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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    |
While waiting for a thought to come, creating daily rhyme, the day sets sail, while nightly hum brings resting to its prime. Some grand event, igniting words oft seems to best express as jubilation flies with birds, and reason moves like chess. We question what we cannot see, and strive to see anew. Can hope and bliss in each day be when energy is through? Such laughter from a little child, who grows to be quite tall. A now-adult so wise and mild helps shoulder life and all. A perfect verse I may ne'er find, create, nor wrestle down, but honesty, that's good and kind can change to a smile, a frown. The process of a writer gains in falling, getting up, while slogging through some heavy rains, then pausing, draining Cup. It seems as though it's easier to sit, and hold quite dear two-fisted coffee cup as a friend than write a word that's clear. Mayhaps when Struggle's seen as guide, we'll peaceful know the best, that growth can only be applied when living through the test. by Jay O’Toole on September 7th, 2023   |
To live this life depressed at best, unliving in our hopeless loss can make our days an endless test of painting words on the daily cross. The changes of some hoped-for goal can make us wade through pluff mud thick. We wonder, Could life e'er be whole? Each wondered thought makes the heart so sick. The pluff mud made of hopes passed o'er sucks boot, and foot, and leg far down. We wonder, Could we live through more? The sinking feeling shapes our frown. How many years will good be naught? How many hopes will fade away? How many times will we be taught as mem'rie's gone, and lessons fray? How often will Depression's wrap become a coat of soothing Same? How often will the searched-for map be the voice of one Accuser's blame? The awful stench of pluff mud "eggs" must be swift-stanched by Earl Grey tea. The life depressed in "living" dregs must fight the downpull to be free. The nevermore and prolly should weighs heavy now on a sinking frame. Where once was hope and often good the mirror must give up its blame. by Jay O’Toole on September 6th, 2023 |
Sliding gloves of plastic film upon these hands of ready digits to start, I make my rounds while bowing down to pick up paper, fruit, and shucks. Before two hours have airplaned past, propellers of the short and long are hands like mine as plastic bags do fit the bins for more treasured naught, and out the door to toss the old away in the dumpster. Come, whisk, all flushed to make clean pots, offensive stay they not very long of smell and sight. We spritz and wipe the cleaning mist to give hearts peace, "enthroned" in bliss. To "swab the deck" amid lemon plumes refreshed, to sweep the sidewalk of refuse free to vacuum carpets, making pristine faces of their threads, until the list is finished, and signed by a master's hand, completes the day. "A good and faithful servant" I have been. by Jay O’Toole on September 5th, 2023 |
The weather often tries our minds with heavy winds or highest heat. Discomfort in our body binds to point us homeward in retreat. The people in our lives are mixed, unpleasant some, but blessings more. Our hope is kept with eyes so fixed on Christ, the Lord in prayers implore. The work we do is good and hard to strengthen body, mind, and soul. List we long to Wisdom's bard. From Scripture, we are remade whole. These hopeful hearts maintain the road of Heaven's upward-calling way. He carries us, and lifts the load as shines His Light throughout the day. But what of weight we still do feel? Doth He now leave in darkened times? The strength He makes is always real. He trains us in these upward climbs. As step by step we soldier on, He walks beside as Hope He gives. He guides the way, 'til this life's gone. Then evermore with Him, we live. In Christ, we move and being share though days be long with way unknown. Great Hope He gives to lighten care. The Day will show in Him we've grown. by Jay O’Toole on September 4th, 2023 |
| The velvet sound of wondrous bass is speaking of God's Own Great Grace. He plays trombone and prays and reads to give us peace to end the day, to help us give to God full sway, Who gives us life and meets our needs. We see Him not. His Heart we trace. Bill Pearce, his name, this wondrous voice, he prays about each subject choice, that we, who list God's Word would hear. We have great hope at eventide with Truth attending at our side. The Gospel Message spoken clear will always make our hearts rejoice. For Nightsounds is the program fair of childhood takes the mem'ry there. Refreshments made of note and word, that day by day we'd think and pause enjoying Grace, that saves from Laws by nightly sounds of blessings heard 'bout God, Who saves from lasting care. by Jay O’Toole on September 1st, 2023 |
| Preventing work from being stale, we change up hours or things to do. Thus, training hands to be made new, we finish tasks the whole long tale. A full day's shift we're made to work, and be not slack, nor aught to shirk. The lunch break helps us not to fail. Each cleaning task I know so well, but others need a learning curve to make me fit from nothing swerve, that when I'm done the best will tell. I see the schedule in some days. Will they require some new displays? Will I learn rest as in it dwell? I wonder will the cleaning shifts be more in numbered thoroughness, or will I need to others bless, in other places show my gifts? When Monday comes I'll know the cause of hours change in workplace clause. The heart will know the hope, that lifts. by Jay O’Toole on August 31st, 2023 |
Waiting for a guest to come doth heighten senses all. Praying for a peaceful sum, that no harm may fall. Waiting 'til the guest arrives, so many preps to do. Hoping that we'll live and thrive when the peace is new. Waiting to meet ev'ry need of guest and home folks here. Waiting until we be freed from each risk and fear. Human guests oft schedule times for the best to be. Hurricanes oft visit climes without cause we see. Waiting for the present knock upon our life's own door. "Grant us, Lord, that on The Rock we're founded as before." by Jay O’Toole on August 30th, 2023 |
Sipping tea, while tasting thought throughout these quiet hours of eve improve the heart as peace is taught. Such moments slow do rest achieve. "Hot Cinnamon Sunset" is its name, a spicy black tea, a wondrous choice. I savor, awaiting the darkness same, while the sun's rays lengthen and rejoice. How warm the tea to taste and touch! It comforts tummy, mind, and soul. The cricket banter helps so much as teatime mouthfuls restore us whole. by Jay O’Toole on August 29th, 2023 |
The 'cane it hurries from the South. It builds its strength the slower it comes. How wide will be its open mouth to dump its rain and windy sums? They say "it's just a smallish storm," but will it prove to be much more? Yet, Michael in its final form left in its swath a months-long chore. Our care is rested in God's Hands. Salvation? Or the worst of it? He works in wisdom in His Plans for He Alone can make us fit. The 'cane of Wrath nears HIStory's shore. To say it, "Nay," we have no pow'r. Upon our knees with God implore to keep us from that fearsome hour. The Man of God, the God of Man, He came a Babe with right to rule. Directing HISt'ry by His Plan, He parts the wise from ev'ry fool. These days of preparation best, we store what needs we may have then, that when we face the coming test survive we will in Wisdom's Win. These days of Grace are Hope's last breath. He's calling now to Saving's Side. Redeeming hearts beyond all death is His great Work beyond all pride. (John 3:16; John 6:37,44; John 14:6) by Jay O’Toole on August 28th, 2023 |
Wonderful friends make life amazing. They lift our spirits every day. The Light of Life is always blazing. His purpose wins. Yes, come what may. Temptation stands to question all the good we've done in life, though "perfect" we could ne'er be called. His blessings' are ever rife. Perspective is a blessed gift. The eyes are open to now see. Each good that's done the heart can lift. Salvation Grace from failings free. O listen, now, to Clarence, wise, and take his words to heart, "No man has fallen, not to rise, who can with friends new start." by Jay O’Toole on August 26th, 2023 |
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So beautifully written.