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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)    |
| The child sits cow'ring in his room. The clothes are silent comforters. The dark his fortress or his tomb. The monster's dress reeks fruity stench. These days long past for grown man, numb bring tears to his eyes for what he would. A tender Mom in part and sum would joy in his strong confidence. Some fathers speak burnt, wrathful words invoking God's will when it's theirs. The joy of childhood flees as birds when hope of peace is seldom near. "A Dad, who sees me, whole I'd be," the thought I held in pictured words. "He'd lift me up and make me free" with everlasting, living hope. The fears of this month's brutish games are laughable in childhood's light. 'Mid all the ghouls and boos, whose aims are just to take home candy corn. Faux slivers cover concrete path to frighten children hunting treats, but emotional eggshells form the bath of truest terror through small souls. Enjoy your lightweight, "funny" fears, until full sugar coma dreams give way to ridicule of peers, who smirk at your askew face-paint mess. What joy remains to a child, who tries to keep his mother's happy mood? What fears without can gain the prize of a child, whose mother threatens him? An old man sits in his closet space to seek some peace from these bygone days. White Christmas lights his saving grace. The tomb protector holds her fast. The fears of ten months is the Why he cherishes soft Christmas tunes throughout the year for in days gone by the Christmas season brought him peace. by Jay O'Toole on October 8th, 2019 |
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