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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    |
| Gray the clouds, and wet the ground, that starts our March this year. Gentleness seems to abound, relieving the need for fear. This coming in like a lamb concerns the going out of the same. Not sure we would have a great return, if a lion would start the frame. So, gentle rain we now do know, and what will be, unknown. The end of the month could cause us to bow, by harsher weather thrown. This March "comes in just like a lamb to go out like a lion." We pray the harshness will not slam our lives at saying's buy-in. by Jay O’Toole on March 1st, 2024   |
| I'd be so tired if I did the thing this day demands I do. For if I leaped up from my bed to rid my sleepiness, and kept on leaping all day through, I'd have no energy to quench my growing thirst, and sadness for my needed sleep would fully rest on me for when I'd wake for morrow's food, the day'd demand march first. Where went thee, furry rodent model, early in this month? I am repeating twenty-nine a-leaping as I go. You did not see your shadow on February two or oneth, but leaping I must on this day all long the day, I trow. Again, no have I energy to eat my food, nor quench my thirst, but somehow I must find my bed, and rest this me for when I'd wake for morrow's food, the day'd demand, "March First!" by Jay O’Toole on February 29th, 2024 |
| To have "a past," we often do. Its marks can cause us pain, but saving love when it is through brings life from which we gain. "A past" may stop us 'fore we start. What can I offer, yet? The thought, that breaks our very heart, weighed down by Life's regrets. "A past" can cause us back to shrink. No hope to leader be. How could I ever dare to think, that some would follow me? "A past" makes shadows bring us peace. We fade into the wall, and hope, that "unknown" days increase, before some "known" could fall. But One, Who had no past to hide can cover "past" with Blood to cause me Hope upon His Side, to call my life, now, good. The consequences of my "past" may bring me bitter tears, but One, Who is The First and Last will wipe them with my fears. My "past" will someday be forgot in His Forgetting Sea for I'm the sheep, that He has sought my weariness to free. by Jay O’Toole on February 28th, 2024 |
Resting in the afternoon, waiting for the eve when the workday comes so soon, cleanliness retrieve. Waiting for God's Own Dear Son through the quiet hours. "Peace of heart. The vict'ry's won, resting in His Bowers." Pansies' smiling, resting grace, stay where they must be. Nothing changes one sweet face. Ev'ry need's met free. Resting afternoon in peace, ever 'twill remain. Painful days will fin'lly cease, 'neath the lion's mane. by Jay O’Toole on February 27th, 2024 |
It seems to be we ne'er can win, while hiding in a room. Resolve may seem too oft quite thin, while quivering in that tomb. This hobbit-heart likes no conflict. He shuts the phone quite off when someone could debate or pick apart his latest coif. Obsequious is my first name from childhood through to now. If anyone would take the blame, 'twas me in servile bow. O, Bilbo, no adventures bless the living of thy days? It cannot be a worser mess outside thy room-ed bays. But snoring up the courage need to work outside the home Might make emotions chafe and bleed when forced to this far roam. "All peopled out," we then do haste to coffee shop abode, that Blond Café might soothe the taste, restore us to the road. Make haste, Dear Bilbo, find thy nook, and weave thy threads apace. Crochet a piece or read a book, and gather up some grace. Tomorrow morn 'twill need it then when going off to do thy needed tasks 'mid kith and kin, until thy strength is through. Each day return by lumbering gait to home, and hearth, and rest. The ramen noodles on thy plate with cup o' tea be blest. By out and in, and out and in thy week doth finally end. The two days giv'n thy soul should mend, that strength from God be giv'n. by Jay O’Toole on February 26th, 2024 |
| The robins' agitated flight, it seems to cry about the hawks, that lumber in their might great masteries to tout. Their frantic chirping tells their friends, "There's danger quite nearby." These giv'n instincts can ne'er pretend, nor lead a bird to lie. The robin flock so oft precedes the coming of our spring. their Dogwood berry-eating deeds cause joyful chorus sings. Today no berries can be found, and many are the trees, where chirping robins flit, abound, alarmed, that none they see. Nandina berries all around, but maybe they're not good. Sad birds could fall onto the ground if poisoned by this food. How do they know the difference 'tween these berries and the true? Great instincts here are fully seen with lessons for me and you. When danger lurks, God has his way to keep us from all harm. Run to His Safety quick, today, and hide beneath His Arm. by Jay O’Toole on February 25th, 2024 |
| The days of peace are needed now, before they're really gone. May Christ please help our hearts to bow, before all hope is done. Each moment, showing sunny rays brings gentleness to the heart. We rest throughout these wondrous days, until the horn blasts, "Start." The stillness of the wind above caresses topmost leaves, and kisses skin to make us move to the Savior's blest reprieve. The time is short, it doth appear ensuring peace with God. "Please, make our eyes to see full clear. Remove each false facade." The Final Week, before His Throne will last but seven years. However, Earth will greatly groan, before removes He fears. The Flight will come. Unknown the hour when He takes all His own. His Peace remains. No need to be dour. His child is ne'er alone. The Call comes, now, "Please seek His Peace. Salvation's Gift is given. At once in Grace, He gives release. True rest is found in Heaven." He changes hearts to want to be His child forevermore. There is no grace, nor faith in me, but full within His Store. by Jay O’Toole on February 23rd, 2024 |
| Happy thoughts of hope are such a gift - Joy bells ring in a pit. Restored. by Jay O’Toole on February 22nd, 2024 |
color of the trunks color of the leaves all o'er paleness waits for spring by Jay O’Toole on February 21st, 2024 |
| Quiet moments on the porch. See the limbs above. Many, without leaves just now, perches for the doves. Quiet moments absent flowers, waiting for the spring. Brown and green, the basecoat tints, but in joy, we sing. Quiet moments, wood and brick make the domicile. Sweetly through the pleasant yard, stillness for a while. Quiet moments, fading sun warns of coming night. Chillier the windy breath, aiding plants in plight. Quiet moments all too soon come to a storied end. Soak them into your own heart, that your peace will mend. by Jay O’Toole on February 20th, 2024 |
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So beautifully written.