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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)    |
| Things we like to do depend on how we are made. Do we like to make some art? Do we sit and relax? Do we conquer mountains with help? by Jay O’Toole on April 17th, 2023  |
The festive days go by "They're gone too soon!" we cry. Our sadness settles in as decorations thin. Blest concept to explore "We've Christmas evermore!" The carols, that we hear, as wondrous as they're clear, make hope begin to rise. What blessing as a prize! The snowy lands adore. "We've Christmas evermore!" That Christ, the Lord was born upon that Christmas morn, brings joy to redeemed hearts as now The Day it starts. Begun in days of yore, "We've Christmas evermore!" The lights before me shine to make these moments fine. I celebrate alone in warm and cheery tones. Blest birthday to The Door. "We've Christmas evermore!" by Jay O’Toole on April 18th, 2023 |
| The days of youth brought endless stuff to do from day to day, but now the body says, "Enough!" and often I obey. I'd run for miles and miles on end to train for the next race, but now I look for hope to send my body from its place. I'd run one day, and then I'd rest to run upon the third, but now each working day's a test. Recovery is blurred. The years have drawn a line in the sand to weaken strength and joy, but Hope must have its lasting plan, its new life to employ. I'm older, now, but so are my friends, whose lives do now succeed. In Christ, I find the peace to cleanse the heart and meet the need. by Jay O’Toole on April 17th, 2023 |
| Time is just one mark on Eternity's grand stage. The Day there forever lives. Our days here are so few. We live to breathe and leave some hope. by Jay O’Toole on April 14th, 2023 |
plants return to shine hostas glow and pansies smile springtime of the year by Jay O’Toole on April 13th, 2023 |
Every day we do the things, The Lord has called us to. Each joy in life, each heartbeat sings, each moment we go through. Every day the words we speak can bring hope to some hearts. A gentle soul, demeanor meek has wonders to impart. Every day our task is love for self and others, too. Each blessing planted from Above brings strength forever new. Every day our talents lift a load of much distress by bringing Grace, this wondrous Gift to make a burden less. Every day we show our face our smile can infuse light. Each good we bring to ev'ry place reduces some sad blight. Every day itself's a gift to live for God's best Plan by helping those, who need a lift, some needy fellow man. Every day we may not know the best to do or say. By saying what we can, we grow to live well, while it's day. by Jay O’Toole on April 12th, 2023 |
The threads are very nice. So gentle is the price. The scarf I'm making first doth quench my crafting thirst. Each new day, that I live, I'm knitting gifts to give. Sometimes things go awry, that lead to one more try. The rows, that add a stitch, may tempt to project ditch. I think I must forgive. I'm knitting gifts to give. How many are the rows to finish things like those? I measure scarves I've made by those with money paid. My gifts may me outlive. I'm knitting gifts to give. The skillfulness of hand makes projects by a plan. The peaceful moments make a joy the times I take. Such project hearts a-vive, I'm knitting gifts to give. by Jay O’Toole on April 11th, 2023 |
The cave is empty from that morn, that Jesus rose, again. For the broken heart that feels so torn, Salvation is the win. The lives of humans need the Lord, Whose life is lived for us. The Hope we need is in His Word, Whose pages speak His "Thus." The filthy garments we once wore were laid upon His back. The cleaning effort, that He bore was done, while we had lack. I could not save myself at all. I'm awful as I am. Accept Salvation at His Call. This is His lovely Plan. Receive this Gift He gives to you. Your shame is not from Him. Each guilty heart is paid all through, Double Jeopardy for Sin. Believe it's done at Jesus' Hands. All new from this first day. His Spirit quiets all demands. Just rest in what He says. by Jay O’Toole on April 10th, 2023 |
Though beaten, cruel, and crucified, the Lord of Glory lives. His body did not the cross survive, but the tomb no excuse could give. The cost was paid on the skullish hill, that Friday afternoon. "It is finished." Purpose all fulfilled, now He is coming soon. That Sabbath day His Body laid, His Spirit served the Lord. The keys of Death and Hell now paid, held firmly by The Word. The first weekday was the third day hence. No devil now could touch, no more pain could make His body wince, His Victory so much. He woke up by His Own Great Strength at Sunday morning's dawn. His friends and foes would know at length the pain of Death was gone. The disciples soon found an empty tomb. The lass, "Rabboni" found. Each man confused, a mystery loomed, until His sweetness abounds. They walked with Him for forty days, until He stepped toward Home. Their new strength came by Jesus raised. His Spirit brought them Hope. Now, Secret Christmas' greatest Gift, Salvation from Above. We serve The One, Who our hearts lift in purity and love. by Jay O’Toole on April 8th, 2023 |
Condemned unjustly, there He stood. The Son of God, Who came to save. The splinters from unfinished wood would chafe His skin to death and grave. "It is finished," then He finally spoke, and breathed His last to die the death. Some villains made of Him a joke, but no more would He take a breath. In Sabbath rest He lay entombed. The price was paid to vanquish Sin. New Life would clothe Him very soon, The Son of Man to Victory win. by Jay O’Toole on April 7th, 2023 |
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