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 titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemed to run endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was the one that read "Evil I Have Done". I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized 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 detail that my memory couldnt match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their contents. 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 the exactness: "Things Ive Yelled at My Children". Others I couldnt 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 expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could t be possible that I had the time in my 46 years to write each of the 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 in volume so they could contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, yet after two or three yards, I hadnt found the end of the file. I shut it, ashamed not so much by the quality of programs, but more by the vast amount of time I knew the 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 shuttered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke within me. One thought dominated my mind. "No one must EVER see these cards!" 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 finally 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 long self-pitying sigh. Then I saw it. The title read " People I shared The Gospel With". The handle on this card file was brighter than those around it, newer and almost never used. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could couldn't the cards it contained on one hand.
Then 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 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 the 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 an read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring mysef 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. 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 the one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine.
"NO!" I shouted, rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No,no ", as I pulled out 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 dont think I will 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".
