%%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)    |
open to light; closed to cold hopeful for the tender plants; protection through each winter's blast early growth for springtime's beautiful smiling faces; joy for owners who greet new friends by Jay O’Toole on September 20th, 2019 |
in the ground this fall wait in cold for time to bloom early faces rise by Jay O’Toole on September 19th, 2019 |
lightly through the leaves gift of cool to plant and man nudges t'ward the fall by Jay O'Toole on September 18th, 2019 |
dog days stayed; clothes always drenched cool winds help the heart; skin senses fall comes soon summer slumbers long on the welcome mat; winter wrestles the shiftless visitor to curb. by Jay O'Toole on September 17th, 2019 |
"Cheerup, cheerup, cheerup, Human." Mockingbird doth pause to sing. "Kneedeep, kneedeep, kneedeep, wade You in man." Froggy preacher grace would bring. "Leave it! Leave it! Leave it! Load down!" Wisdom from the cricket's chorus. "WOW! WOW! WOW!" screamed sounds are the puma's warnings for us. "Sniff, sniff, sniff. Hey! Hey! Hey, You!" The squirrel's antics for distraction. "Who? Who? Who? Worrier, too!" Wise ol' owl would urge us action. "Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep," insect chorus calls it best. "Deep, deep, deep, deep," restful night of strength for the test. by Jay O'Toole on September 15th, 2019 |
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 |
peas as hard as rock made of sand, of little size basis for a creek by Jay O'Toole on September 14th, 2019 |
| Th'extent to which a lover goes to rescue someone gone astray expresses something we all know and live to the full through ev'ry day. The value placed on dearest loves is seen in ways we oft protect. The nearest home in heart thus proves what joys we wouldn't lightly neglect. The scarcity of '95 makes this a prime and pristine year. Collecting Morgans so sublime will cost great coinage. That's quite clear! The love of spouse and child so blest can make the mind and senses point to the needs of these loved ones to face each test and sharpens every moving joint. The rarest of the rare are the Philly '95 proofs, but even that of rareness pales in marking precious loves of youth, but rarer still's The Holy Grail. The lostness of the human race caused blood stains down the Dear Son's face. In the precious payment of blood Divine The Saviour came the lost to find. My stupid soul had left His Home to fill my belly where I roamed. He chased me around the darkened maze of myriad thoughts and hopeless days. This Heaven's Hound of which you spoke, dear Francis Thompson, is no joke. He's a love-filled man, who tracks my heart by lifelong footfalls from the start. The labyrinthine trails to coin preclude the thoughts to e'er purloin for value comes in purchased price, that makes the owner smell of spice. My wicked soul showed value naught to worldlings, but the Saviour bought from Hell's grimed auction block a slave transformed by Mercy's love forgave. The Morgan Silver '95, a key date for collectors all. Collections purchased clearly thrive through profits made by dealer's call. My parents ate the cheery fruit, so sweet to taste, embittered core. My lostness in the stinking root. No hope to live as once before. His smile came leaping o'er the crags as hinds feet to my tenuous perch. The doubters hurled their sharp-edged nags, that stole my hope, no strength to search. He lift my head and placed His kiss upon my spirit-man so worn, creating everlasting bliss, salvation in my new heart born. "His grace has saved me through His faith, and none of that is born of me." The faith I used within He placed to set my soul from sin so free. "Just open your hand, my dearest love. The coin of Grace is from Above. I gave you both to make you whole. You're worth more than Earth's silver, gold!" The coin was there. I reached to give it to the One, whose life I'd live, but there it stayed in my own hand, a reminder of His Master Plan. "Th'emblazoned coin will stay with you to joy your heart as ever new. The payment made by my own hand is ever finished as I planned." "I saved you as I chose to do. I made you live, from death renewed. You're worth more than the rarest coin. Forever, now, our hearts are joined." What joy to live each blissful day as bought with a price, His bride displayed! Though coins are worth their weight in gold, not one is worth a lasting soul. by Jay O'Toole on September 9th, 2019 |
old man’s beard so long symbiosis with the tree hang around in love by Jay O’Toole on September 12th, 2019 |
dark the skies of night quiet whispers long for day stars show hope to wait by Jay O'Toole on September 11th, 2019 |
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
