By Joshua Harris
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 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 "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 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." Other 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 20 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 amount of 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 and 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 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 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 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 in 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.
- End
READ EPHESIANS 9 - 11:15
What will the cards in your file room say?
How many cards will Jesus have to sign in His blood to cover you…more importantly have you done what is necessary for Jesus to even go to your file room.
What will you do when you finish reading this that will begin to write new cards?
How will you fill the ‘People I shared the Gospel with’ file drawer? Whatever thoughts or intentions you have, begin to think about how it will affect your file room if the same scene illustrated here happens to you.
I just added another card to my file, now it’s your turn. God Bless
As we navigate the pathways, highways and byways of life, we often find ourselves in the position to make promises. When we were young the promises were simple and often too easy to keep or on the opposite side: impossible to keep. You know those young promises;
we’ll be best friends forever,
I’ll be good in school,
and I’ll keep my room clean …well, from now on.
These promises were broken, not because they were impossible to keep. They were broken because the issue was just not important enough to us or too grand an idea or ideal or the promisee was not due the honor of our faithful fulfillment. This is not to judge right from wrong, nor to say that our words have no value, I’m just stating the way things are.
Then there came the opportunities to make more sincere, but still unrealistic young adult promises.
I’ll love you and only you forever,
I’ll study hard, I’ll graduate on time,
I’ll stop seeing that girl,
I’ll help you anytime you need it,
I’ll never look at another woman,
I’ll make you proud mommy,
I’ll make you proud Daddy….you’ll see….you’ll see.
Though these were also promises made with the best intentions, they were also promises all too often bent or broken.
Fast forward to mature adulthood. Here we still make some of those immature promises.
Promises to our doctors;
I’ll exercise more or I’ll smoke or drink less,
to the finance company; oh don’t worry I’ll pay this bill on time,
to our friends; we’ll never part no matter what.
But this is also the time in life when hopefully we have learned the breadth and depth of what a broken promise can do. The time where we have made some major, sincere, promises. Promises made with our signatures on official documents. Promises linked to our livelihood and our ability to support our families. And even promises made with a ring in front of friends and family. By now we may have already hurt someone or lost something due to some of the important promises we didn’t keep.
Why all this, you may be asking about promises and such. What does all this have to do with today and the situation we find ourselves in?
A part of me is glad you want to know. You see I made a promise. I made a promise without trying to appease someone, without trying to shut them up, without a long drawn out speech about flying pigs or ice cubes in Hades, without being duly sworn with my right hand raised, and without a signature connected to the threat of repossession or collections. I made a simple promise to a simple man. The words of that promise are not important now….but know that since the day I uttered it, I have kept it. Know that there is no force on this earth that will cause me to break it. Before you get to the edge of your seat in anticipation of hearing the words of that promise, don’t bother…it was between me, him, and God.
But back to the point, I can’t possibly be the only one in this room that made promises to my father. I know without knowing that promises have been made by his friends, by my brothers, by my sisters, by my nieces and nephews. Some of those promises I may have already spoke of. Think now about something you once promised him.
My charge to you today, to all of us is simply this; if there is a promise or even a list of promises you have made to my father, choose one and purpose in your heart that beginning this day you will keep it. It doesn’t matter how big or how small. It doesn’t matter if you only said it to keep him from bothering you about something, it doesn’t even matter what the reason you made the promise is. Just choose one and keep one. He deserves that and more from all of us. To those who never made a promise to him, choose one you made to someone you love and keep it. Purpose in your heart that to honor the type of life my father lead that you will keep just one promise. As for me don’t worry dad, I’ll keep mine….
Written and read by "sinypcrx"
at the funeral of his father.
(3 months ago)
I miss you dad! :'(
I just got back from another fantastic conference...This year's presenters and pulpit masters were both dynamic and inspiring. If you have not heard a sermon by Rev. Joel Gregory, you have not heard sound exigetical preaching. The lectures by Morehouse President Dr. Robert Franklin and Katie Cannon (kinda related to nick...inside joke) brought to the forefront the issues clergy face when dealing with an ever changing world.
If you missed it this year, there is always next year. You don't have to be clergy, but you do have to enjoy the preached word and praising God.
