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We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
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"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.” J.R.R. Tolkien “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” J.R.R. Tolkien    |
| "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 |
cooling wetness heals refreshing Earth from the heat new plants rest at home by Jay O'Toole on May 20th, 2019 |
rounded leaves pale green beauteous blooms bright orange lovers of the sun by Jay O'Toole on May 19th, 2019 |
heat to create blooms water lives throughout the air beauty paints the land by Jay O’Toole on May 18th, 2019 |
long, gray, buggy fuzz hangs upon the hosting tree symbiosis rare by Jay O’Toole on May 17th, 2019 |
Birthed to temporal, Gestating to eternal. by Jay O'Toole on May 16th, 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 |
| Blazing roses, coleus' colored leaves, caladium hands, pulling long garden hoses to slate the thirst, pass out reprieves. Frilly pink crepe myrtles in bloom, hibiscus red, orange, gold, green hostas in shade, "Beauteous outdoor room!" I've often told. by Jay O'Toole on May 14th, 2019 |
pinpoints in the sky massive flames so far away fireflies blinking turn by Jay O'Toole on May 13th, 2019 |
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