%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
|
“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)    |
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 |
Being "Honest to God" is a worthy goal, but not one we can reach while living in this sinful soul so much His Word must teach. To live in honesty each day the chosen try to do, but trips in deeds or words we say makes the heart so sad all through. The lives we live as children set our life's trajectory. When others' needs are always met, it's hard to be set free. If "Honest to God"'s our always goal, then honesty to Self must be important to be whole or life is on a shelf. Be "Honest to God," and live His Truth in word, and thought, and deed. Imperfection from our youth, confess it, and we're freed. by Jay O’Toole on May 3rd, 2024 |
To drink a cup before I sleep, it's wise to know the kind. It's not like tea, that needs to steep, but decaf is the grind. To sip the blonded coffee cup brings joy with ev'ry taste. A friend with cake, the wondrous sup, this moment not erased. This blest alcove, the sweetest scene, to write as the cup is drained. The clock walks on. Each second seen hopes, that some new words be gained. To sip and rhyme in joyful bliss salutes the day now done. The poem finished, glad in this, the calendar box is won. by Jay O’Toole on May 2nd, 2024 |
| Moving on each given day is what we do with hopes we say. "Please comfort hearts" is what we pray, that future hopes are blest. Moving on, the days are past when Bruhni's life, the first and last are set in stone, a lasting cast. Now, mem'ries are our best. Moving on without that face. She blest all hearts with childlike grace, the missing piece, a lasting place, an emptiness to feel. Moving on with thoughts in tow, the things we did this one to know. The pup she was for years did grow, a friend so very real. by Jay O’Toole on May 1st, 2024 |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
