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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    |
Driving down Life's interstate. I need to stop and rest at times. The tiredness can become quite great. As the driver's seat constricts, confines. My thoughts become so flushing full. I need relief, a place to pause. Some grace, relieving nature's pull. Some grass to walk, and chew that clause. The scenery, no more a blur, I open the door to stretch as I stand. To contemplate, my steps are sure. The road can wait. I make a plan. The Welcome Center is a start as stroll I by brochures, and clear my mind from driving's rushing part, and gently thoughts, so new, I steer. The writing rises in my heart. Some canvases with landscapes rare. I sit and write on a pad to start a treatment, taking readers there. Some minutes pass, an hour, more with whizzing cars, my background noise. The wrens and finches dance before my joyful heart. Their bliss applies. With deepest breath released, I go. The mind refreshed, the heart now full. Return I to the life I know, now blessed because of Heaven's pull. by Jay O'Toole on March 9th, 2021 |
The eagle's nest above the fray hath treasured hope for kith and kin. To the heights, the eagle mounts the day, and safely keeps its young to win. The tropic gale of hurricane force it boasts itself of feathered demise to shred the nest on its furious course. No reason but its surly prize. Will rocky crags prevent the gale? Will eagle's nest and young ones live? Will gallant bird in final fail be nearer extinction than to thrive? The days of past in victor's pride the eagle weathered torrent's blast, but now the violent water's belied the menace, that could breach its mast. "Be strong, O Eagle, beak now chipped of rock, that flew by gale's worst pitch. We have great hope thy case be flipped by the sun, that makes the storm not so rich." The eagle fights though pummelled sore by arrogant winds, that seek its death. Secures his young ones long before he lights and draws his final breath. The eagle's strength is the greatest match for the maelstrom's breath and its evil mind. Defeat may try in vain to attach to the eagle eyes to make it blind. At the end of the day, it will dispatch its living presence, none can bind. by Jay O'Toole on March 8th, 2021 |
To see the world with eyes so fresh and new, I look upon my life in late-day rest and take great pains to find through panes a view, not just of sunlight, but of thoughts quite blest. The car and mower sit on concrete still. Our yard tools stand erect and ready now. Mimosa waits for leaves and blooms to fill its growing stature for each weeping bow. The latticework between the sections lifts the drying rug of cheery colors sweet. The daughter dancing 'round in wondrous gifts makes ready for the play performance meets. Though smudges may bedim this life I see, imagination clears, and sights do free. by Jay O'Toole on March 5th, 2021 |
Aye. Waiting. Forever. Sunshine hopeful, removing ev'ry darkness work from me. Hope is waiting on the Lord to save me from the villains. Hell denied. Heaven sent. by Jay O'Toole on March 4th, 2021 |
The days of Earth are lived a-pace too often we'd confess. The feet must always move and race or others won't us bless. "This life is short and few the days! We've got a lot to do! How can you sit there in a gaze with nothing when you're through?" Such diligent souls are these, who strive. They work so hard to live, but at the end, they will not thrive with nothing left to give. Some days of rest are what we need to do what must be done, that souls are whole, nor active bleed, that man may live as one. To cease from work shows, that we trust the Lord to vouchsafe all. He frees us from our money lust when to His heart we call. To sit and listen for the Voice of He, Who rules fore'er will rest my person by His Choice. I roll on Him my care. To cease from self to active trust, restores me to the core. Receiving Grace from He, Who's Just creates me as before. My wholeness is not found within. It's found within the Lord. I'm whole when He thus frees from sin, arrested by His Word. by Jay O'Toole on March 3rd, 2021 |
dripping frosty wet chilly rain 'neath sodden skies darkness cries alone by Jay O'Toole on March 2nd, 2021 |
The nighttime is a swath of black a-dotted by white lights. The grieving heart a mass of lack a-feeling all its blights. "How blest they are, the poor in spirit,' though wond'ring at our words. The ones so down can not yet hear it, whose joy takes flight like birds. Though poor in spirit through this Day forever they in Heaven will live and breathe in joyful play in safety, they've been given. "How blessed are the ones, who mourn." Throughout their grief, they cry. Yet, never in abuse are torn the hearts, that wonder, "Why?" What comfort mourning ones shall know in Christ, the crucified! Salvation in His death to sow. No comer is denied. (John 6:37) The nighttime hides the victor's hours of daylight evermore. The shelter of His feathered bowers. Creation as before. (Psalm 91:1-2) "What use is this great murkiness, O Shining Lord, yet veiled?" "The smelter's cauldron for to bless. The precious one not failed." The day of blessing quickly comes when darkness is no more. The Sin is gone, each part, all sums can't stand the Christ before. by Jay O'Toole on March 1st, 2021 |
Squirrels are jumping o'er the ground, proclaiming food has now been found. Daily hope in them abound e'er night will blanket all. Orange hues now paint the sides of buildings as sun slowly slides 'neath horizon lines as lighting tides in nighttime's tender call. Daffodiles salute the world with orange, yellow, white unfurled. Their beauty makes the heart be twirled as pansies do attend. The night, it comes as arbiter of light's effect, until it's blur thus questions hope, until we're sure, that sun will rise, again. by Jay O'Toole on February 26th, 2021 |
Ñandutí, the shrouded gift, remembering one, who's passed. In Paraguay each heart to lift with thoughts, that ever last. Ñandutí, the lacy shroud, remember royal heir, who laid in death in wooded how, who spiders attended there. The Ñandutí in Guaraní means "of the spider's web." The shrouded gift was truly free for princess life, that ebbed. This was the story told to me of spider's web, the Ñandutí, but other stories do abound, where spider webs are often found. But other stories are as rich in Paraguayan culture lore. A young man's mother made a stitch of Ñandutí he'd seen before. He sought to win his darling's heart, but spider webs are fragile, rare. His mama did her loving part by using her own silver hair. She imitated ñandutí, and gave this gift his heart to free, but did he win his love's own heart? We are not told this needful part. by Jay O'Toole on February 25th, 2021 |
Coats and sweaters on display, not upon the body. Warmth of afternoon allays coldness nearly gaudy. Blooming plants, they show their smiles, though tentative and mostly. Winter's days have marched for miles, making plants quite ghostly. Texas needs this day of rest, Kansas and Nebraska. "Lord, please save them through this test Prayerfully, we ask Ya." Blessed sun upon the Earth, flowing o'er the ground. Thanks for springtime's nearly birth, wondrous hours abound. Romping through this wonderland cats enjoy the freedom. Sneaking through each grassy strand, deft for we can't sedum. Breathe the air of new day come. Squirrels in treeful bowery dance upon each limbly sum leaves not truly flowery. Peaceful thoughts arise within, soft the sounds of daily, blessed Savior free from Sin. Dance with us most gaily. by Jay O'Toole on February 24th, 2021 |
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