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<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="1" width="100%" class="forumline"> <tr> <th class="thCornerL" width="22%" height="26">Autor</th> <th class="thCornerR">Wiadomość</th> </tr> <tr> <td width="22%" align="left" valign="top" class="row1"><span class="name"><a name=""></a><b>JefriSaUSA</b></span></td> <td class="row1" height="28" valign="top"><table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> <tr> <td width="100%"><img src="http://picsrv.fora.pl/subSilver/images/icon_minipost.gif" width="12" height="9" alt="Post" title="Post" border="0" /><span class="postdetails">Wysłany: Pon 22:01, 04 Gru 2006<span class="gen"> </span> Temat postu: Hello ! how you feeling now?</span></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><hr /></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><span class="postbody"><span style="color: #006699">In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. 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Some brought joy and sweet memories</span> <a href="http://incest-pics-incest-stories.blogspot.com/" target="_blank" class="postlink">incest pics</a>] <span style="color: #006699">; 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." <br /> <br />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. <br /> <br />I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. 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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. <br /> <br />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. <br /> <br />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 3 inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. <br /> <br />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 ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. <br /> <br />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? <br /> <br />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. 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He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." <br /> <br />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.</span></span></td> </tr> </table></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" height="1" class="spaceRow"><img src="http://picsrv.fora.pl/subSilver/images/spacer.gif" alt="" width="1" height="1" /></td> </tr> </table>
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