The Room
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 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 "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 of my life. Here were written the actions of my 
every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory 
could not 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 
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 over whelmed 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 on of these thousands or even millions
of cards? But each card confirmed its 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 the file represented.
When I came  to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a
hill 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 
on me...
One thought dominated my mind.  "No one must ever see 
these cards!  No one must ever see this room! I must 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 the 
words....  "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 the hurt started at 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 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 intuitively to 
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 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"".
But, there it was, written in red, so rich and dark, so
alive....the name of Jesus covered mine.

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....