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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 (Philippians 2:13, KJV) https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon    |
This year we have a month of days, that challenges the mind. Some parts have cold of great displays, some parts are gentle, kind. The deep freeze harmed my tender plants, and I must wait 'til spring to see their life by God, Who grants great hope, and tongues, that sing. Yet, many days have seen the sun. We thank Him for His Smile, the saving Grace His Son has won, His rest beyond each trial. Seven years ago it was quite warm the first months of 2016. They were quite mild without alarm. The yard was early green, But now it's up and down, again. It causes wonderment, but one day soon the spring will win, and life-filled days be lent. by Jay O’Toole on January 17th, 2023 |
The little corner is my room, where I have stored some things. These Christmas treasures, weaver's loom, that help my heart to sing. I'll store away this poem, too, since it's no doubt too late to bless the reader as most may do for Christmas words now grate. The little corner music plays of Christmas hopes and bliss. Our chilly morn reminds of days we stopped to moments kiss. Green, and red, and blue, and gold, the lights create a place, while whitest lights of Christmas told do comfort hearts with grace. The crafts, and plaques, and ornaments remind of years gone by with those half-done experiments, that on the shelves do lie. Christmas wrapping, boxes, bags, with garlands draped around help Christmas presents, and new tags to keep the gift from being found. Eleven months we now must wait, before the world's onboard with Christmas joy, and wonders great to hear each choir's blessed chord. Yet, nothing stops a heart so filled with Christ, Who came, and for us lived to pay our debt He once was killed, and rose Salvation's Gift to give. by Jay O’Toole on January 16th, 2023 |
frost may come tonight little plants need sheltered space fauna see their breath by Jay O’Toole on January 15th, 2023 |
The days of rush have come and gone. Our food's prepared at a slower pace. We meet with friends more one by one. Here's cloudy breath from colder face. Each song we choose to fully hear is savored in a graceful heart. Each peaceful moment, joyful clear has a calendar, that says, "Just start." Through holidays our hearts may wish to find a silent corner, rare, enjoying nightly flavors swish, relax the mind, release the care, But many nights the parties call. White elephants may fill the room as peaceful moments somewhere do fall. December dates so quickly ZOOM! Relaxed we breathe of Janu-air-y. The pace becomes more "day-by-day." Most folks seem a little wary of those, who speak of Christmas play. I bid thee stop and think it through, "Is it not nice in peaceful joy to share these moments, overdue, that beautiful music doth employ?" I listen, now, and type away to Christmas songs by LSO. London Symphony Orchestra plays the sounds, that make me stronger go. December's pace may give us angst as rest may flee from us anon, In new year's silence give we thanks, 'til twelve months "leaves" are fin'lly gone. by Jay O’Toole on January 14th, 2023 |
To live our lives in a sullen mood is really quite the norm. So, having peace, to some seems rude. "How can you rest in the storm?" The Prince of Peace was born on Earth to pay our debt of sin, that we could have His Blest New Birth, and share this peace with men. This peace with God, the foundation for all other kinds of peace. The Peace of God in Christ, the Door is a sullen mood's release. The Gift of Peace can ne'er be earned, nor grasped by reaching hands. With peace received, and usage learned we rest in God's best Plans. by Jay O’Toole on January 13th, 2023 |
Patchwork words form the poetry of my heart. Slivers of peppermint coat letters galore. Cotton candy falls to the ground, rains start as steaks of hope are carved to make us more. Orange juice seeps from the breakfast orb illuminating blooms as glory lights. Poetry, it anchors near the shore to paddle in and kiss the diamonds bright. Aroma wafts from coffee's flaming mug. Verse by verse I nibble cookie rhymes. Gentle thoughts on chocolate syrup tug to build my poem with great spices prime. "Dance, ye rhythms, 'pon some quatrain's milk, then dive within the pool of wordy foam. Make the bliss of thought from smoothest silk to carry me in tasty dreams of home." My poetry can be the grandest cake, or be so bland at times we chew it not, but when the senses rise to fully bake the new things learned are tastebuds wondrous taught. by Jay O’Toole on January 12th, 2023 |
