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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)    |
| What kind of words are these to say to actors on a stage? So, "Break a leg!" before the play. "Success is what we gauge." The first time e'er I heard this thought, it took me quite a-back. "The best good wish to me you've brought is that I'd have a lack?" "We wish success to you and yours. So, break a leg post haste!" "I wish you coffee made from tars. Enjoy your lack of taste!" "No! Have success, and break a leg! We want you to do good!" "I think that'd make me drink a keg to salvage my bad mood." "Dear sir, you have us painted wrong in this good wish we say. Tomorrow all will sing your song when you succeed today!" "'We've got a couple of days on the team!' Costello was quite mad, Bud Abbott mystified it seemed, confused him pretty bad." "We have no idea'bout these words. Such looney things expressed." "Just 'break a leg', and 'who's on first!' My patience you just test." "Dear sir, these legs those thin tall cloths, two curtains for the stage. Our good wish should not make you wroth, nor start such a wordy rage. "You do us wrong to thus accuse. We'd have your body well. Get on the stage, your talents use your stage voice words to tell." What utter nonsense undone speech doth do to lucid minds! Just speak most plain. Let your words teach. Remove the social fines! by Jay O’Toole on October 10th, 2025 {/center}   |
| Why does one's faith so oft divide? Is peace in God just someone's pride? Why anger and offense? With Truth received each heart's made glad, but not received makes thoughts so mad. Confusion, blended, minced. To keep folks from the Lord Above make many ways, just based on Love. Dispute, that Truth is Just. And when someone says, "Flee His Wrath," make deer headlights, and then just laugh, "Such claims, we need to trust."  Search diligent for one lone Way. Oh, list to Maker's Voice this day for soon the days are gone. The narrow path leads to the Sky. Ask not for proof. 'Tis giv'n. Reply, "On Calvary You Won!" Such faith is not for me to make, but to receive, if I'd partake of everlasting Bliss. The days forever will not end. Look not to self, thy way to mend, but bow His Hand to kiss. All lasting Hope Messiah gives in peace with God, Who Ever lives, and always He has been. To save ourselves we'll always lose. Salvation's Joy chose by He Whose sacrifice paid for sin. by Jay O’Toole on October 9th, 2025 {/center} |
Such dairy goodness, that I find a joyfulness it frees. Exquisite palate, that is mine. What loves are made of cheese! What monstrous flavor fills my mouth when Muenster's on my plate! A Gouda idea that I'm all about. This flavor from Holland is great! What a gift I have when bought for me, the wondrous Danes' Havarti! Again, the Dutch-made Edam can free. I plan to eat 'em. See? Italian cuisine, great mozzarella by hand for pizza pie! The cheese alone is for this fella. In truth, I cannot lie! by Jay O’Toole on October 8th, 2025 |
| Oh, when will the Lord come to carry away the wife He's betrothed to that all lasting day far from this old life's unending dismay to love for all time. What doth Him dissuade, that tarries him now? What hinders us coming 'fore the priest for to bow? The darkness of watches in blackness doth grow. Make the oil all sublime. For years we have waited, the scoffers disdain. The words that are writ, Your Intentions most plain. You will come in the night, at the noon, or in rain. You never are late. Oh, Love, all these poems are written for You for ne'er in the Ever Lands will they be through. My heart bleeds in rhymes, and always will do to show You are Great! This lonely, small room is a tent for the trek. It shelters us here as Your Merits bedeck, 'til shown royal to all with Your Robes 'round the neck, the Groom sees our best. Opaque through these days is the canvas supreme, ever waiting and crying through our times, it may seem, but the Change in a Moment splits the sky with its beams, released from our test. Let's focus on Jesus, Our soon-coming Groom, Who rose from the dead to empty His tomb. His menacing Eyes o'er His enemies loom. He will banish His foes. As the pain of a birth, His Coming will free. Ne'ermore knowing the weariness, now that we see, nor the heartache we carry. Forever with He all our Joy ever grows. by Jay O’Toole on October 7th, 2025 {/center} |
| Our history in running flight it goes on FAST, FAST, FAST! One wonders if its final sight will make it last, last, last! This marathon of things we do makes body, mind just fight, fight, fight! The schedule's the thing that we eschew. We're swimmy-headed, light, light, light! Did we eat supper 'fore we slept? Or breakfast on the GO, GO, GO! The ticking clock as aging's crept for which the last we know, know, know! Ol' Captain Hook the gator ate as clock said, "Tick, Tick, Tick!" No more of life could he relate as belly looked so thick, thick, thick! The story is quite easily known. Our wisdom is what must be grown. by Jay O’Toole on October 6th, 2025 {/center} |
