THE FILES

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 files, like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction with headings.

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "People I Have Loved." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly was shocked to realize the names written on each one. 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 written the actions of every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory could not match.

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 Yelled At My Children". Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done In Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Spouse." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I had hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I have lived.

Could it be possible that I had the time in my 41 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 was 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 2 or 3 yards I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of the music, but by the vast amount of time I knew the file represented. When I came to a file marked "Envious 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 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 was strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the card to its slot. Leaning against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. "People I Have Shared The Gospel With." The handle was brighter that those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. 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, for the overwhelming shame of all of it. The rows and 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.

Then, as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. NO, please not Him. Not HERE. Not Now! 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. 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. 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, running over to Him. His name shouldn't be on those cards. But there it was...written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covering mine. It was His blood.

He gently put the cards 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................