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 |    We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
| Snowy scenes, that are no more, Christmas morning's cozy quilt, looking out the plateglass window, feeling anticipation, joyous peace. Piles of papers, forlorn boxes, bereft, unwanted. Gifts, no more a mystery, played with, bored with, sloppy tears of "It's all done!" Family piles into the station wagon, disk sled at the ready. Can joy be restored? Flying down the whitewashed hill, landing on the pavement hard. Mom's terrified face as I miraculously come to a stop without sliding under some car. "Time to go!" She's done. Why is Christmas always such a build-up and let-down? Santa isn't real? AUGH! For years I've wanted to recapture the joys of childlike Christmas before it was a hoax. Music of the season brings memories of what was. Twinkle lights, glimpses of what was. Georgia pralines, eggnog, cinnamon, oranges, pine, all the joys and sadnesses of what can never be, again. Mom's not here. Dad isn't, either. Dad decorated so well for Christmas every year. Mom cooked amazing meals and snacks. I'm alone in the world with people, some my age, most are younger. I miss my forebears so badly at times. Oh, for a day of no responsibilities when the "big people" take care of me, again. I want to see and be with them, but I'm not a quitter. So much yet to do. The Lord is yet to call, "All aboard!" His Heavenly Train. Snowy scenes, joyful arms. Eternity lies before. Christmas wonders evermore, looking in His Face, feeling anticipation, joyous peace. Piles of deeds, days now gone, but life is never undone. Judgement Seat examines life. The worthless deeds are ashes on the floor. Deeds done for Christ, purified to precious stones, gold, and silver. sloppy tears of "I'm finally Here!" Homesick for a Place I've never been. Longing for a childhood, that can't grow up. Searching for a Self I can't quite find. Mystified by doubts, wondering if assurance is even possible. Honesty, thy name is "Too Old to Care!" Where can I find the good, that remains from youth? Does that little boy still live, "resting 'neath the sheltering wings?" Will the joys of my childhood be restored with the Ancient of Days, Who is ever young? "Dear Lord, make me ever hopeful in this life. Make my eyes to see clearly The Blessed Hope of the Everlasting Day. Always Your Word. Amen." by Jay O’Toole on November 7th, 2024     |
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