_act_of_kindness

(3) Random Acts of Kindness Foundation: http://www.actsofkindness.org/

Image: Weinholds.org; http://weinholds.org/images/kindness.gif

No Time to Be Human

In what seemed like only a few short moments, last Thursday, I lost a battle that I had waged against this year's bug. Yes, I actually became sick! For the first time in four years--to the day--I got sick. So what? Well, my "scheduled" life went into a mild tailspin.

By eight o'clock Thursday evening, I was literally too sick to type. Looking at the computer screen made my head feel as if there was a hot air balloon getting ready for takeoff inside (no jokes about my head being filled with hot air). I could not breathe, my vision blurred, and then I gave in. A little microscopic entity (well, in my defense there were probably millions of them) brought me down. Getting sick is one of the inconveniences of being human.

As a result, I missed my first discussion board post for one of my classes since beginning at Regent. The next day, I called in to work sick and dismissed any hope of doing anything more productive then sniffling, coughing, and dripping on my couch in front of the television. Most of the time, I was not even sure what I was watching. Over the weekend, I fell more behind on my school work and my reading, and even now that I write this post, I have more things to do. I was perturbed that my body chose this week to be sick. Ugh, the nerve! I simply don't have time to be human!

On the other hand, after as much whining as my wife could stand, and after as much sympathy as I could soak up, I began to pray--not for deliverance from my illness, but for the purpose. What is the purpose of getting sick? After all, God could have created the world without the flu bug, right?

Without inciting a heated doctrinal debate, I began to think of what I will admit is a shabbily supported theory...

Illness, frustration, anger, loss, sadness, and other negative emotions and experiences build our capacity to recognize, conceptualize, and realize everything positive in life that God has to offer. For instance, by Sunday afternoon, I felt much better--not well--but much better. In that perception of how I felt, I found energy. I found energy to do four loads of laundry, clean the toilet, Lysol the entire apartment, dust, and vacuum. Yet, in the preceding days, weeks, and months prior to my sickly experience, I did not have the energy or motivation to do any of those things.

To the extreme that we, as human beings can feel negative emotions, we can also feel positive emotions to the opposite position on the negative-positive feeling continuum. I wonder if this has any validity whatsoever? If it does, I have a great life ahead...

Years ago, before I accepted Jesus in to my life, life seemed very, very hard. I was always worrying, constantly fighting depression, routinely had strife, and the there was little joy in day to day living. However, since being reborn, everything has changed. I believe I am experiencing the feelings opposite of those I had prior. Joy, happiness, and a feeling of safety and acceptance are now a part of my daily life.

Had I not gotten saved, I wonder how far along the continuum I would have slid in the opposite direction? I suppose that if my capacity under God to feel the joy of the Lord's presence in my life is even one-tenth the capacity I had for negative, Godless living, then I am in for a wonderful, blessed journey.

So, the lesson learned is that in this temporal life, illnesses, sadness, and everything negative are not just temporary inconveniences; they also serve a good purpose. Whether or not you buy into my pet theory of building capacity or not is not my consideration. What I consider most is the joy of being a child of God and looking forward to all that my future holds... the joy and the pain, because each serves its purpose and in the end can be used to glorify God.

Pray with me for each other - Psalm 86

Discipline

As I begin to ponder the totality of my college education, both at Lakeland Community College in Ohio as well as my time here at Regent, I realize that quite surely I will miss the experience and growth formal education facilitates. Some of the courses I have taken still replay in my mind, while others seemed to have fall through the cracks in my subconscious. Likewise, some of the teachers and professors that have given their time and talent will remain with me forever.

Reflecting upon some of those memorable courses and even more memorable instructors, I have begun to realize that much of education (particularly the first two years in liberal arts education) are as much about developing discipline as they are about learning the information, perhaps even more. Those classes are designed to introduce new ways of thinking, new skills, and new disciplines to (hopefully) eager minds.

Interestingly, six years ago I was at a time in my life when I knew I needed more discipline. I was in the midst of deciding between two life-changing paths: 1) go to college, or 2) join the military (U.S. Air Force). After much deliberation, I decided to forgo the military, and I began my post-secondary education at a community college in August 2001. While the military would have instilled in me a sense of discipline, I believe that I was called into education. Finally, through the rigors of approximately 200 credit hours, I have a small glimpse, dare I say a working conception, of what place discipline has in my life—and perhaps yours.

When many people think of discipline, negative connotations often come to mind. I used to think of strict schedules grounded in rigidity just for the sake of doing so. However, in recent times, my thoughts of discipline have changed.

In 1 Corinthians 9:25, Paul told us that “Everyone who competes in the race goes into strict training” (NIV). Discipline is the key to run the race so that you can finish well, and to run with purpose and direction. Paul admonished us to beat our bodies in order to make them our slaves, so that after we work for others, there is still energy left to live well. In this same sense, through disciplined study encountered in education we make our minds our slaves, so that we can use it to do God’s work, serve others, and live well.

Self-discipline is not some mystical-magical thing that only few people can possess; it is God-given to each one of us (2 Timothy 1:7). Unlike Esau, who succumbed to immediate gratification and threw away his inheritance, we must keep our eyes focused on our eternal prize—on our Father. Our enemy would have us be lazy and not do good works; thus, self-discipline is the battle against sin (Genesis 4:6-7), but we can look to the Lord for deliverance (Philippians 4:13). In the end, “Diligent hands will rule, but laziness ends in slave labor” (Proverbs 12:24).