by Jay O'Toole
We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life.
"Failures, repeated failures, are finger posts on the road to achievement.
One fails forward toward success."
C. S. Lewis
"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen:
not only because I see it,
but because by it I see everything else."
C. S. Lewis
“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can.”
“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
|The heat of summer gives a key
to understanding life on Earth.
The thirst we feel can help us see
our helplessness and living worth.
The tragic wilting plants each day
need water's gift to quench their thirst.
By the Hand of God in rain's display
or by human hands to slate it first.
But either way, it's by God's Hands,
for He made rain and He made Man.
The point of the thinking comes to this,
"The plants will die without a wet kiss."
The plants cannot e'er move themselves
like books upon great massive shelves
until by kindness others move
them unto a place of greater good.
And so we thirst by the heat of human pride,
until we lay our wicked pride aside.
Thus humbled before the Savior's precious Throne,
we lose ourselves to find, that we are known.
The soul is stuck, unmovable in the ground,
so thirsty from the heat of self, I've found,
that a winsome Gardener must needs be found to bring
some water to heal the parch and make me sing.
O, Savior fair, to thee I thirst.
Restore my leaves and blooms to shine.
Please, make my day as at the first
when You set me in the Garden fine.
Plants need help and so do we.
For always help first comes from Thee.
Please, plant me where I'll be my best,
defending me through every test.
by Jay O'Toole
on May 24th, 2019
|"Oh! What has happened?" Casa wondered at the ratt'ling marbles in his head.
"I have some paws, but where are they among this blindness in my bed?
"I feel them now!" and with them felt his arms and legs and aching head."
"My darling son, oh, where is Quest? How could I lose this wondrous joy?
"How will I live beyond today without this one amazing boy?
"Not knowing is the saddest thing. My peace to the core it doth annoy."
"My Ossie, where are you, my dear? Can you yet hear my sobbing tones?"
His clawing, reaching, digging wild uncovered fur and form quite known.
He shook his love to quick affirm, that Ossie was no more at home.
"My dearest Love, it pains me sore to know, that you are truly gone."
Overwhelmed by grief his bellows filled the cave and realization's dawn,
"I must find Quest and honor you. To this great service, I am drawn."
"I love you, Ossie! Heaven's gain is my life's living, lasting loss.
"Your memory's each day's new refrain, my future hope to bear this cross.
"Our home, your tomb, I leave you now to shrouded be by furry moss."
The searching took on earnestness with Casa's cough through wheezing dust.
A front door must be somewhere near but covered now by earthquake's thrust.
Assay I do to backdoor's space. It must be open I hope, I trust.
The morning light showed through a thread. He swam through dirt and dust to gain
salvation's open door to peace. To find his son brought strength o'er pain.
Once outside the mausoleum's grasp, the sunlight stung his eyes to strain.
As Casa scrambled here and there in search of Quest, his only son,
he scratched and clawed for Hope's last thread, until his strength was nearly done.
He shouted loud, until quite hoarse as on his paws he quickly spun.
"O, God, where are you? Will you help? Is there direction yet to walk?
"Do you exist? Are you a myth? Or to the wind do I now talk?
"How silent you are in this test. Salvation's strength is like a rock."
"Please, help me keep my mind on You for fear would shred my hope to dust.
"Please, blow direction's hopeful way. Let wind yet push me through a gust.
"I know I'll find him come what may. My God is true! In Him, I'll trust!"
by Jay O'Toole
on May 22nd, 2019
|The sweetest birth and the sweetest song both start the life of Quest,
he walked through the door to one great wrong, now all of Life's a test.
The silent crickets and the flying birds alarmed him when he stood
outside his homey cave with the green and brown of the faithful wood,
alerting him, that something new was not entirely good.
The boulder slamming near him made his face "explode" en masse.
His once-safe home became a rock-strewn tragedy, alas.
In turning toward the shaking, he fell away from the crevasse
to tumble headlong upon the wounding rocks, past shrieking birds,
which spoke their volumes without ever utt'ring human words.
The lumpy, bearish flesh now slumbered past what once was heard.
"I wonder where I've been and what I've done and how I'll eat.
"I wonder who I am and where is Dad and how'll we meet.
"I wonder where I'll spend the night and find some straw for heat."
Quest fell asleep a pile of wounded bear and dusty fur.
He slept for days and woke in muddy rain with life unsure.
These earthen "gloves" cast Quest about in ways that seemed a blur.
This bear felt like a lump of clay pressed down by mud-caked hands
against hard trees and pointy rocks, through soupy, leafy plans.
He screamed for help o'er monstrous winds, unsure he still stood on land.
Quest stopped a-slosh in a marshy nest, a sodden suit of earthy weight
in gratitude of what he had, amid sorrows known of late.
"I thank you, God, for helping me land in a soft and gentle place.
"Please, show me how to live each day in steps of growing grace."
If I survive, I need good thoughts about the good to come.
I'm where I am and where I'll be by what I do, the sum.
I feel like crying, (yes, I do,) but now I must survive.
If now I live through dangers great, I'll find my folks and thrive.
by Jay O'Toole
on May 21st, 2019
|For many days along the winding path
the youth began to ponder longish steps.
The reedy bagpipes made him stop to laugh,
while hyacinths along his mustache crept.
Through craggy steeps and blackest vales he trudged
with radiant heart oft marked by foes' true shots.
The shredded sheet of hope some days begrudged
his spirit food, and left him tied in knots.
His memories meandered from the crevices of mind.
The tiny tot embraced his bowl of ice cream with his face.
Vanilla filled with choc'late chips, intensest joy so blind.
Embraced by fluffy, heavy quilts the pain of life erased.
The ancient man, a shudd'ring mass of raw, unyielding pain
faced ebony foe with blood-caked claws in shaking courage stood.
His final, raspy breaths of venting life he hoped to gain
Blest entrance through the Golden Gate by Vic'try o'er the Wood.
As Death embraced the soaked and weary, frightened, sobbing soul
Most Brilliant Light broke through the acrid coal in steely Joy.
"My Victory o'er cross and grave for making lost ones, whole,
is your great Gift. So, rest in me, salvation to employ."
The unknown path through cloud-crowned peak to fairest land beyond
still brings the stalwart, faithful heart some icy steps to tread,
but when the fleeting breath of life is on the wind and gone
believing souls in Strong Hands' Grace will live, no more be dead.
by Jay O'Toole
on May 15th, 2019