To live quite well in this wide world requires we greatest thoughts apply. For words we grasp, yet blended, whirled are hard to found when we reply. (I Corinthians 3:11, KJV) Like children playing with their food, we play with nouns and verbs that split. Infinitives appear as rude, emotionally when they're lit. I thank the Lord that someday soon, "We'll know, as always, we are known." When finally at night or noon, our thoughts may land as Hope is grown. (I Corinthians 13:12, KJV) Will kith & kin give grace when we write words or speak them hopefully? Will life be new as finally see the understanding Eyes, that Free? The Living Well from which we draw is where we find Salvation's Truth. The childish things that once we saw give way to sight's everlasting youth. by Jay O’Toole on October 5th, 2025 |
| A gifted painter, oft when young finds things to draw and paint around him in the world, best sung. Such sweetness makes us faint. One day, young Randal woke to find a pearl within a tree strung on a nearly-clear fishing line, quite knotted furiously. Dad's wiresnips tucked into his back pocket he climbed up gingerly. A mass of limbs that poked and prodded. The goal, the pearl to free. The pearl, secured in front pocket, zipped, he backed down to the ground. Examining the treasure, he quipped, "What a value I have found! "The subject of my latest painting. Just one for Fluffy's ear. Must find a great name for its popular raving, quite bold, and without fear. "I'll call it 'A Dog with a Pearl Earring.' Nobody's done that before, but Mom raised a finger to caution my thinking, 'More time your title explore.' "Some guy, it would seem, made a title like that, but a girl, not a dog, had the smile. Offense it would give, making painting fall flat, marring my name for an unruly while." Tossed the pearl, and gave Fluffy a warm woolen chair to curl, and contentedly be. Approving of this, Mom gave a wink over there, and our dog was asleep, snoozingly. by Jay O’Toole on October 4th, 2025 |
| A light in the woods across the lake, white streaks of clouds giving way to night. No place to sleep, but a chance to take, a dinghy, paddles, without much sight. The lake's so deep, unknown dangers hide, but there's nothing here to make a fire. "No options" haunts my eroded pride. Dark Death seems ready to call the choir. These slurried strokes raise my hairs on end. The minutes slow until hours long. The thud of the bow, now shore attends. That I still live brings to throat the song. The light falls soft on the shore through trees. A cabin's porch with three lights burn bright. The hope of help quickens steps to see. Pounding raps on door, heart beats with might. Naught moves inside, but the rustles start. A bear? A snake? I must find the key. Above the door, there it is, so smart. Insert, then turn, quickly in, now free. I bolt the door, see the couch, then flop. Knowing now I'm safe, there's hope for the night. Unbuckling the pack, it rolls over to drop. The quilt from the couch, a fine cover alright. by Jay O’Toole on October 3rd, 2025 |
| Things to do, writing, speaking, living. Only my job? Succeed or fail. Teamwork together. by Jay O’Toole on October 2nd, 2025 |
| So, here we go to climb the hill, to write a novel once again. Please, grant me wisdom by Thy Will, that finally, "Published!" I would win. And here we go to novel write, to plow a new field, slight unknown. We've no award the room to bright, unless the Story Mistress this may hone. The words themselves are treasured friends for here we go to make it well. Can poems write, while chapters tend as precious moments stories tell? So, here we go. What will we find? Some great libretto, filled with notes? Some poetry of the Danté kind? Some drama forged of new-coined quotes? "What went ye out there for to see?" the Master asked in Matthew's book. Thus, here we go in HIStory we to write us new novels with a new look. So, here we go with trembling hands. I trow not so. 'Tis great the day! Adventures come through oft-laid plans, that plunge into the depths, I say. How go we here? In words most aged or up-to-date, that youth embrace? Oh, go we here in plots most staged, or mysteries without a trace? Thus, here we go. The race is new. And here we go. 'Tis time to write. So, here we go, that when we're through, our going here will give new sight. by Jay O’Toole on October 1st, 2025 |
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