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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)    |
They play around in our backyard, One male and one female. For life, it's said, this pairing's part of socializing's tale. The cardinal was Mom's favorite, and when we decorate with red birds, I most often get a smile to grief abate. The male in red-draped glory, rare, his wife in brown, content, The Greatest Generation, there once lived this timely bent, but now, if human males wear red, a miter crowns the pate, and when made white, his words are said to be none else but great. Yet, one man's red came from His stripes, His crown of thorns, most sharp. No glory had He, lauded hype, then wrapped in the shroud of lowly garb. The Greatest Generation matched His coat, but sacrifice could not. They gave their all in field and mote. Our Freedom for it fought. The cardinal truth thus makes us to think, "Which garb wears glory best? The glory, now? Or when we sink into The One Day blest?" by Jay O’Toole on May 2nd, 2025   |
"Th'epistles were th'apostles' wives," some funny man once said, but little of these ladies lives are written to be read. But I've a wife, who'd volumes fill, if I'd know where that I could start. From joyous days to journeys' thrill, each novel from the glowing heart. A cut-up, she doth mold the hair for clients, friends, and family. Some newly-coiffed doth make me stare, unknown in elegance or whimsy. Be known to thee, my dearest friend. A wife invests thy days. Choose wisely, and do not amend her thoughts, nor the things she says. In years to come, we must coffee sip, comparing life notes, all. For if our tongues did lightly trip, our shoulders will catch our fall. by Jay O’Toole on May 1st, 2025 |
Days of grace are fading fast, but when the time comes what will be? Deciding moments soon will pass, but when the time comes, who will be free? The Earth has left its need of God, but when the time comes will we then? Our voices all our selves applaud, but when the time comes to die in sin...? We choose a century to play, but when the time comes, then we stand before the God, Whose Word will say, "Your house was built on shifting sand." Today, the believer is God's Gift to His Son. Believer, time is yours, right now. For Jesus died, and rose, and won, that you'd be humbled, before Him bow. by Jay O’Toole on April 30th, 2025 |
To sit, to wait, to look around can often pass the time 'til hoped for subjects may be found as words become sublime. A drink of water, tea to sip, or coffee with its art may find some thought that gave the slip when we sat down to start. Alas, when racking my brain to find some writer's joyful piece, the weariness is just not kind to give my words release. But when I think about the state of where I am and why, the journaling becomes so great of that I can't deny. To "prime the pump" with life observed creates the writer's art. A pristine piece is finally served when sailing another part. Just ask the sculptor how was made the sculpture of a horse. The response is terse and not overplayed, "Remove what's not, of course." The journalist fills newsprint sheets with what is seen right there. He listens, and then just repeats observers with great care. How do we write some big, new thing? How do we daily start? Could be we simply watch and sing, while doing our gifted part. by Jay O’Toole on April 29th, 2025 |
high upon the bush magnolia blooms a-blazing scraping the blue sky by Jay O’Toole on April 28th, 2025 |
That April is the time of rain to water pretty blooms, we know this fact so sweetly plain, and open window rooms. Then May's the time blooms thrive so much to color lives with glee. We decorate with a joyous touch with smiles for you and me. For June's days filled with bride's bedecked and churches flowery splay. The sweetest honey bees have nect- perfume her joyous day. If April showers bring May flowers for June's wedding bowers, then what may be the sight's we see for all the future knowers? April, May, and June may sing a sibling trio true for wedded bliss doth often bring blest children, who are new. by Jay O’Toole on April 25th, 2025 |
| The Day of all days when Jesus arose brings hope to the hearts of all whom He chose. Desire for His Glory forever that grows. The lasting Redeemer Creation still shows. Through painfullest beatings, the Lord took my pain to bring me Salvation, right standing again. The Chosen of God, the best of all men, His death as my Substitute ever to win. The darkness was felt as he gave up the Ghost. The tomb was His Sabbath's most stony-eyed host. His death was the enemy's awfulest boast, but sunrise the Third was the sunniest, most. He's risen, indeed! And ne'ermore abased. The sins of my life by His Merits erased. The hope of my evermore shines in His Face. I have no desire to This Savior replace. by Jay O’Toole on April 24th, 2025 |
| My heart exults, and it is glad when rhymes are had within the bounds of joyful sounds. The day is full of words so good, but rhythmed wood? A knocking plank I cannot thank. Howevermore, I will adore the muffled snore sandpaper riffs as music shifts. by Jay O’Toole on April 24th, 2025 |
The sky now grumbles, darkening face. The day has hours to go. My hesitance to leave this place can't stop the schedule I know. The storm clouds grumble o'er our HIStory. The Earth has more time, too, but not much left for fancy free, 'til thoughts of wisdom do. It's peaceful now, though grumbling grows. The drummer of the skyward band impends the cadence, that it knows to show where we may quite soon stand. Dark the sky may drop its load when we must seek some sheltered place. The thunder rattles late abode as trembling hearts pursue God's Grace. Quoth Bunyan in his mighty tome, "Now flee the Wrath that is to come!" Abide His Wings, God's sheltering Home. Our sins on Christ, atonement's sum. by Jay O’Toole on April 23rd, 2025 |
Today it's hot, and soon 'twill be the land of summer heat, again, but now I sit 'neath clouds so free, that hide the sun from earthly men. The clouds can hide my thoughts as well, confusing what life seems to be, but clouds can't cover words that tell the Truth of God with hearts made free. These days are earthly, cloudy mush, uncertain paths, the way to walk. The clear Day with its green so lush will bring us time for coffee, talk. by Jay O’Toole on April 22nd, 2025 |
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