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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)    |
| Perspire these rivers flow across my face. Each moment of the day draws torch's blast. Relief will come when coolness gives me place. Or puddled features showeth me at last. How warm these dogs, returning thoughts en masse to chilly days of Christmas coats and lights. All peaceful hopes that soon this heat will pass, restoring health to Body's shoulds and mights. Humidity it floods the daily storms. Encased in hold, the home becomes a barque. The AC fights against all muggy alarms. We go not out, but 'fore the fan we park. When winter comes, we know quite less the ice, rememb'ring Dog Days then is rather nice. by Jay O’Toole on July 18th, 2025   |
| The voices that confuse me now are myriad 'mid the din. They cause my heart to lowly bow, denying human sin. The voices say to "Just think good. Forget depravity. None's that bad. So, 'knock on wood.' It's Heaven you're bound to see." Confusing voices know not God, nor His Unchanging Word. Eschew the swill of "truth," that's mod from minds so worldly blurred. To build my house on The Rock, that's sure, I cover loving ears to voices that will not endure as bound to human fears. by Jay O’Toole on July 17th, 2025 |
| Quiet is the tone when I am alone. Unseen. Daughter on the phone, a job, she is grown. No teen. Wife with Mama sown. Life now fully known. Sad scene. by Jay O’Toole on July 16th, 2025 |
| "Mama is gone," attempts to say, that she has left this life today. So few the words, it's not okay. Emotions feel so raw. "Mama is gone." She'll not come back to live within this house of lack, where days are long, and pains attack. Released, her soul is free. "Mama is gone." Was all bestowed? Were things well-said? The thoughts we owed? Beware of Grief's accusing mode as we begin to heal. "Mama is gone." Please, help us, Lord, to find great solace in Your Word, while reading Truth through eyes still blurred. We live in lasting Hope. "Mama is gone," but Jesus comes. The days to live are still great sums, where all is blest in work, that hums. He's JOY, dear grieving heart. "Mama is gone," but just for now. We'll all before the King soon bow. His Blessings evermore bestow to know His laughter there. "Mama is gone." What more can be said? "Our Hope is in Christ, Alive from the dead! Our sins are paid by He, Who bled." There's nothing more to pay. "Mama is gone." The sun is set upon these earthly days to get. One dash can nevermore be let to stop the life, that comes. "Mama is gone," but we are here to help each other combat fear, to light the path, to walk it clear, until He calls us Home. "Mama is gone" to joy in her peace, to lay down weak life in fullest release. Now, knowing more strength, that life can increase. There's Hope to embrace once again. by Jay O’Toole on July 15th, 2025 |
These annual days of joyful cheer are gifts we all can share. When two or three are gathered here reduce we every care, but multiply we wondrous joy, among these hearts at one, that when our songs and smiles employ great nourishment is done. Anniversaries, and birthdays, too, are days so wondrous sweet. How great to share with friends like you! In writing oft we greet! by Jay O’Toole on July 14th, 2025 |
| How do we honor what was lost one week ago? The rushing water, ghostly loud, too swift it snatched those sleeping gems of life, none can replace. Last moments known only to God when facing the unfeeling foe. The water rises overcoming the foundation's refuge. Merciless assailant unhindered by doors still bolted and latched. Some find the roof with life's last strength as heroes finally succumb. The two, still clasping hands when found, so far away, were swept. The preacher saved so many lives, but finally his was lost. The young man saved his family, still bled of glass, then gone. The nine were saved through one small hole. They scrambled to the roof. The young man stood on an electrical box until salvation came. Some youth were in a bus, singing to praise the One, Who saves. Too many lost, so many saved. Such hope and devastation mixed. How do we grieve with those who grieve to honor what we cannot know? Remember. Pray. In silence stand. Now, wordlessly most broken are the ones who grieve such lasting loss. Most broken are the ones whose grief is little help for those who need it most. by Jay O’Toole on July 11th, 2025 |
The cycle of the news may turn, but still the living Truth is someday soon we yet may learn th'extent of rain's reproof. That Texas is so very large, none ever can deny. The floods that rage are still in charge of scenes that make us cry. But years ago in '85 some windshear caused great pain with DFW alive from crash in mighty rain. Yet, afterwards, equipment grew to help us see distress, preventing some because we knew, where shear could make a mess. Her sinking back in 1912 brought infamy to bear. Into the whys, Titanic delve, improving safety's care. Communication has improved, but still the weather's strong. The danger is not fully removed, but still Hope finds a song. That lives are changed, we know it's true, and what we can, we do, but God, Who knows the end where to is there for me and you. Each new day dawns by God's Own Grace. His Will is to be done. The fires char the ground's own face as pine cone seeds are won. by Jay O’Toole on July 10th, 2025 |
How do we live when days are short? Disasters fall across our way. Though stuck in search of blest import, we live as best we can this day. We live so focused on the deed, and blast ourselves for needs unmet, forgetting most the hopes we read, inflicting inward social debt. I am not God. So why should I be only satisfied of when I live perfection in the try of saving other lives to win. To live right here, to meet the needs of those for whom I'm called to care is better far than far-off deeds I cannot do, though oft I stare. To live this life, to faithful be, while praying for those deeply hurt as focused on Eternity, not one job given to shirk, nor skirt. A trial of my faith is this, that oft I would do greater deeds than those I do with a daily kiss in search of honor made of greed. "Lord, grant me live this life each day in search of benefit to all, that small things done as You're obeyed, fulfill the everlasting Call." by Jay O’Toole on July 9th, 2025 |
The sadness, that we deeply feel 'bout those who've lost their lives these days won't go away, nor quickly heal, though we need many warm displays. "They're far away, but I'm right here. Is sending money quite enough? My daily life is living near. So much to do. How show we love?" The words are small. The heart is full. How desperate now to do some good! The "running all directions" pull's not helpful 'twould be done by mood. Our greatest gift in Texas' pain is prayer for hope, whose life still lasts. Those saved, we know we'll see again. All What Ifs tucked in silent Past. The leadership of those that serve be praised for all the good they've done. Their focused effort never swerves. Great hope in many victories won. The loss of even one small child makes every parent-heart be broke. The Presence of the Lord so mild holds each redeem-ed face awoke. The days of life on this Earth changed, but hopeful days forevermore will see a future rearranged, which merits of His Life implore. by Jay O’Toole on July 8th, 2025 |
"Oh, Dad and Mom, it's gotten bad. It's difficult to find some glad. You flew away in normal peace, but Normal's moorings have been released. "The Middle East is saying words, like 'Peace and Safety'. Now, we're lured. These things God's Word says must be time to fly away as Hope is blurred, to live with Him the life sublime." "So, Dad and Mom, remember when the Oklahoma snow was really high. You up a hill with sled me sent, but down too fast I then did fly. Through the parking lot my sled, now bent was finally stopped amid some cry." What great snow we all knew this year, but not as big as the Oklahoma kind. Extreme the temps, it's becoming clear. So hot this summer! So bright to blind! The tropical storm dumped rain upon rain. Texas flooded, families pained. A safe campground, some still not found. The sweetest joys lay awful drowned. "The sleepy time was really bad. I could not find my mom and dad. The noise was loud. I could not breathe. The black and mud were dark and scary." "I fell asleep, but soon could see. His Face was bright as Jesus held me. I'm not afraid anymore. I feel safe. I'll See You in the Morning, Dad & Mom." Such loss, who can yet speak it out? Is it yet clear, while there's some doubt? How can I say what I can't know? Yet, God can plant what He can grow. by Jay O’Toole on July 7th, 2025 |
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