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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)    |
A tender heart's not born that way. It is the gift of God. To live and love each gentle day is through one truly awed. "A new heart I will give to you. New spirit in you I will put. I'll take the stony heart. It's through, so marred by dirt and caked in soot. "I'll give to you a heart of flesh. My Spirit I will put within, and cause your walk in me be fresh. My judgments you shall do, not sin." (Ezekiel 36:26-27, AKJV, in iambic meter) I'm tender when I'm breakable. My tenderness sees other's needs. With gentleness unshakable I bandage hurts, each wound, that bleeds. A stony heart sees mirrored eyes. It looks out "just for me!" But God's been calling from the skies. Just listen and you I'll free. Each life upon this stony Rock is worthy of tenderness. Because we're made of Adam's stock, God chooses us to bless. Salvation is of God each part. He stops me cold to change my core. Exchange makes new my imbittered heart. Puts life within, where none was before. by Jay O'Toole on April 27th, 2020 |
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 |
Repeat the moves you know to make, until His call is new. Let no one from your duty shake, until the task is through. Until the task is through, my friend, we've daily steps to walk. The job is yours, you must not bend. We sweat, not merely talk. Until the task is through, I trow, repeatings we disdain for what we do is what we know. This truth is very plain. Until the task is through affirm commitment in each hour. We shrink from not a harmful germ but live in His great Power. Until the task is through, I see the sameness seems a cloud, but 'til the Lord would set me free the daily breaks the proud. Until the task is through, invest your all for his blest Name. The Lord may put us to the test, but focus fans the flame. Until the task is through, be strong. Eschew all earthly bliss. The Master's purpose is our song. We bow His feet to kiss. Repeat the daily work you do, until His call relents. Until the task is through for you, obey when naught makes sense. by Jay O'Toole on April 25th, 2020 |
A home is where the heart remains, a place to bring up young. Each home for a bird will daily gain it's hope as joy be sung. Security it finds to nest by God's blest altar, rare. It knows its home is truly blest no other place as there. The sparrow finds its firm abode within the Lord's great House. The swallow rests from a weary load with children and her spouse. We humans need to take advice from little birds, the wise. Our greatest home without a price is Him, Who never lies. --------------------------------------- "Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow builds her nest and raises her young at a place near your altar," (Psalm 84:3, NLT) by Jay O'Toole on April 24th, 2020 |
I'm looking up to see the Lord, Who lives upon the mountain's rest. My help is His by His own Word to save me through each Earthly test. My help comes from the glorious One, Who made the heaven and the earth. I'm looking to God's Only Son, Who gives me Hope through His New Birth. He will not let my feet to trip. He watches o'er me without sleep. He holds me in His Hand's firm grip. He makes my rest to be so deep. For He, Who watches Israel, is never sleepy, nor will rest. His enemies can't live to tell their goals upon the ones, He's blest. The Lord, He watches over you. The Lord is shading you from the sun. Protecting in His Grace e'er new. Just rest in Him. The battle's won. The sun won't harm you through the day. The moon won't harm you through the night. The Lord's Protection's on display redeems your spirit from its plight. The Lord, He keeps you from all harm and watches o'er your life's long days. We need just lean upon His Arm, and look for Hope, He'll always raise. The Lord keeps watch o'er ev'ry step. You come and go, today and e'er. This exercise through ev'ry rep will lift your heart from ev'ry care. Psalm 121:1-8, NLT Reworded by Jay O'Toole on April 23rd, 2020 |
"Oh, wait, I say, upon the Lord. He gives thee courage rare. Great strength of heart by His own Word. Just wait, (and throw your care.)" Psalm 27:14 gives the antidote for fear. The heart, that always waits and lives, will see the way most clear. But in the days of waiting know, The Lord, while by your side may let some challenges to flow to test you to abide. The faith, which will yet show betimes, remaining until late can lead to the path of the uphill climb, where Honor calls you great. To be a pillar holds such weight as the builder knows to load, and waiting stands beyond the date, that hopeful hearts sing odes. The Name of God has Glory great. His servants rest within. He'll never load upon each plate more than the strength to win. Just wait, dear soul, the Lord will come to snatch to safety's tow'r. His timing seems quite slow to some, but He's always on the hour. by Jay O'Toole on April 22nd, 2020 |
