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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 “I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now... Come further up, come further in!” ― C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1059917-the-last-battle “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, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.” J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” J.R.R. Tolkien    |
Time to rest, and see the sights, renewing time with friends. Time to rest through days and nights, restoring hearts will mend. Time to rest within a cloistered place, that time floats on. Time to rest, where work and toil are faced, and need be gone. Time to rest, reflecting where we've been, and need to go. Time to rest, while learning prayer with answers, He may show. Time to rest is time to be, unfettered by a "should." Time to rest with eyes to see. We're learning what is good. by Jay O’Toole on February 16th, 2023 |
Busy days can challenge us to find a sure foothold. Busy days are often thus to make us feel quite old. Busy days can come and go, but often leave a mark. Busy days declare it's so. Just stop ourselves, and park. Busy days are not so much a choice, that we would choose, but busy days keep us in touch with health, that we can lose. Busy days need help from One, Who always has our rest. Busy days remind each son to shelter through each test. by Jay O’Toole on February 15th, 2023 |
When hearts are warmed between two lives, we give our best as joys do grow. Our days are full as living thrives, and common paths we're blest to know. The One, Who gave us life at the first through hearts, that beat, and lungs, that breathe is still The One, Who quenches thirst. He keeps our way by Hands beneath. "I love you, dearest wife of mine. You've stayed with me for many days. Like vintage of the finest wine, your value grows, and the years do praise." The Lord has given love to Man to knit our hearts in one with Him. He knits two hearts in one by His Plan to fill their cup, o'erflow the brim. This Valentine's we seek The Rose, Who showed His Love by bleeding red. The third day after, He arose to cause lost souls no more be dead. When hearts aflame do burn as one, the golden life is purified. Each day of sweetness 'til all's done is wondrous as His lasting Bride. Each chosen heart receives His Grace, Salvation Love transformed within. For Jesus Christ in our lost place has saved His chosen ones from sin. by Jay O’Toole on February 14th, 2023 |
To care for plants in these the days of life is quite a gift. Their beauty blooms in great displays their human's heart to lift. To leave them then to fend alone for days can cause us pain for weather changes are quite prone to hurt as oft to gain. Some plants may thrive in coldest nights, yet others, warmest days. when both exist in shelt'ring sites survival can dismay. The best we e'er can hope achieve is find the middle ground, that tender plants can to life cleave, where hot and cold abound. "Dear Lord of all Creation fair, Please bless and moderate the place where we these plants do care to save in temps so strait. "If they should live, while absent we, 'tis by Thy loving Smile, that honors hopes, environs see, to make of temps an isle. "I bend my heart unto Your Grace. Protect these leafy friends, that when return we to this place, we'll have them then to tend in Jesus' Name, Amen." by Jay O’Toole on February 13th, 2023 |
This life is full of many steps by foot or by the clock, each day, an exercise's rep, each night, a charcoal smock. The life beyond is very real. We think, but cannot grasp. The Truth of it can harm or heal. Forever, it will last. "Where to from here?" we each intone, before we rest the pate. "Will crowds we know or be alone?" Decisions small and great. by Jay O’Toole on February 10th, 2023 |
For what we know we know. In hope, we daily grow. The Master's Gift will show when He's enthroned. But sometimes we're in doubt. There is no clear way out. We want to run and shout. Our heart, it groans. To know the Gift of Grace no pride can ever trace. What joy to see His Face when ours is prone. We cannot work it out to change to faith our doubt. Election is about the God work shown. by Jay O’Toole on February 9th, 2023 |
colder days are gone milder nights to give relief strength for what’s to come by Jay O’Toole on February 8th, 2023 |
darkness, a blanket sleeping trees and flowers rest peaceful moments stay by Jay O’Toole on February 7th, 2023 |
The words are offered many days, each a potential meal for thought, but sometimes words will go their own way, the writer, a student taught. How furiously we sweep the floor, while words are pouring out! How furtively we beg, implore when waltzing thoughts about. At times our thoughts may sit alone. They leave the place we dance. The struggling heart may inward groan, while others leap and prance. To write them out, the words we'd use, don't always bring us joy, but typing letters will infuse some hope, that we'd employ. These poems may yet take us time, before they're molded firm. The sluice of rain brings loam its prime, 'til ripples find the berm. So, pushing words around the screen's like water's dancing flows. To sweep and sweep the concrete scene's like writing as it goes. To dance with words, until we have a seven vers-ed piece is like a cow, which groans to calve, until it finds release. by Jay O’Toole on February 6th, 2023 |
These trees become grand silhouettes, great arms, and feathery branches. The light is lost as night is met the need for darkness stanches. We say, “Goodbye” as friendships fade into the days now past us. We hope our words were best obeyed with memories held, not casted. The night orbs burn with twinkling lights the sun’s-light gracious gave them. We thank the Lord, that hope still bites through dourness of grave men. The silhouettes become the place for bright night lights to paint them. A silvery glow now lights each face as shadowed features acquaint them. Naught left to see within the yard, unlike Sir Carroll’s “muchness.” My eyes do strain to see quite hard of property’s new “lessness.” by Jay O’Toole on February 3rd, 2023 |
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