Signed by blood

This is a story taken from Joshua Harris, which touched me quite a lot and compelled me to share it after reading. Here goes:

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I (Joshua Harris) found myself in the room. There were no distinguished 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 'Girls I have liked'. I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realised that I recognised 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 momen, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't even 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; other 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 te 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 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 there were 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 twenty years to write each of these thousands,possibly millions, of cards? But each card confirmed the truth. Each was written in my own handwritting.Each was signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked 'Songs I have listened to', I realised 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 out 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.

Suddenly I felt an almost animall rage. 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 the file 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 sodeep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I felt 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.


Before, I carry on with the story, how many of us have once entered this room and find ourselves exactly in the same position as Joshua Harris? Sometimes, our memories just come back and haunt us, our sins just refused to let us go and there seems nothing we can do. But what happened next is what we could never imagine...

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 abd 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 cards 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 continued 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 backed 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 more cards to be written.

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