for the time of our lives...

The Room...

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 on e. 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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...



we've all done things in our lives that we are ashamed of..for some..more..for others..less.. nevertheless..our rooms are not locked..there are still cards to be written...

small actions..big impacts..

One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd."

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes.

My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye. As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get a life." He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude. I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now.

I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my friends. He said yes. We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, "Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we were seniors, we began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business on a football scholarship. Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak.

Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him. Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Today was one of those days.

I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and
smiled. "Thanks," he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began. "Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story."

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. "Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable."

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment. I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's depth...

never underestimate the power of ur actions..with one small gesture you can change a person's life.. thank you for doin something..and because of tt..we are still friends..i know my life is alot better than it would have been if we werent frens..and im realli happy to have u as a fren..as always..ilu..

A Diary of A Guy...

*January 2*
Do you still remember the first time we met? It was the first day in school. I was hurriedly entering the school gate when I bumped into you as you stepped out of a luxurious Volvo. The books you were holding fell all over the ground. I quickly picked up the books and returned them to you along with words of apology, but all you showed me was your intimidating look. My first impression of you was thatyou were a wilful girl born with a golden spoon in your mouth. I had rejected you completely and had hoped not to meet you again, but surprisingly you turned out to be my classmate.

*March 22*
I started to know more about you as days passed and my opinion of you changed for the better on each passing day. I realised that you were from a wealthy family but definitely not a wilful girl. You were nice and friendly. You got angry that day we first met because I had left a footprint marking on the poetry collection you loved dearly. We met often during lunch break and I found something in you that was different from the rest of the girls - your passion for Chinese poetry. Often you would mumble something to yourself. Initially, I thought that you were humming a pop song but later I realised that you had been reciting Chinese poems from great poets. You were so knowledgeable that you knew every poet and which poems they composed. I was very impressed indeed.

*April 5*
I met you again in the study area. That day you were reading the Chinese classics "Romance of the 3 kingdoms". Your ability to appreciate Chinese classics left me with admiration. You were indeed unique in many ways.

*May 5*
From then on, we would often meet in the study area to discuss about the good and bad things of the characters in these Chinese classics. Do you still remember the time when we almost broke off because we could not agree on whether Jia BaoYu hurt Lin Dai Yu? Our argument was so fierce that we never talked for that week. But when Friday came, we still met in the study area and laughed over the incident. After which, another argument started.

*Aug 7*
I could not deny it. It was a feeling I could not identify accurately. Wenever you laughed over a joke with other guys, that emotion filled my senses. It took me a while before identified it. I was in love; the feeling was jealousy. I felt the need to express it. But, I was afraid...that you would dismiss my feeling, that you and I would be stuck in an embarrassing situation, that our long nurtured friendship would crumble...therefore, I kept quiet.

*Oct 1*
The news came as a shock to me. I was so worried when I learnt that you had fainted in the canteen. I was struggling to keep my worried face in control as I looked at the ambulance that carried you away.

*Oct 2*
It was drizzling that day. Our form teacher sadly announced that you had got cancer. As she finished her last sentence, outside the classroom, it seemed to me that the drizzle had turned into a downpour. I could only hear the sound of the rain, nothing more. I rushed to NUH ICU to see you immediately after lesson. Your face was whitish in colour, showing no trace of red. I learnt that you had just undergone an operation. The life-support system was just beside you with tubes piercing mercilessly into your left wrist. "I am all right, it is just a serious case of anemia. Believe me, my parents told me that". you said convincingly. I knew fully well what you were thinking, you did not want me to be worried. "Are you comforting yourself or comforting the fears and hopelessness that was written all over my face?", I thought to myself. I was not strong enough to disagree with you and I nodded my head with a forced smile. You responded with a smile too-with great effort.

*Oct 5*
It was a ordinary day but to me, it was an important day. I felt an impulse to express my love. I walked over to the side of your bed, holding your hand. I told you the story of how an ordinary guy fell in love with a girl who likes poetry and Chinese classics. As I told my story, my eyes started to flood with water, and uncontrollably my voice started to choke, and finally I broke into tear But you held my head against your body and with watery eyes, said: "I understand such a love, so did the girl." I returned my eyes to her and at that moment, her tears dropped, and for the first time, I saw some redness on her lips.

*Oct 26*
It was the last day of examination and I rushed to NUH to continue my story. When I reached there, I only saw the nurse arranging the bed you once slept on. When I asked about you, the nurse told me expressionlessly that you had passed away. It was a bolt from the blue for me. I stood motionless for a long time. I hated myself for spending the last few days preparing for the last examination paper. I hated myself for not staying longer the last time I visited you. I hated myself so much...but you were gone...... I can't remember how I got home that day. When I woke up, I was already in my room. The pillow I slept on was wet. The next day, I went for the funeral. I heard from your father that on the day you passed away, you were still reading the Poetry collection I gave you as a gift for your birthday. Standing in front of Your portrait, I had no tears, they were used up on the day of your death. All I knew was sadness, my heart was like it had shattered into pieces and died.

*Jan 2*
A new girl has taken over your seat. She does not like poetry, but she likes to hum pop songs. When I asked her if she knows Jia Bao Yu, she replied: "What talking you." Yes, you were gone. But to me, the seat is still unoccupied, and maybe no one will ever occupy it....




sometimes..whenever someone enters into our lives..our hearts..we never forget..they leave their footprints forever in our hearts..where there are no winds to erase..

i may grow old with age..my mind may forget..but my heart never will.. ilu..

Time for us

ive never felt so happy for such a long time :)