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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)    |
Down the trail to wooded rest, the crispy crunch of leaves awakened hope for space outside the test with joy to know the steps yet taken. Auburn, rough and flaky bark touches of the kind quite ticklish. Chair of roots and trunk so stark quite lost in thought, awakened sheepish. Spider lilies bursting red with threads of stamen breezes blowing mesmerizing thoughts in head. The seeds of rest now fully sowing. Sun's long rays how quickly fade to clang the bars on Day's escapage. Tent unfurled and sleep obeyed with dreams of work and shame they now dredge. Chrysalis with zipper's hold for nothing harms the world of canvas. Change within through night of cold, until the sun bids darkness vanish. Crusty eyes meet golden morn. The wooded rest has built a stable. Noisy place where hope is born. A rock and berries set the table. Time to hike the trail to home, while leaving home I newly treasure. Health I find in wooded loam, the peace of which is beyond measure. by Jay O'Toole on September 15th, 2019 |
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