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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 (Philippians 2:13, KJV) https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2876959.Charles_Haddon_Spurgeon    |
canopy sways low night falls heavy hiding leaves darkness shackles work by Jay O’Toole on September 26th, 2023   |
The hymns and messages of youth have laid the foundation for my day. The Gospel Gift and lasting Truth are more than words my mind can say. We're alien from One Holy God in need of help we can't procure. Salvation from His Judgment Rod in Jesus Christ we're made secure. "The way, the Truth, the Life," He said. He's Jesus Only, Who redeems. Once crucified, He rose from the dead to give new life that ever gleams. "Ye must be born, again," He spoke, which means ye've not aught self to save. Thy Goodness bank account is broke to keep from Hell beyond the grave. To be reborn from God Above is like this of your earthly birth. You cannot make Him for you move, but watch the spiritual obstetrics worth. "Please, save me, Lord," we may yet ask, but cannot do one whit of this. The spiritual birth is all His task, but when He saves 'tis naught amiss. The first birth I could not achieve. The second is His loving Gift. Salvation Ever's full reprieve believer's heart to ever lift. by Jay O’Toole on September 25th, 2023 |
Birthdays three we share this night, and love each one, who were so born. Future's hope we see it bright, and pathways road, that will be worn. In Wisdom, they the world address, "Take note of all our new-claimed days. Our names you will now honor, bless, if wise you are as Wisdom says." The writer now in absence sad must work his shift, no party share, his heart is there with all ye glad to give his gift, and lift your care. Dear Abby, 17, near grown, whose smiling face doth chase the night. The childhood years near quickly flown, but now the world hath more of right. Great Mark, the stalwart man of means. His wealth, his family, his trade, at 19, time he now redeems with brother's training has it made. Sweet Shanna, no more teen she is, at twenty, something on the stage. The Master, talents to her gives, her aromatic thoughts are sage. Dear friends, so blest, ye are the three, so honored am I to be known by those of greatness, and to see what God hath planned in lives blest sown. Salvation's God is Jesus Christ. Each day embrace Him as the best. He paid for Sin at the perfect Price. He carries you through every test. by Jay O’Toole on September 22nd, 2023 |
golden blooms increase green space in the world of man work of God remains by Jay O’Toole on September 21st, 2023 |
| What do we do when they're just gone? Where can we look when there's no trace? How can we live without a dawn? How can we love no hugs to place? The little hamlet, Fairly Same, ensconced within a country vale. Its country goes by down-face name of Nevermore, so bored and pale. A hundred folks, quite blissful knit. They went to bed one autumn night, but in the morning peace was bit by cries, and wails, and deepest fright. "Where have they gone? Where can we look?" "How many now remain of us?" "I found his clothes in bedtime nook." "Her dolly keeps her mitten, thus." "Now all our children and one man have vanished in the air this day." "How could he silent keep his plan?" "How could his neighbors most betray?" No gift of Goodbyes for this town, no hope for breaking hearts to mend. They trudged their work. Each wore a frown with naught but clothes, effects to tend. How could they pray for none knew God, except the ones, who were not now? The preacher, whom they once had awed sure took their young in ghostly scow. by Jay O’Toole on September 20th, 2023 |
| Of music in the verse I write, I find a way to bob and weave. Of wisdom's course with all my might, I find the goal I would achieve. I find a way to bob and weave. Words stayed, a pungence overworn, I find the goal I would achieve. Without which, I must then adjourn. Words stayed, a pungence overworn these are removed. Enhance the mood. Without which, I must then adjourn, a poet then not often viewed. These are removed. Enhance the mood, improving life with wonders rare. A poet then not often viewed becomes a voice, that readers care. Improving life with wonders rare of wisdom's course with all my might. Becomes a voice, that readers care of music in the verse I write. by Jay O’Toole on September 19th, 2023 |
| Some days it seems a long way off to find a book, that has new thoughts. Will others like it? Hat to doff? Or need I shine with higher watts? A novelist has quite a gift to tell a story, bring along the reader's longing heart to lift, succeeding when they end in song. Some days I wonder, if that's me, the novelist, who stands so tall. Is there another tale to see? Is storytelling mine at all? When NaNoPrep starts in two weeks, I'll need to find a title rare. What story now will my mind seek? What plotline makes the reader care? A mystery? Or tale of woe? Adventure, seeking awesome gain? A friendship, that I need to know? Or loss of hope, that's searing plain? Whatever starts the book along will be the catalyst to grow. Will there be victory and song? Will someone's pain now overflow? The novel can be from the heart, some subject lived through the writer's days. Yet, trouble is a ready part of every life in all our ways. What makes me pick up each new book, and keep it in my hands all through? A title causing me to look? An admonition, that I do? Why do I want to write at all? Why do I plan and craft my words? Is there a story yet too tall? Can Hope still fly among the birds? What novel thoughts these books now bring! We write, and hope, and grow anew. At satisfying ends, we sing. At tragedy, we weep 'til through. by Jay O’Toole on September 18th, 2023 |
| We take a moment, sip the cup, and in a quiet corner of the room. The paper pad we side it up. Now, finding words, address the note, "to whom." "The coffee has been wondrous, great! The moments of this respite can't we best. The scone upon this little plate creates the heart a homey, peaceful nest. "Your service has been all that I could hope a wait staff would perform for me. Return I will whenever nigh in hopes, that from my stress I'd sit and be. "This TIP for you, I leave it here. It's larger than I used to thankful leave, but worth it does not match. It's clear. You have a gift. Much more you need receive." by Jay O’Toole on September 15th, 2023 |
| Sitting with my thoughts searching for some sheltered peace who can make me whole? Man of Peace is One, Whose Name anchors in this tempest life. by Jay O’Toole on September 14th, 2023 |
The discipline of aging well requires, that we fully live. One's energy, whose peaks now spell the true new normal days to give. When parked on some day's sofa rest, I sleep and dream, and wonder "Why?" Could not I sing, and thus be blest through fa, sol, la, ti, do, and fly? Forgetting, that I'm not still young, I run, and push, and do as did, until my body gets quite hung, awaking, Charley horse to rid. The old adage is ever new, "The mirror gave me quite a fright!" While wondering at this face I grew, the calendar takes a big ol' bite. Would someone tell that staring man a teenaged heart still beats inside, just not the ticker in the chest, nor this old house, that creaks and slides. Someone may find a poem that sounds mostly like this one, here. I write to tell you where I'm at, and more each day, it becomes clear. I need a wondrous coffee cup to start me on my weary day, and peanut butter wakes me up to clean these toilets, come what may. The second cup before I work is necessary. Oh, how true! A Q.A. is a needed clerk to make the bathroom nice for you! Retirement's not soon enough to focus on some novel thought. The change from mop to pen is rough until Best Sellers can be bought. But even then, when working's done, the heavy-lifting, physical kind, I'll need to move, so Life is won, the keep-on-going, wonderful find. So, Staring Man, I see you're there, still filling up, that shiny glass, but youthful me with grateful hair remembers, that "this too shall pass." --------------------------------------------------- (II Corinthians 4:17-18, KJV) Line Count: 44 by Jay O’Toole on September 13th, 2023 |
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So beautifully written.
