Forgiven

*I was reading and I couldn't let this go without sharing. It's too good. The story is from Joshua Harris' "I Kissed Dating Goodbye." Bold emphasis is mine.

A couple of years ago, a student of mine gave me this powerful story by Joshua Harris:

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one covered with small index-covered 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. . . 

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 contents. 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. . . 

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 Brother." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents." Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. 

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of 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 felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. 

Suddenly I felt almost an animal rage. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! I have to destroy them! In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took the file 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 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. 

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 all 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 as His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. . . 

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. 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 cards from Him. His name shouldn't be written 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 continued 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.

God is not mad at us; we are mad at ourselves. To the person who says, "I can accept God's forgiveness, but I can't forgive myself," I say this: If the God of the universe says you are forgiven, who are you to withhold forgiveness from yourself? God knows your situation. He knows what you've done and the consequences of your actions. And He is equal to the task of ridding you of the self-hatred that may be destroying you. Let me suggest that you pray right now, insisting that you take God at His word. "But where sin increased, grace increased all the more" (Romans 5:20).

Lutzer, Erwin W. "Chapter 3: What God Does With Forgiven Sin." After You've Blown It. Sisters, Or.: Multnomah, 2004. 53-57. Print.