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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)    |
yellow blooms in force pungent odor bars the deer protects tender plants by Jay O’Toole on July 8th, 2020 |
With my faith I’m gaining more. Trials are hard, but there’s the door. Hope is strong. I’m living proof for Christ is Lord, today from youth. The quarantine may challenge hearts. Each separation quickly parts the lightest friends of fairer days. They choose a life of easy ways. But life is massive in the Lord His thoughts, decrees from the living Word. These days are fading. When He comes The Lord will rule the parts, the sums. This mask upon my nose and mouth will not prevent Christ’s living Truth. The Hope I hold within my breast will stay His proof through ev’ry test. The days of staying by myself redound, they will, to lasting wealth. All Hope will roar through Christian’s voice determined by the lasting choice. by Jay O’Toole on July 7th, 2020 |
Walking daily through my house serving through my daily deeds. I gift my daughter and my spouse with times alone for peaceful reads. Serving through my daily deeds, clean the dishes, put away with times alone for peaceful reads I live my life from day to day. Clean the dishes, put away. Write my blogs in thoughtful words, I live my life from day to day, and hear the wondrous chirp of birds. Write my blogs in thoughtful words. Leave my heart for future souls and hear the wondrous chirp of birds, such wisdom for our human goals. Leave my heart for future souls, I gift my daughter and my spouse. Such wisdom for our human goals, walking daily through my house. by Jay O’Toole on July 6th, 2020 |
What lofty words thine upstart states did leave to ruthless souls, who have no stomach now for higher things as their own hearts deceive to make thy stalwart founders lately bow! Bethought we then such rilings 'gainst the king injurious to civil states of Man, but now we'd join thine Anthem best to sing, protect thy name from infants' latest plan. What wicked state we both did once espouse! Diminished others for our arm-ed gain, but fires of wrath cannot maintain thy house. The gift of Mercy's need is greatly plain. The temper tantrums of today and past need civil discourse, if we long may last. by Jay O'Toole on July 4th, 2020 |
Your eyes and mind are filled with many thoughts. You see the sky as brilliant blue or pale. Your language shows the words, that you've been taught. Aromas fill your heart with bliss or fail. In trembling hope, you reach beyond the space, that separates my life from yours in trust. Your breathless waiting for my reach apace is keeping friendship lines from going bust. Who breaks the ice to start anew the sight of me to you and you to me in grace? How can we share this human life's great plight, "Each mask has doors of eyes within each face." This reaching from a heart to heart in love begins within the heart of God Above. by Jay O'Toole on July 3rd, 2020 |
To publish something, that the world might read, to find some way to tell my heart's true beats, to live the greatest life in words, that bleed, the sweetest hope within, my daily treats. The world, so filled with thoughts of ev'ry kind, may read my words, and find them not esteemed, some art not seen by seeing and the blind, beyond the vale of all, that may be dreamed. But poet hopes are shared by many hearts, photography of living souls within. Each dancing breath is where it always starts. The reader's heart, the wondrous gift it wins. The writer's hope will always seize the day by opening the breast to truly say. by Jay O'Toole on July 2nd, 2020 |
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.