....Beware this is really powerful

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 "Guys 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 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 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, 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
never, 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 wouldn'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." John 3:16.  My "People I Shared the
Gospel With" file just got bigger; how about yours?
(Author Unknown)