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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)    |
We live as friends throughout our days to Joy, and Love, and make new things. A quiet even at home or plays gives moment's bliss as music sings. These 36 blest years I'll share with my wondrous lady soon I trow. So, wondrous now to joy and care on August 1st this year, I know. These past six years an honor's grown to be part of this family. We write in genres, lives more known 'mid writers, whom we daily see. Each year remember days we start to live with ones, who mean so much. Life's partner lives by hand and heart. Life's friendships anniversary touch. by Jay O’Toole on July 14th, 2022 |
reddish leaves invite moment's taste turns mood to joy steamy water brews. by Jay O’Toole on July 13th, 2022 |
To talk of Christmas all year through seems just an infant's dream. There's more of life, that we must do, and more on which to lean. How big the tummy each must have to live on sugar and milk! How much the money we must save to buy those rings and silk! How often can the mind be filled with the words of 40 songs? How many lights through nights so still can change the world's great wrongs? To think of Christmas all year through means none of these sweet things. The Christ, Who came for me and you redeems the heart to sing. I think of Christmas through the years, He came my soul to save. Though older, now, I still have fears. He's Hope beyond the grave. My Christmas song 365 is "Jesus Came for Me." A chang-ed heart makes me to live. His touch still sets me free. A shepherd's booth, a criss-cross trough, the Infant Lord of All. The lowly look, the life a-loft, The Hope, that daily calls. by Jay O’Toole on July 12th, 2022 |
Looking for some words to write, day to day, and night to night. Search for them by effort made. Let no weariness dissuade. In a moment rhymes appear. There to make the process clear. Dance we with the newfound words. Flights of fancy like the birds. Are the verses waterlogged? Stirred-up lake beds make a bog. Stirred-up hearts in reverie make new poems soon for thee. "Drawing a blank" is never fun 'specially when we'd like it done. Now's the time to poem write when our thoughts require some might. "Hurray!" The piece we've found it now. Time to stand, and take a bow. Then to post, the day to close. Words. Each poem's made of those. by Jay O’Toole on July 11th, 2022 |
The jobs are many on this Earth throughout our lives to death from birth, and often they don't show our worth to those who see our days. But God sees all we do and say, the joy we bring, the things we pray. He sees each heart, that dares obey without a "Thank you," now. Dear Weary Heart, God's Person, blest, is with you through each daily test to make your life e'en here the best with "meals" for your own soul. In search of times to live in peace, His Presence is a great release to make those darkened words to cease just lean upon His Chest. Each peaceful moment in Him find. He loves you most. He's truly kind. His "Wait" is smelting, never blind. You're 'graved upon His Hand. The peaceful moments you may seek are in the One, Who came so meek. "Shalom. Be still," His Words they speak to calm the troubled soul. A peaceful moment may not be from ev'ry trouble fully free, but greatest hope is aye in He, Who rules the lasting Day. Each peaceful moment starts beneath the Cross of Him, Who did bequeath Salvation's Gift by smashing teeth of Death's own chilly mouth. In search of peace, we find the day, that Jesus rose in great display to rest the ones, who say Him, "Yay!" forever in His Hands. These moments ever become one because of Christ, the Father's Son, Who came to save through all He'd done. My name is written down. by Jay O’Toole on July 8th, 2022 |
air is really wet dousing fur and plumes alike all hope for the fall by Jay O’Toole on July 7th, 2022 |
drummers in the sky lightning draws the loudest boom sensitive dog's heart by Jay O’Toole on July 6th, 2022 |
The still life croons. The wall, the stage as apple's basso drips creating spicy sauce, the rage of tongue beyond the lips. These hosta mezzo tones in oil recite his music piece. The brush of Handel's greatest toil brings Nature's blest release. The Gleaners chorus fills the field. It echoes through the room to bless all hearts with sounds, that heal, unbar the heart's lone tomb. The Blue Boy peels the rafters rare. Soprano notes ring high as Gainsborough in wide-mouthed stare doth contemplate the Why. The treble formed in acrylic Bach, Jesu, Joy of Man's Desire to this new canvas all blest flock. Great hope creates the spire. A steak in watercolor fair doth tempt the tongue to eat, but ribs flamed prime or slightly rare confuse the hoped-for treat. Each canvas baked, a new delight. Each song sung from the heart. Each color feathered beauteous sight. Each word a wondrous start. by Jay O’Toole on July 5th, 2022 |
O, Freedom to live truest peace with Grace, that causes fears to cease among all hearts in Joy released, we thank, Thee, God Above. O, Freedom born of the greatest Gift, that spirits worn be daily lift, perspectives from the Darkness shift to see God's lasting Love. O, Freedom birthed on frozen toes, reminding of the lives of those, who knew the Truth, that Wisdom grows through wins & losses each day. O, Freedom may we keep thy trust to stand for what you stood as just, that we would live our lives as must to honor and obey. O, Freedom let us know your name throughout all ages, true and same, beyond all wagging tongues, that blame of weaknesses, that sway. O, Freedom borne on Justice, rare, beyond the ages, angels stare at what God wrought in Grace to dare for Hope is Mercy's Joy! O, Freedom waving through the night 'mid bombs explosions causing fright was theirs and ours by God's Own Might, that Grace He would employ. by Jay O’Toole on July 4th, 2022 |
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