Sometimes we wonder, "What did I do to deserve this?" or "Why did God have to do
this to me?" Here is a wonderful explanation!
A daughter is telling her Mother how everything is going wrong, she's
failing algebra, her boyfriend broke up with her and her best friend is
moving away. Meanwhile, her Mother is baking a cake and asks her daughter if
she would like a snack, and the daughter says, "Absolutely Mom, I love
"Here, have some cooking oil," her Mother offers.
"Yuck" says her daughter.
"How about a couple raw eggs?"
"Would you like some flour then? Or maybe baking soda?"
"Mom, those are all yucky!"
To which the mother replies: "Yes, all those things seem
bad all by themselves. But when they are put together in
the right way, they make a wonderfully delicious cake!
God works the same way. Many times we wonder why He
would let us go through such bad and difficult times.
But God knows that when He puts these things all in His
order, they always work for good! We just have to trust
Him and, eventually, they will all make something
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a
class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told
his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever
wrote." It also was the last.
Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it
while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teays Valley High School in
Pickaway County. Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately
wanted every piece of his life near them-notes from classmates and
teachers, his homework.
Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering
Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's
life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized
that their son had described his view of heaven. It makes such an impact
that people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr. Moore
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving
home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in
Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck
unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.
The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family
portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I think
we were meant to find it and make something out of it, " Mrs. Moore said of
the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life
after death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll
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
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 "Girls 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
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 years to fill 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 "TV Shows I have watched," 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 shows but more by the vast 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
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
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, 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 they hurt. They 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
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
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 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
Him shall not perish but have eternal life."
THE ANT AND THE CONTACT LENS
A true story by Josh and Karen Zarandona
Brenda was a young woman who was invited to go rock climbing. Although she
was very scared, she went with her group to a tremendous granite cliff. In
spite of her fear, she put on the gear, took a hold on the rope, and started
up the face of that rock.
Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather. As she was
hanging on there, the safety rope snapped against Brenda's eye and knocked
out her contact lens.
Well, here she is, on a rock ledge, with hundreds of feet below her and
hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and looked and looked,
hoping it had landed on the ledge, but it just wasn't there. Here she was,
far from home, her sight now blurry. She was desperate and began to get
upset, so she prayed to the Lord to help her to find it.
When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye and her clothing for the
lens, but there was no contact lens to be found. She sat down, despondent,
with the rest of the party, waiting for the rest of them to make it up the
face of the cliff.
She looked out across range after range of mountains, thinking of that Bible
verse that says, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole
earth." She thought, "Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know
every stone and leaf, and You know exactly where my contact lens is. Please
Finally, they walked down the trail to the bottom. At the bottom there was
a new party of climbers just starting up the face of the cliff. One of them
shouted out, "Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?"
Well, that would be startling enough, but you know why the climber saw it?
An ant was moving slowly across the face of the rock, carrying it on it's
Brenda told me that her father is a cartoonist. When she told him the
incredible story of the ant, the prayer, and the contact lens, he drew a
picture of an ant lugging that contact lens with the words, "Lord, I don't
know why You want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it, and it's awfully
heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I'll carry it for You."
I think it would probably do some of us good to occasionally say, "God, I
don't know why you want me to carry this load. I can see no good in it and
it's awfully heavy. But, if you want me to carry it, I will."
God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called. Yes, I do love
GOD. He is my source of existence and my savior. He keeps me functioning
each and every day. Without Him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all
things through Christ who strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13)
children smile is such a "sweet" reward!