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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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“There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . .” ― Charles Spurgeon “Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strengths.” ― C. H. Spurgeon “Hope itself is like a star- not to be seen in the sunshine of prosperity, and only to be discovered in the night of adversity.” ― Charles Haddon Spurgeon “If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.” ― Charles Spurgeon “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t.” ― Charles Spurgeon “Visit many good books, but live in the Bible.” ― Charles Spurgeon “When your will is God's will, you will have your will.” ― Charles Spurgeon https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon (Philippians 2:13, KJV)    |
Success may not come in great and large ways, but in the things small every day. The life, that we live in The Lord yet obeys in the things, that we do and we say. Meet words for our friends and our loved ones are best. Remove we the burdensome quips. Lift loads from their shoulders in some daily tests, and bless them with love from our lips. That little is big when God holds the key removes some great worries we bear. There never is something, that is from God free. His Will is yet known everywhere. by Jay O’Toole on May 17th, 2024   |
How many the days with thoughts ever sage do I ponder the life evermore? Will the hope of the blest beyond Life's final page find its rest within one Final Door? There's a Word given True, that will never return to The One, Who declared it be last. His Salvation is done, that we nevermore burn, since His Mercy and Grace is so vast. Let us never refuse what He's given us best, that Eternity's nothing but grief for He rose from the dead, and He passed ev'ry test. We're soon there for this life is quite brief. It's through faith we've been giv'n, and grace undeserved, that His Wrath is removed from our Day. The less is now blest by The Greater, Who served. We, now, in love do joyous obey. by Jay O’Toole on May 16th, 2024 |
The joy of finding a new friend is wonderful and blest. Agreement in our thoughts will blend with hope to give us rest. As friend with friend we find our place to share agreement's bliss. The wondrous gift of God's Own Grace performs by His Hand this. Distractions may come in between to mar our hoped-for time, but heart's agreement fully seen is friendship most sublime. Constraints of days and wand'ring hours may mitigate our joy, agreement in eternal tow'rs will God's Own Will employ. Elect from Earth's Foundation's true, agreement in His Word. The heart made holy, wondrous new agrees with One Lone Lord. by Jay O’Toole on May 15th, 2024 |
The quiet doggie on the brown bookshelf was once the friend, who nuzzled through our days. Releasing her, restored her peaceful self, but now she's gone, no more in fun to play. The quiet doggie in her little box. The ashes of the friend we once did know. She list intently to my many talks. Her love for us had many ways to show. The quiet doggie lives within my thoughts. The days of joy we cannot live, again. What lessons were the ones, that we were taught? What things undone could I go back to mend? The quiet doggie cannot bark to show her people have returned more time to know. by Jay O’Toole on May 14th, 2024 |
raining through the coat casting sounds, and wet around good for all the plants by Jay O’Toole on May 13th, 2024 |
As Spring gives way to Summer's heat the blooms in strength do wondrous shine. No need to fear the sun, nor from humidity retreat. Of Summer's heat we won't repine, though cool of Winter's months away. A blanket table, basket blest, in grassy park we dine. "Gardenia's many blooms," we say, "enjoin the other bloomers, 'Glow.'" The season's hope in restful nights throughout each joy-filled day. The hostas' green we see and know, not flashy in o'erbearing hype. Their steady beauty, oft unseen, just settled as they grow. by Jay O’Toole on May 10th, 2024 |
world sopping dark'ning blanket covers thirsty plants drink deeply of the rain joy for the pitter-pat change wet clothes by Jay O’Toole on May 9th, 2024 |
glowing end of day day hath been as night doth come night will shortly last by Jay O’Toole on May 8th, 2024 |
Making crafts from day to day helps the mind relax. Much of life is "do and say," standing on the facts. Moments of repeating moves, tying knots with threads, bless emotions as it proves how to rest our heads. Making crafts we knit, crochet, practice practical gifts. Working jobs all through the day, look for time, that lifts. Making crafts, we make some more, joyful in the task. Wondrous time we must explore. Successful, then we bask. by Jay O’Toole on May 7th, 2024 |
With much to say and much to do, confusion blows its fog on a brain. When is the rushing finally through, that just a touch of rest we gain? The years of life make years so small, that walking feels like running fast. The few are left on which we call as rocket fuel fills ev'ry task. An infant's days are really slow, since ev'ry day near lifetime makes, but ev'ry year the more we go the days and years less time they take. From Santa Claus to Santa Claus so much of life is in between for toddlers, who love toys because all Christmas days, new wonders seen. But older years are spinning wheels. No seasons stop. They rush on by. The colors of the spring fast yield to humid green, then fall hues die. Each winter seems to slow the pace, but not for long. It's hot, again. The body feels not much of grace as hot and cold and hot they blend. The hoary hairs grasp oft for sleep, 'til sleep takes o'er the growing night. Eternal pace no more will keep the speed of Earth, our modern blight. by Jay O’Toole on May 6th, 2024 |
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