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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)    |
While waiting for some big events, we stop to breathe, reflect. Perspective leaves the truest sense a wish that we neglect. Events so big we'd really rather turn, and just go home. What does it mean to even bother writing days that roam? A plane trip 'cross world's greatest land attracts us all in youth, but aging bodies like to stand to ponder some great Truth. The raptured leaving to the best is really what we'd do, but living here has been quite blest. We look for more that's new. Reflections of these living days oft stop us in our tracks. The thoughts we think of Word He says must never turn our backs. by Jay O’Toole on May 12th, 2025   |
Some coffee in the afternoon awaits, before the bigness of the evening starts. These peaceful moments anxiousness abates, quite soon I'll pull together working parts. The moments press upon this writer's mind. Some coffee in the afternoon awaits. The hope of sipping warmth is sweet and kind, along with handmade bread, that's filled with dates. The working place is full of wondrous food. The job is done to make of workers, greats. When most is done, the fuller things she states. With smiles prevent we guests from deeds thought rude, thus setting up the best of buying mood. Some coffee in the afternoon awaits. by Jay O’Toole on May 9th, 2025 |
Life is getting fast! Time is getting short! Youth of days seemed best, but then we'd just retort. Retirement is here, but when does life slow down? The way is not so clear, construction all around. When will the lasting Day begin with peace of mind? With Jesus live for Aye, no longer to repine. In His good time, we'll know relief and rest. His Word is True through every living day. To hide in Him, we'll breathe as fully blest. Just meditate on The Word, that God did say. by Jay O’Toole on May 8th, 2025 |
The world can be a big, bad place with scary things, and all, but when I'm resting in God's Grace, there to asleep I fall. So many things I can't avoid. So many jobs to do. So many ways to stay annoyed. So many shades of blue. But God protects the ones He chose. They're safe within His care. Regenerated, thus He knows in Christ, Salvation's fair. His feathers cover all of me, and 'neath His Wings I trust. His Truth my shield and buckler be. Protecting saints is just. The world may be a big, bad place in this cold life of sin, but I can rest within God's Grace, for Christ o'er Wrath did win. -------------------------------------- "He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler." (Psalm 91:4, KJV) -------------------------------------------------- by Jay O’Toole on May 7th, 2025 |
| This life is filled with twists & turns. At first, you're going straight through high school years of Joys and learns to start the path, that's great! Just when Diploma lands in palm you're sure that all is well. Next summer's breeze, and lazy calm gives way to college...knell. The days of living 'way from home invade one's peace of mind. My freshman year could fill a tome with times that were unkind. My dorm hall, near the common room, where lord and lass would chill. I'd leave the shower towel-groomed, preventing a messy thrill. For such was life in that co-ed dorm, and just my floor was mixed. The basement, Men, the top two swarmed of women, floors unmixed. I needed breakfast. Class was soon, but hide thy untanned skin for woe be me, if I lassies moon. Appeal, I'd never win. So, I was there, but just one year. At home, the next to pray. The third, a Bible school seemed clear to be the Lord's best way. But finally a preacher man in August campmeet days showed me the Lord's best learning plan, where college would amaze. I stayed five years to claim my degree, and M-R-S to boot. In August, married she and me, then teaching, not much loot. But in a year, she studied Coiffure, and graduated well. This path has been for her quite sure. My path a change to tell. For many years, her many fans keep her in work to do. We stay affixed for moving plans bring sadder looks all new. The teacher cleans the trash at night to help his sculptress shine, and one Day in that Land so Bright the Truth we'll know is fine. by Jay O’Toole on May 6th, 2025 |
One brilliant day on stage I stood. I clutched one papered goal and feared. The future could be joy and good, or poorly lived and jeered. Congratulations were the day, but when they left me all alone the clutches of these "birds of prey" slashed courage to the bone. These years of life have shown their worth to shake loose from the jabbered flock. The chortled joy of greatest birth hath turned the key in lock. by Jay O’Toole on May 5th, 2025 |
They play around in our backyard, One male and one female. For life, it's said, this pairing's part of socializing's tale. The cardinal was Mom's favorite, and when we decorate with red birds, I most often get a smile to grief abate. The male in red-draped glory, rare, his wife in brown, content, The Greatest Generation, there once lived this timely bent, but now, if human males wear red, a miter crowns the pate, and when made white, his words are said to be none else but great. Yet, one man's red came from His stripes, His crown of thorns, most sharp. No glory had He, lauded hype, then wrapped in the shroud of lowly garb. The Greatest Generation matched His coat, but sacrifice could not. They gave their all in field and mote. Our Freedom for it fought. The cardinal truth thus makes us to think, "Which garb wears glory best? The glory, now? Or when we sink into The One Day blest?" by Jay O’Toole on May 2nd, 2025 |
"Th'epistles were th'apostles' wives," some funny man once said, but little of these ladies lives are written to be read. But I've a wife, who'd volumes fill, if I'd know where that I could start. From joyous days to journeys' thrill, each novel from the glowing heart. A cut-up, she doth mold the hair for clients, friends, and family. Some newly-coiffed doth make me stare, unknown in elegance or whimsy. Be known to thee, my dearest friend. A wife invests thy days. Choose wisely, and do not amend her thoughts, nor the things she says. In years to come, we must coffee sip, comparing life notes, all. For if our tongues did lightly trip, our shoulders will catch our fall. by Jay O’Toole on May 1st, 2025 |
Days of grace are fading fast, but when the time comes what will be? Deciding moments soon will pass, but when the time comes, who will be free? The Earth has left its need of God, but when the time comes will we then? Our voices all our selves applaud, but when the time comes to die in sin...? We choose a century to play, but when the time comes, then we stand before the God, Whose Word will say, "Your house was built on shifting sand." Today, the believer is God's Gift to His Son. Believer, time is yours, right now. For Jesus died, and rose, and won, that you'd be humbled, before Him bow. by Jay O’Toole on April 30th, 2025 |
To sit, to wait, to look around can often pass the time 'til hoped for subjects may be found as words become sublime. A drink of water, tea to sip, or coffee with its art may find some thought that gave the slip when we sat down to start. Alas, when racking my brain to find some writer's joyful piece, the weariness is just not kind to give my words release. But when I think about the state of where I am and why, the journaling becomes so great of that I can't deny. To "prime the pump" with life observed creates the writer's art. A pristine piece is finally served when sailing another part. Just ask the sculptor how was made the sculpture of a horse. The response is terse and not overplayed, "Remove what's not, of course." The journalist fills newsprint sheets with what is seen right there. He listens, and then just repeats observers with great care. How do we write some big, new thing? How do we daily start? Could be we simply watch and sing, while doing our gifted part. by Jay O’Toole on April 29th, 2025 |
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