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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)    |
Interesting this year in May are temps below the norm. It makes things cool. What can I say? Unusual its form. 'Tis often, e'en from March right on the heat of summer comes. It lasts until the autumn's gone when winter chills it sum. What will this summer's heat be like in the days of June, July? Will Hot its overmuch, then strike to leave us wondering "Why?" For now, enjoy we coolish temps as pansies grow and thrive as these May Days in blest attempts keep Winter's blooms alive. by Jay O’Toole on May 3rd, 2023  |
The days of strength will wax and wane, before we reach the goal. Some wounds and pains we all must gain, before we are made whole. Some days we wonder 'bout the worth of taking one more step when pains of neck, back, and thoughts' birth all scream, "Not one more rep!" When going on is not a thing we easily can do, we then with Samwise Gamgee sing, "I'll go there, Sir, with you!" The burden of the ring of Truth (John 3:16) weighs heavy on the heart. We look to finish what from youth (Romans 1:16) the Lord did then impart. "I can't go on," says Frodo's pate. His strength had given out, but Sam did wisely say of late, "Let's descend this hill of doubt." The greatest friends we'll ever have don't shame us in our pain. They start our hope to fully calve, before the last drop of rain. The forward march must move each head, and move the heart alike, before our story's been full read, like Pilgrim's Progress' hike. by Jay O’Toole on May 2nd, 2023 |
The days of knights and castle moats are way too far beyond the memory of my lasting notes 'bout family hopes and bonds. Yet, days of Yore for childlike me were simple days of play when phones were not so fancy-free, and life was "come what may." We'd often see the sun decline behind the line of Earth, and play our instruments in line, a band of local worth. I'd ride my bike, and feel the wind, that tousled up my hair. Emotions that could always mend with hands-free riding flair. The weekends were so lasting long. We'd breathe relief at last. to run out in the yard with song. Our burdens quickly cast. by Jay O’Toole on May 1st, 2023 |
blooming plants are seen daily showers water all warmer next six months by Jay O’Toole on April 28th, 2023 |
| Soft and quiet, gentle friend with bombastic times, pianoforte moods do blend in our uphill climbs. Many years ago I took the lessons that I'd need to play piano by the book. Each time I played, I'd read. But now I'm told, "It's by the ear," the best of keyboard fare is "plug and play," and "feel it clear," which makes me stop and stare. They'd eat their meals, while I would play, which part of College paid, but this type of job is rare today. My playing's at home stayed. I played at church a few years past, but not now, and I'm sad. I pray my gift will somehow last through Eternity's great glad. Piano is a blessed joy, it's ivories to gliss. Engaging all its keys employ makes tonal music bliss. The world has left this instrument, except for venues large, where it costs much cash to rent, the audience to charge, but Mama's piano is with me right now. I've played it, since quite small, and by the Lord's most wondrous "How," I'll play it 'til His call. by Jay O’Toole on April 27th, 2023 |
Gentle music from the Lord, strong thy ministry, lift my burdens by The Word, troubled heart to free. Gentle music in the air, crickets, toads, and flying doves past my sightless stare. Night can't quench His Love. Gentle music, Christmas songs, comforting the heart, which for Heaven daily longs, that angst-free life would start. Gentle music in my ears, sweetest moment's peace, loosing me from all my fears in His kind release. by Jay O’Toole on April 26th, 2023 |
A mirror shows a face, that once was childlike, filled with play, but now the face, it has a hunch, that time is on display. A mirror shows me how I look upon the outside, now, but all the days to here it took are missed, and so's the how. A mirror must be clear to show the places I need work. It has no wisdom, nor can know the ways I strive or shirk. The Mirror shows me why I'm lost before the Holy God, Who sent His Son to pay my cost, to change me, and be awed. The Mirror cannot save my soul, unless He bids me come. (John 6:44) But when He bids, I am made whole by Life, His lasting Son. The Mirror of His Holy Word transforms me by The Breath of He, Who is the living Lord, Who conquered final Death. The Mirror makes a blest, new man, who lives in Him, Who wrote The Final Word, Salvation's Plan, and wears the new, white coat. by Jay O’Toole on April 25th, 2023 |
Some days life is smooth and cool with little to complain, but other days are harsh and cruel with hearts, that seem to rain. Some days hope is all about with joy, that makes us sing, but other days are marked by doubt, and sadness, that they bring. Some days our blessings shine like rays of sun upon the head, but other days the darkness says, "Your test paper's marked by red." Some days and other days are just the days we live on Earth. Th'Eternal Day is ours, we trust through He, Who makes new birth. These days of Earth must bow the knee, proclaiming, "He is Lord!" The Day of life is full and free, the Gift of The Living Word. by Jay O’Toole on April 24th, 2023 |
| glowing lighthouse lithe, leading light hope for the mariners raucous sea writhing, roiling wraith enemy of the living sturdy canvas purple, pastel paint bringing stories to life needed inspiration striving, straining strokes joyous when it's done founding Rock firm, fast frame waters have no power covering sky unique, universal umbrella connecting land and sea crackle finish visiting, visible variations no two pictures alike by Jay O’Toole on April 21st, 2023 |
The winds of change are blowing strong. They threaten ev'ry boat, but Hope should be our daily song from verses not remote. "He's given none the fearful ghost, that causes shaking boots but power in believing most, good mind, secure its roots." (II Timothy 1:7, KJV) "There is no condemnation at all for those, who are in Christ, who follow not the fleshly call, but the Spirit of Lordly Price." (Romans 8:1, KJV) "Yes, all the Father hath given to me, shall come to me anon, and they, whose coming I do see, I'll lose of them, not one." (John 6:37, KJV) There is one Christ. His Name, Jesus, the Savior of the lost. The keys of death and Hell are thus, "He paid th'eternal cost." by Jay O’Toole on April 20th, 2023 |
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