Some things exist, but some do not. Each step will take us farther down the road. Some hopes remain with some forgot. The weighty things of mind become a load. The life at twenty-one is gone. It nevermore shall come, and be again, but when this life is fin'lly done, we'll know missed possibilities aren't sins. The things we've done, and things we've left most certainly are Wisdom from the Lord. The hinder look will make bereft the hearts, that need the blessings of His Word. There must be hope, that still remains. So, what's to do when senior years arrive? Research your life to see what's plain, and follow gifts, that on the vine survive. Some books we write, and shelve for days, or months or years or more 'til they be dim, still we must light the fire and pray with those, who stand with us and give us vim. Can music be reality? The tuba was my friend for many years. The spinet has more notes to free. The voice can choral sing, bring eyes to tears. My knitting's new, my painting was, photography has long since shuttered closed, but scarves are made for needs because so much of art is thought, not simply posed. The possibilities are gifts from God, Who made us with so much to do. Each joyful deed the world can lift right now, and when our breathing life is through. by Jay O’Toole on January 11th, 2023 |
The place I lived when I was born was Fort Worth, Texas, y'all. The mem'ries I these years have worn are from my small recall. You wonder why that could be so. It was because we left when my Dad's job, it made us go. Uprootment was quite deft. I was just five when we went north to Rochester, N-Y, but six months later returned us forth to say another "goodbye." I've been away near sixty years. Those mem'ries linger on. Apartment "pictures" are still clear, and school 'til he was done. But not much else can my mind see, I'd like to visit soon, if money and the time could free, more mem'ries there to boon. A cowboy's blood I've always had, but a mount to ride I've not. A Western life can't be half-bad, but the Southern life I've got. A hardy bunch we've always been a-mucking cattle plop. Last night the doggies' bully sin caused something similar to drop. Back to work all cowboys, now with shovels at your side, 'cause what they left to take a bow is naught but puppy pride. We've smelled like poo before last night. We muck the stalls so clean. The future still can be quite bright. Just trailer all their mean. We're Texans. We live really big. We stand when they do beat. Next time we'll tug of our own swig with UGA's in defeat. Let this be your best training cry, "Remember the Alamo and Daniel Boone." Defeats we can't deny, but vict'ries will come soon. What bullies may forget at first, will keep us soldiering on! For victories in our lives we thirst, until with God, we're gone. by Jay O’Toole on January 10th, 2023 |
Tonight's the night. It's nearly here. It's time to play some ball. For 'frogs or dogs, 'twill soon be clear the ones, who win it all. For me, I'd like to think I know the way it needs must end, but "toss-up" action makes good show for those, whose hopes can blend. The bulk of life for me's been lived in Texas and in GA. That TCU has now arrived, their winning's my best draw, but Georgia knows 'bout half my life. The dogs are really strong. So, if they win without much strife, tomorrow's work's a song. Yet, I was born in "Cattle Town," Fort Worth, if you don't know. I hope the Horned Frogs wear the crown. How far we've seen them grow! Right now it's time to watch the game. I pray the hope will last for newbies, who'll no more be the same. A win would be a blast. The time is now. The game must start, a victor will be crowned. I pray for peace within my heart. Adrenaline will abound. by Jay O’Toole on January 9th, 2023 |
Daily life: Again we wake. Newness, always seen. Not one thing from us can take the wonders, that have been. New Year's Life: The Lord hath given. Find in Him all peace. First month's grace we now are livin' t'ward Hope's new release. Eight days in the number's plain. New life meaneth this, "Seven is completest gain. Eight beginning's kiss." In 23 we've 12 month's scroll to write new hopes and goals. New life can live within the soul. It's Christ's blest gifted whole. In Him our old, dead things are past. In Him the new has come. Salvation Joy forever lasts in ev'ry part, and sum. by Jay O’Toole on January 8th, 2023 |
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So beautifully written.