A Teenager's View of Heaven

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.

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.

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."

Brian's 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 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. 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 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 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, 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.


"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 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 so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?

IF THERE IS ONE EMAIL THAT I HAVE READ THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE WORLD, IT IS THIS ONE, FOR THE CHRISTIAN OR NOT! MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

You don't have to share this with anybody, no one will know whether you did or not, but what do you feel in your heart?

The story about Brian's tragic death is true, but he is not the author of the piece.  It was written by Josh Harris ("I Kissed Dating Goodbye").  ( newbielink:http://www.breakthechain.org/exclusives/theroom.html [nonactive])

The story about Brian's tragic death is true, but he is not the author of the piece.  It was written by Josh Harris ("I Kissed Dating Goodbye").  ( newbielink:http://www.breakthechain.org/exclusives/theroom.html [nonactive])

I don't know who wrote it, but I do know that a version of this story is much, much older than 1995.  I first read it back when I was in college, so...  around 1983 or so.  I don't recall it being told as an essay written by anyone, it was written as if it was a dream by an unnamed writer.  The Brian Moore part is either some kid who plagarized, or it's an internet urban legend.

  I am surprised that the story is just a frame up or a duplication of another person's work without authorization!

That is quite unfortunate and I feel bad that I spread it around. I gave it a stumbled and I was surprised that so many people were offended instead of feeling good. However, the few that commented made the reason clear to me. They have the right to be angry that a lie was been spread in the pretense that it is an inspirational article.

The moral of the article is good, but it doesn't justify the cooked up story that accompany it  . No human being can save a sinner. So it is useless, attempting to deceive a soul into heaven by telling lies, it doesn't work that way.

The gospel cannot be spread by telling lies. I guess the poster "benny" was not aware of the controversy surrounding this article, he would not have posted it.

The story about Brian's tragic death is true, but he is not the author of the piece.  It was written by Josh Harris ("I Kissed Dating Goodbye").  (source [nofollow])

Thanks for providing the url http://www.breakthechain.org/exclusives/theroom.html [nofollow] I checked it out and I discovered the following:

1. An article "The Room" was truly written, but the author is not Brian Moore. The author is Josh Harris you can read more about him here http://www.joshharris.com [nofollow]

2. Brian Moore indeed died in a tragic way.

My conclusion, two separate stories were tied together to create an emotional article. The intention may be good, but the approach is wrong and unacceptable. The devil is the father of all lies, exaggeration and all form of deceit)

Quote from: brotee on August 22, 2008, 09:03:19 AM

Url deleted by moderator inappropriate content.

Thanks. But your moderation implies that the link deletion was of some kind of smut, or perhaps one of the never ending supply of gratuitous "shock" sites. It was neither - it was a link to another community site that discusses religious topics, albeit from a different perspective to your own.

The morals of this story should not be down played because of a mix up in who authored it. This is a story that is not just like the regular type. I have not read or seen it until now. Who knows maybe this is one of the ways the story was meant to be published and so as to reach many people. Please just read the story and apply the object lessons.

This story, as has been already ascertained, is plagiarised. That in itself is bad enough. What is thoroughly unforgivable is that it cynically uses the unfortunate death of a young man to gratuitously milk some extra emotional punch, and then recommends it be indiscriminately mass emailed out to anyone you know with an email address. I quote from the original article -

• IF THERE IS ONE EMAIL THAT I HAVE READ THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE WORLD, IT IS THIS ONE, FOR THE CHRISTIAN OR NOT! MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

If this repellent and exploitative fabrication does not make you queasy on the inside, then you really do have a lot of talking to do with your God.

Jesus took away all the boy's sins, then the boy died before he could sin (much) again.

As I think of all the church members I've known,  I know they're comforted that Jesus has forgiven their sins and written His name, in His own blood, over their names on their countless index cards.  But they just turn around and add more index cards.  We ALL do . . . don't we?

If we need Jesus to forgive us our sins so that we might be worthy of heaven -- but -- we continue to sin all our lives, then how can "good works" lead to forgiveness?  Jesus didn't sacrifice Himself to vouchsafe our good works -- He died for our sins.  Yes, good works don't hurt but the whole point of Jesus' preordained crucifixion was to forgive us our sins so that we might have everlasting life.  Good works aren't points we use to negotiate for forgiveness.

But then I think of those church members who are so comforted that they're forgiven for their sins -- and they know they'll always be forgiven.  Isn't this common attitude presumptuous?

Sometimes I think Mark Twain was right: Christianity might be a good thing if anybody ever really practiced it.