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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)    |
Many strong and wispy limbs create the canopy. Shimmering leaves of backlit glow in golden hues so free. Years of grief have come and gone, since the elm was given its home. Memories of my long-missed Dad draws me here from each daily roam. The gentle flow of leaves in the wind brings peaceful steady rest. More raucous groans through gales that blow show strength for ev'ry test. The elm's a monument to Dad, not brass, but verdant green. With hope, he thrives, makes my heart glad, though shrouded and not seen. The veins, that line each gentle leaf remind me I'm his blood. The bark, that flakes and peels apart reveals a hope so good. The sapling of each tree, that grows can live for many years to fill quite full the yard of life, and weather many fears. When in the sod the namesake lies, the testimony lives to show our loved ones life goes on with Hope, it daily gives. This elm's a picture to the world. My Dad's influence spread throughout my life to hoary hairs. He lives, though his shell is dead. by Jay O'Toole on April 26th, 2020 |
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