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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)    |
| "How do I know I'm born again?" What answer would you give to that dear soul of family, friend, that they could hopeful live? "Just do your best, and you'll get there!" But what of Ephesians 2 - 8 & 9? This hope will stand and sadly stare when "not of works" doth full repine. "Just pray a prayer, remember when!" But what of doubts, that often come? That date may lose when marked by sin, but fruit can truly tell the sum. "No man can come to me except, the Father which hath sent me draw him. I'll raise him up (you can expect). I'll raise him up on the last day." John 6:44 puts eyes upon The Father's Will, and no one's else. When He doth call you are His son. We go, that others we may tell. "All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that comes to me he will not cast out be." John 6:37 in paraphrased sums. The Word of God in clearest Truth doth place Salvation's loving Hand where it belongs from the Earth's youth. One God decrees this saving Plan. Mayhaps 'twould help to think this thought, How do we know someone's alive? "Just search for pulse and breath" as taught. With these they live and hopeful thrive. We see the fruit upon the tree. We see the fruit in living souls. Galatians 5:22-23 are clues to born again, made whole. Obstetrics is another's job in first and second living birth. The praise from Him we ne'er can rob, Who owns this everlasting worth. by Jay O’Toole on September 8th, 2026   |
| The braided visage, tangled unawareness, fully known. 'Tis Wisdom's crown tossed, muddied, anxious, weary of the task. Understanding's manual like small child's painting thrown. Parum-pah-pum, parum-pah-pum this drum may never ask. For ev'ry rock, heavy thrown into the lake kersplash see ten full skipped to other side with glorious aplomb. For ev'ry craft, so shredded, trimmed, a granted pile of trash stand myriad gold and silver stones, well-polished bought by some. The braided visage, purple threads, a tapestry of grace, imperfect as some pastel hue, yet shining past the stars. The granite of determination shows great sense of place. Some project pours foundation's mold of sturdiest rebars. Most pretty face wrought tough as nails in lifetime's smelting pot. "Some shrinking violet?" Seest it how? For thus we speak it not. by Jay O’Toole on September 7th, 2026  |
| Final cup to end the day, how gray the skies of rainy gift! A moment's peace, what can I say, but "Needful pause my heart to lift." Cup of Joe, my daily friend, a warmth on tongue with slightest sweet. The weary way doth softly mend in times with this good smokey treat. Respite in a quite filled day, brown made blond to sip and think. Tired I feel in the chosen way, but coffee stops me. Gives a wink. "This almost sonnet you have writ shows off your coffee-drinking wit." by Jay O'Toole on September 6th, 2026 |
| So blue the sky with clouds of wondrous pink, most orange be the strands of fading light, 'twill soon be gone, before you stop to blink, Such darkness known the blanket of the night. The days of life may be made blue in plight, but sunset moments orange-hued t'ward end. To finish well in last of earthly might, we pray the Lord will final breath attend. The night of life may o'er our house dirt send, but Hope of Living Day for saved be seen. The Lord's elect in His day fully mend in pastures filled with everlasting green. The sunset comes as final for this day. The sunrise lifts our hearts from all dismay. by Jay O'Toole on September 4th, 2026 |
| These abilities can ne'er be dissed. We may not move or think The way you think we should do this, but we're unique, right? (Wink.) We put the chairs all in a row because some may not need to sit in one as the party grows, or some do wheeler's deed. We like the pops, and coffee, tea. We hope you'll just show up. Some muffins? Cool! Some ice cream? Me! But also, sit and sup. The tablecloth is upside down, but we don't seem to notice, 'cause you're the friend we've always found to friendship 'neath the lattice. Each banner, flower, color light strand shows things, that we can do. Creativity that's free and planned, abilities of me and you. Th'Ability Writers party well by praising who God's made. Our differences we freely tell as plumage, that's displayed. The world sees disability, but challenge causes strength to free. Lines: 26 by Jay O'Toole on September 3rd, 2026 |
| These abilities can ne'er be dissed. We may not move or think The way you think we should do this, but we're unique, right? (Wink.) We put the chairs all in a row because some may not need to sit in one as the party grows, or some do wheeler's deed. We like the pops, and coffee, tea. We hope you'll just show up. Some muffins? Cool! Some ice cream? Me! But also, sit and sup. The tablecloth is upside down, but we don't seem to notice, 'cause you're the friend we've always found to friendship 'neath the lattice. Each banner, flower, color light strand shows things, that we can do. Creativity that's free and planned, abilities of me and you. Th'Ability Writers party well by praising who God's made. Our differences we freely tell as plumage, that's displayed. The world sees disability, but challenge causes strength to free. Lines: 26 by Jay O'Toole on September 2nd, 2026 |
| All these years have given hope Because good writers need some space, Clean of clutter, comfort calm, Deep for thinking about our lives. Every day we new prompts meet Fairly simple focus given. Gather thoughts and props to write. Hammer out details to make Infinite possibilities. Just when we think all's been said, Kitchen opens, baking starts, Lunch is served at Writer's Cramp. Many winners through the years, New day's prompt is posted quick, On to bigger, brighter heights. Post your entry. Wait once more. Quiet times of coffee thoughts, Restful moments to reflect, See the party tasks abound. Time's so short these wondrous days, Unforeseen the next year's trek, Vivid joys we all could wish. Where we'll be at season's end, Xylophones are playing,...list "You're the winner!" say we all, "Zenith goal of writing days!" by Jay O'Toole on September 2nd, 2026 |
humid days of heat winter comes how much the cold hurricanes are not by Jay O'Toole on August 31st, 2026 |
| His death was real. He breathed His last. Was pierced for ev'ry sin He paid. My future Hope, the covered past in Christ, Whose body there was laid. He rose again, and ate the fish. He walked through a wall when they were scared. He lives again, not just a wish. His wounds to them were fully bared. The Savior kept His spoken Word. He rose again on the third day. His visage was not slightly blurred. We trust each word, that He would say. We speak these truths to all we know. We wonder, if we'll yet be heard. The Scripture Seed we daily sow. Salvation through this Christ, The Word. by Jay O'Toole on August 30th, 2026 |
| Some words may come as easy as a breath, so filled with Joy, while running at a sprint. While other words may struggle through the mud as inspiration lags with hope not lent. A poem calls, but subject in the wind flies far and wide, not anchored to a thought. When down one sits, assays to write it well, the time is gone, not working as it ought. Yet, in despair, I struggle for one word, The Joy of form, its rhythm and its rhyme congeal in one to give me what I need. The poem runs to greet me most sublime. As exercise brings daily strength to bear the effort of the words makes writing fair. by Jay O'Toole on August 29th, 2026 |
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