| THESE HERE ARE POEMS AND STORIES THAT I WROTE OR ENJOYED SO MUCH THAT I WANTED EVERYONE TO SEE THEM. THIS IS THE FIRST POEM I EVER WROTE.ACTUALLY IT WAS MORE OF A STORY FORMAT. I WAS TALKING TO MELISSA ONE DAY AND ASKED HER WHAT SHE THOUGHT HEAVEN IS LIKE. AND THIS IS WHAT I TOLD HER I THOUGHT A DAY IN HEAVEN COULD BE LIKE. A DAY IN HEAVEN BY ROB SCRIVENER(2001) I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING AND THERE IS NO SUN OUT... I WALK OVER TO THE WINDOW AND OPEN THE SHADES... I LOOK OUTSIDE AND SEE MILLIONS OF PEOPLE... THE STREETS SHINE BECAUSE THEY ARE MADE OF GOLD... THE HOUSES LOOK AS IF THEY WERE WORKED ON FOR CENTURIES... EACH DETAIL IS PERFECT IN EVERY WAY... I WALK AWAY FROM THE WINDOW AND WALK DOWNSTAIRS... WHEN I GET DOWNSTAIRS I GET A KNOCK ONTHE DOOR... I GO TO THE DOOR AND OPEN IT... THERE ARE THREE PEOPLE THERE... THE ONE ON THE RIGHT IS RASHEAM RILEY... THE ONE ON THE LEFT IS RONNIE COATES... THE ONE IN THE MIDDLE IS THE LIGHT... HIS FACE SHINES BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN... YET I CAN LOOK RIGHT AT HIM... THEY SAY TO ME "ARE YOU READY?" I REPLY, "I WAS BORN READY" WE ALL GO OUT THE DOOR... I DON'T SHUT OR LOCK IT CAUSE THERE IS NO NEED TO... WE WALK UP THE STREET AND CLIMB A MOUNTAIN... WHEN WE REACH THE TOP, RASHEAM,RONNIE, AND I START TO SING SONGS,GLORIFYING THE NAME OF JESUS... JESUS EVENTUALLY JOINS IN AND WE HAVE A TIME OF JUST A GREAT JOY... AFTER A LONG PERIOD OF TIME... IT COULD OF LASTED FOR DAYS,AS TEHRE IS NO TIME SET IN HEAVEN, OR A NEED FOR SLEEP... WE STOP AND WE CLIMB BACK DOWN THE MOUNTAIN... WHEN WE REACH THE BOTTOM TEHRE IS ABOUT TWENTY TO THIRTY PEOPLE THAT MEET US DOWN THERE... THEY ASK US IF WE WANT TO PLAY FOOTBALL.... SO I RESPONDED WITH A "YEAH!!!LETS GO FIRE IT UP!!!!" WE ALL GO TO A STADUIM THAT ISN'T TOO FAR AWAY AND HAVE A TIME OF JUST PLAYING FOOTBALL.... AND WE JUST HAVE A GREAT TIME... AFTER THE GAME IS OVER I SEPERATE FROM THE GROUP... I LOOK FOR THE ONE THAT I MARRIED ON EARTH... WHEN I FIND HER WE GO THROUGH THE WOOD AND OVER TO A WATERFALL... THE WATERFALL IS TEH MOST BEAUTIFUL ONE EVER MADE... THERE IS NOTHING LIKE IT ON EARTH... IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LAKE THAT THE WATERFALL FALLS INTO IS A ISLAND... NO TREES, ITS JUST LIKE A FIELD OF GRASS.. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ISLAND IS A BLANKET AND A PICNIC BASKET AND WE JUST HAVE A PICNIC... WE TALK ABOUT EVERYTHING... HOW GREAT HEAVEN IS... ABOUT WHAT WE DONE THAT DAY... JUST ABOUT HOW AWESOME THE POWER OF GOD IS... AND WE REFLECT ON THE LIFE THAT WE HAD TOGETHER... AND HOW IT TRUELY LASTED FOREVER THE ROOM by unknown In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered in small index cards files. They were like teh ones you found in the libraries that list titles by author or by subject in alphabetical order.But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemimgless endless 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 "Girls that I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I reconized 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 suriosity, coupled with horrorr, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exxploring 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 that 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 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 suprised 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 life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to 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 2 or 3 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 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 a 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! " 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 self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I have shared the Gospel with." The handle was brighter than thoise around it, newer, almost unused. Ipulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 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 stomache 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 to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a deeper sorrow then 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 shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, writted 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 like 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 the 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 begotten son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal Life." John 3:16 My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours? |