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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)    |
She takes her food from my own hand. Her gentle pecks don't hurt. Soft henish sounds I understand. No need my eyes avert. For five-plus years she's been a pet, outlasting all the rest. She shows no signs of slowing, yet, withstanding every test. For twice a fox has come and gone, a-feasting on the flock with gold ones left upon the lawn, and this one left in shock. She showed me how she stayed alive. In the shadows, she did hide by salt and pepper plumes to thrive, the menace to abide. I moved her coop quite near our house. The rain from eaves still dance. For days she dared not to espouse the place of fearish glance. For nights she found salvation's perch, and dared not to go home. By gentle care to roost, I urged. I carried her to home. She looks each day to find her friend, the big one, not like her, who makes her henish sounds to mend, emotions' mollified myrrh. The trips away are shortened oft, not just by viral curse. When Sun goes down, I bar her loft, preventing something worse. I did not know a friend could be an animal so fowl, but cherish every day her see, and when she's gone to howl. Is this my hand, that writes it so? I really could not guess, that words I speak but do not know could one so different bless. by Jay O'Toole on July 1st, 2020 |
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So beautifully written.