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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)    |
| How can it be the One, Whose Face I've never seen is in my heart? How can I ever hope to trace His Loveliness from which I can't part? I long for Christmas all year through. So when it comes I'm longing more. I want to spend my life with He Who meets all needs. He's Home, the Door. The broken parts of my heart have flown away to Heaven, where He lives. The Christmas longing ever grown to be with those through life He gives. There's nothing really wrong I guess, except that everything's wrong it seems. We're standing in the human mess, awaiting one, Whose life - death - life redeems. True Christmas morn will finally be when Jesus' Face in wonder shown. We're nevermore away from He. In Resurrection, death has flown. by Jay O’Toole on December 16th, 2025    |
| Freezing temps with heat to come. What will life soon be? Battered clouds to earth in sum, sounds like catastrophe. My feet are cold, so very much, but what of these ten days? Will sweating be the latest touch of weather's great displays? When cold and hot are dancing fast the spinning wind is rough. The lighter things are lifted, cast, until it's had enough. Some may have snow when it's all said. White Christmas in the Maine. Thermometers may blast the red, where temps have gone insane. The yard work, that I need to do may soon be feasible. To prune lantana, await the new, the task may quickly call. Tonight, just feels like Christmas Eve. Some furry slippers toes. Tomorrow night another reprieve, before we abandon those. But God be praised. His Mercy's great, the Day makes known His Son. The heat and cold will not be late. Great good is ever done. by Jay O’Toole on December 15th, 2025 |
| Quiet means, that things are still. Words unsaid can still be meant. Gentle souls present good will. Seated friends, thoughts viewed as sent. Sometimes quiet means a breach between two souls, since something's wrong. To break the ice can help us reach beyond the chasm, new the song. Quiet helps the soul to heal from noisy days of Life's large din. Peace is one great need so real. The heart restored. It's health to win. Quiet lives in night so cold, that none can stay, and bear it well. Quiet sips of coffee bold bespeak a day well lived to tell. by Jay O’Toole on December 14th, 2025 |
| When trouble with breaths, and painful heartbeats, some doggies, that scare us, these spiders, that leap, the fact I am older, and may not mean much, are often big problems, that may only be naught. The fact, that I'm dying and always have been, since before I was born, weaved by Adam's first sin. If the Lord does not snatch us, then he'll finally win, his pitchfork in hand with that awful bright grin. Like Charlie Brown's monologue these fears of all kinds. They often upset up us with counsel, that blinds. "Pantophobia, the fear of everything," we find. "That's it!" cries his heart and ours for a time. The daredevil jumps, that are billed as a treat, from airplanes so high, and not really cheap. One ruwth  has yet done this, quite youthful this touch,while some still prefer real estate, that's been bought. As long as we live in these bodies, that end the fears of each life we will have to attend. As long as we wish to have living go on, then health for our days we will seek quite anon. The fear of Eternity, dreary and real, is one I can't hide, nor ever conceal. Yet, when I may hide in The One, Who made all, the smallest of voice, He attends to that call. (Psalm 91:1-2,4; Romans 10:13) These fears of each life are so common to man. We stand yet in courage with fears still so real. The end of all fears is the worst one we face. The end may be dark, 'til we wake in His Grace. So Hellish these fears, but still must respect the Words of great Truth lest fore'er we neglect. Though paranoid be, this one truth understand, "Empty tomb be refused, e'er with fears we will deal." by Jay O’Toole on December 13th, 2025 |
| The thankful time with turkey stands as past. The festive day of JOY will come quite soon. The freezing nights, that chill the bones won't last. Each working day begins and ends the same. Great money gained this time of year, a boon. A profit at the end of year, such fame. Good Santa fills the stocking for each child. A blessed peace wafts through the countryside. Sweet sleep bespeaks a night that's greatly mild. A new year comes, and what will it then be? A time of grace with goodness bonafide? Or lost restraints when foolish passions free? The thankful time with turkey stands as past. Good Santa fills the stocking for each child. by Jay O’Toole on December 12th, 2025 |
| These nights of cold are biting sore, yet wondrous Christmas days show treasures, that we have in store with gifted light displays. Such bitter cold behooves us much to bring the cats inside, and keep the plants from Winter's touch, beneath some quilts to hide. It feels like snow, but often not in southern climes and lands. Our coldest chills are often fraught with warmth-made rainy plans. Two weeks before great Christmas day, it feels like Christmas night. Insure your health to inside stay, preventing the coldest bite. by Jay O’Toole on December 11th, 2025 |
| How do we speak in confidence to those, whose view's not ours? Do we debate, and try to convince of Hope, that in them sours? I know 'tis true, that Christ's alive, and has been since the day, He rose up from the dead to thrive, Salvation on display. Yet, oft I speak about His Birth, His Life, His dying cross. His Resurrection, His great Worth, while others think it's dross. Just one man's voice, it seems, to speak, to call dear souls to Grace. How perish most, for whom we seek? How stand we 'fore His Face? How can we dare to satisfy His grievance 'gainst our slur? His given Word some thus deny. "It's not," some dare infer. When Someone writes His dearest Word, a letter to the world, and states He is the Truth, assured, "He rose!" the flag unfurled, 'Tis time to fear as fools reject the everliving Truth. The Word Most High you dare neglect? He lived 'fore you were a youth. How do we get the point across, while Doubt is Honor's Badge? Each day we point to the middle cross, the cure for Hell's blazing match. by Jay O’Toole on December 10th, 2025 |
So, what makes Christmas wondrous good? What touches childlike hearts? What makes each day the sweetest mood? What gives us a new start? Can mystery just make you wait until the best is known? Can God, the Lord ever be late, since all must face His Throne? What makes life warm in bitterest cold? What gives Hope in the dark? How can we know the world won't fold when silliness is stark? The promises of the Making One have never ceased one time. The last state of each chosen son is eternally sublime. "I am the way, the truth, and the life. You come to my Father through me." Confess your sins. Give Him your strife for in Him you are free. Philippians 2:5-11 Colossians 1:16-17 I Corithians 15:3-4 John 14:6 Romans 9:15-16 Romans 10:9-10,13 by Jay O’Toole on December 9th, 2025 |
How do we celebrate the day, that Jesus came to make us new when it's unknown as some folks say uncertainty, that's through and through? The 25th of this last space upon the calendar each year to mark His Birth, the Son, Whose Grace redeems to save as free and clear. What difference does it really make, one day for His most unique birth? Should other days a backseat take when ev'ry day shows His great worth? Do humans on great Christmas day show JOY, that Jesus Christ was born? Or do we lust for gifts' display when soon the "toy" is old and worn? The sheep were watched throughout the night. The Babe was born, in a manger laid. Concern for both, if winter's plight were true upon the choice we've made. Was He sure born in the 0 year? Was He sure born in winter's chill? Do skeptic's have a doubt, that's clear? Do mysteries negate God's Will? The JOY for ev'ry trueborn heart, the Hope for ev'ry redeemed child, the days of Grace, that ever start is that He came in Truth, unguiled. by Jay O’Toole on December 8th, 2025 |
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