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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)    |
| For when a squirrel across my path doth cause me give him chase, I stumble forward, soon to laugh at circumstanced abase. On a rabbit trail the bunny hops, before my wistful gaze. I run, pursue before it stops, with stupered friends amazed. My knackered frame on verdant knoll, near-flopped without command when a hawk swooped down with a smile so droll, "I pray thee still to stand." While trippingly with my tongue I bade, "Fly not away from here." "Whence can we sup, low-brow, earth-made in situation clear?" The squirrel, again the rabbit's dance, the eagle's beak, the closest glance, the tree trunk wins, the respite sleek, the battle thins. The dust now settles on the scene as hawk unperched in limb so mean his head now rattled, no food to glean. Raspberried tongues so small. How focus we upon the day of earthly tasks? This cautionary tale us slows, consistent asks, "Doth rushing here and there, and there and here in masks portend a ruthless fall?" A focused heart in a slowish gait may help us think anon, while many tasks upon our plate do work best one by one. by Jay O’Toole on February 12th, 2025   |
| The love I feel within my heart is never fully known. The hope I knew at our day's start was real. Oh, how it's grown! The love, that sacrifices all, to give the greatest Gift, forever hears the lasting call to help his loved one lift. The love, that focuses upon the everlasting Day is one, that loves The Greatest Son in all we do and say. by Jay O’Toole on February 11th, 2025 |
| Chilly wisps, like fingers clutch the skin, that's not enrobed in coats or blankets, that its touch seems a burning, frosty stove. This winter pushes spring away, that polar freezings thrive amid these cloudy skies, today, uncertainty alive. Chirping birds, and dancing leaves, the frogs and crickets trill. Distant winds almost deceive by subtle strength of will. One wonders, if this cold-pressed word of God's a warning touch, "Your North's a shaky, sadly blurred now image as you're much." God's greatest Judgment is to give us just what we demand. Our leaders often are reflections of our human plans. To separate us from our wants, and stated great desires would make rebellious every jaunt, and warrings with God higher. So, God in wisdom steps away from things He oft protects, and gives us what we'd like displayed. Our hearts of sin reflects. To "give us over" to our hearts is what we think we want, but then each consequence, it starts in never-ending haunts. Like parents, who would give their children icecream every meal, the self-demanded blessing's rendered past it's great appeal. As winter's cold, that numbs the digits of the exposed hands each heart unfettered by its wishes can't see God's Great Plans. If you can see the wisdom of the self-denying way, then thank the Lord, Who reigns Above. His Hope is on display, but if you're satisfied with a life, that lets you live for self, the coldness of a lasting strife has placed you on the shelf. by Jay O’Toole on February 10th, 2025 |
I cry about the loss of friends, and family, and all. I cry to be with them, again, with all on Whom Christ call. I cry about the days of yore when we would often play, would go to shop through many stores, while living day to day. I cry about the light, that seeps through black, stick, fading trees. The last of life on Earth, it creeps, until the New Day sees. I cry about the time I wait, until I see anew the names attached to the word, "late" when grieving days are through. The star above, a steady point, that shines in the night sky. The Christ, The Light, that God anoints forever, by and by. I cry about the ones, now gone, I know not their last state. Were they full told about The Son, before it was too late? I cry for joy about the souls, who know the One, Who saves. I thank Him, that they're fully whole, beyond the loamy grave. I cry for hope in big, wet tears, that someday all the pain will leave with all my earthly fears as Heaven's portals gain. by Jay O’Toole on February 7th, 2025 |
Light gray clouds afloat through the sunset sky. Less of day be wrote, 'til it says, "Goodbye." Minutes we have few. Soon it's black as pitch. Sunlit times are through as to night, we switch. Trees are silhouettes, but they won't be long. Floodlight show it gets some trees, then birdie songs. Poem canvas, now, it goes inside to sip some tea, and take a bow passed o'er the lower lip. by Jay O’Toole on February 6th, 2025 |
Sometimes we need to make life pause. These moments help refresh the thinking process, that's the cause of pains, that hearts enmesh. The social mores, that do rule each daily life it seems can make me such a social fool. Such dinginess ne'er gleams. Why do I make the oft faux pas, that I cannot take back? Why do I break the friendship vase, that started with a crack? Just make them stop, these barking thoughts, so I can find some peace. Perfectionism, early bought, my mind it must release. Sometimes a pause is all we need to find perspective new. So, after tea, in moment freed there's breath for me and you. by Jay O’Toole on February 5th, 2025 |
watch the sky so blue cloudless on this sunny day open for He comes by Jay O’Toole on February 4th, 2025 |
| In sadness losing those we love from the nursing home or church house dear, she breathed her last. Now, 'neath the shroud, she's gone to Home away from here. He lingers on for some small time as friends and family give hugs, but when departure creeps sublime he goes amid th'unearthly tugs. Their lives were long upon the Earth, but still, their leaving makes us sad. Our hearts are less because the dearth will cloud our lives, until Heavenly Glad. To process grief is hard to do. The more we love, the greater pain. So, when the first of tears are through, the wellspring bursts to cry again. These two new names are added now to the list of others still we mourn. Sometimes the shoulders lowly bow as feelings leave the heart full torn. by Jay O’Toole on February 3rd, 2025 |
last week's winter chill today's quite warm, summer's back? transition's the norm by Jay O’Toole on January 31st, 2025 |
| Night will come when light leaves, but for now gray. Light, but not, we wait. Clouds become the canvas. Almost white, almost blue, and almost part of the day remains. Kind of light, but mostly darkish grey. Slipping, slipping into the black away. by Jay O’Toole on January 30th, 2025 |
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