To live in harmony so pure is all I'll ever want. To live for Christ and to endure, my bles-sed daily thought. How sad I am to do some wrong, to hurt His loving heart, Let restoration be my song, forever as the start. "Lord, make my mind Your very own, my deeds as You would act. Please, grant each day new steps I've grown, to live Salvation's fact." by Jay O'Toole on April 21st, 2020 |
| Heavy metal through those youthful days. A tuba made of brass around my neck attended me when marching cold or hot. What joy in music made, though the body was a wreck! Marching practices were awfully long. Halftime shows and parades kept on point the mind and soul of low brass notes, while polyester burned each limb and joint. The captain of the band, a senior on his way, the greatest of acclaim to end his high school Day was the John Philip Sousa Senior Bandsman Award. Still, it bears honor in his home on display. A freshman, he in '78 in a college marching band, the Sound of the South of Troy State U. What a year of making music great! Too soon sadly, it was through. But still the tuba, that dear friend, he played in a community band. He shared a concert on a flatbed truck parading throughout the land. He moved so many miles away to finish his college days new. A teacher he was soon to be, though more concerts with his tuba to do. His last great claim to fame he saw as a tuba player rare was on a concert stage beside a piccolo player there. The break-strain played of "The Stars and Stripes Forever" of low and high together. But then 'twas gone, that large, dear friend. The tuba player was lost. No more great concerts with a band for music has its cost. For now, life must be lived for others. A job to work, that all may eat. The youthful days of music were gone. His tuba skills did not a profession meet. What thoughts do waft! What concerts not played! What honors unknown for no days on parade! How faded those days! What loss for the heart! His tuba remains a great Joy, once obeyed. He tried, once again, just a few years ago now to find and to play a great tuba, a friend. A practice or two, maybe three, then 'twas o'er. The mouthpiece he shelves for this mem'ry to mend. Maybe that was quite all he was needed to do, hold this large rotund friend his youthful days through. He still cries and salutes when this Sousa march peals as he stands on his feet with a mem'ry that's real. by Jay O'Toole on April 20th, 2020 |
Instead of bringing love so near, this COVID makes it deadly clear, his arrow is unearthly fear, since good is not his goal. The 14 of the fam'ly trait is dual-pronged with limping gait. When it is known, it's now too late to make its contacts whole. "Febrero is my cousin's home, but since then o'er the world I roam to make your cases quite a tome, until I've had my 'fun'!" "You say my 'fun' is not at all? But virus has no moral call. Your woes are thoughts in me quite small. I'll show you when I'm done." "All demigods of earthly fame are easy for the Truth to tame. No more can you bring lasting blame to human tools you used." "My name is God, Who is most High. You've sung your final lullaby o'er those, who languor and still cry, of you they're quite abused." "Begone, and never come, again," may say Christ, the Lord, the sinner's Friend. "All hearts repentant, I'll now mend, and cause your shadow cease." "For Christ, the Lord is ris'n today, Hallelujah!" I'll ever say. "Come quick to aid us! Own the day! Please, give us soon release!" by Jay O'Toole on April 19th, 2020 |
We search for rest in ev'ry crannied nook. "Begone, dark thoughts, by Christ the lasting King!" The hope of grace is thickly in the Book, that peace of heart may cause me ever sing. Great strife of mind comes from our efforts sore, amending self to please the Lord Above, but ti-red tirades empty not the store of sins confessed, while pleading for His Love. Lo, grasping reacheth not the rest we need. The butterfly we chase will not be ours. Yet, stop and wait. Let go the tonguish plead. Heart-rest and peace will light as on the flow'rs. All rest's the gift from God, whose loving Heart began redemption 'fore Creation's start. by Jay O'Toole on April 18th, 2020 |
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