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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)    |
| 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   |
| Crochet the chain as threads pull through. Knit the knots toge-er Spending time with art as you complete a gift to wear. Complete the friendship knots upon the memory wire thus bent. Continue tying 'til is done the threads now fully spent. How quiet are the focused hours of threading to complete some lovely project wondrous ours, a lasting trophy meet! by Jay O’Toole on February 19th, 2024 |
| Sitting down to rest my mind a canvas drape of sound begins to call to sleep so kind as gentle noise abounds. A distant blower moves the leaves, droning on and on. 'Tis easier than piles to heave, and quickly task is won. The cars and semis on the road make Doppler take effect. These tools of life become a node, that make the ears reflect. The mint leaves stand so joyful still, just living without thought. They glorify the honored Will of He, Who made and bought. The "roaring" of the quiet yard makes squirrel's quiver freeze as he sees me he tries so hard to statue nary breeze. But running 'way, he squeaks and trills, that all should mind his space. To come too close brings fears, not thrills with scratches of disgrace. A trailer bounces, lum, lum, lum, uneven on the way. To work it sounds most like a drum in movement nearly play. by Jay O’Toole on February 16th, 2024 |
| One idea sitting down at the desk. Dancing hands, mental arabesque, gusto dia. Knitting these threads scarf to give when it's done. This is how peaceful hours are won. Warmth near the head. Color the wood. The marker brings a thrill. Design is finished by his will. Result so good. Beading each strand. Bracelet made, wondrous gift Smiling faces have hearts to lift. Friendships are grand. Polyclay made pendant for my dear friend. Joy and honor find a rare blend. Honor is paid. by Jay O’Toole on February 15th, 2024 |
Some days 'mid the chaos here Hope has little Peace. We can't see our way so clear. Burdens don't release. Humans say we must agree to be our loving best, but in this can we be free to be ourselves and rest? Agreed I am. It does feel bad when opinions differ sore, but when agreement makes us sad ourselves exist no more. When friends are the same, agreed we are, but one of us it seems is unnecessary to both so far as being one great team. Agree or disagree we will, but when we show respect our lives are blest as we both fill our hearts without neglect. by Jay O’Toole on February 14th, 2024 |
| Self demands its pleasures best. Actors lauded by the crowd. Stagehands bear the weight of tests. Stars are praised, and often proud. Nothing weighs on joyful minds. Wine of bliss with the fullest meals. Jewels bought at merchant finds, enamored with the latest reels. Churches preaching ease of thought. Nothing hard to "rock the boat." What they love is what they're taught, nothing deep, and ever remote. All are welcome on this stage. Earthly days, cigars alight. Curtains close to lasting rage, fallen joy to a lasting Night. Awful burns the pain of sin, nevermore to use the eyes. Someone paid the Price to win, the greatest joy with no more cries. The greatest lives of happiness can lead to the Night of lasting grief. When Self is all we ever bless, Hell's destruction is the thief. The broad way's filled with pleasures now. It has no thought of consequence. It wants just, that all praise and bow. Yet, looming is the ominous. One hundred years, some more, most less is all we have of life to live. The selfless life will others bless. The selfish life demands we give. Stage and leadership we choose in the church or in the world. The Self we show is often a ruse. The Truth by God will be unfurled. Broadway's stages are the best. Actors there are "hypocrites." In characters we all divest essential Self for happy glitz. Devote we lives to simply chaff, while pleasures chase to feed the flesh? Will everlasting souls still laugh, while motives He doth always thresh? The broad way's filled with pleasures, now. No doctrine has a place in the heart, but when most are forced to kneel and bow, their hope is caused to finally depart. (Philippians 2:5-11, KJV) by Jay O’Toole on February 13th, 2024 |
| Sitting in my room, so quiet once again. Almost like a tomb. Never can I win. "Why is Mommy so upset? Why is life so hard? Why am I a great regret to her crying heart?" Sitting in my room, waiting for a smile. "Why does darkness loom every once in a while?" But it's not today! "Jump in the car let's go!" Momma wants to shop and play! A better day to know! Sitting in my room, Momma spent too much. Parents always fume. Depression is my crutch. by Jay O’Toole on February 12th, 2024 |
| So many years ago the day, that meant so much to this child's heart was Friday when so much of play was outside with this day's head start. The best day of the week, I guess, was Friday afternoon and eve. "No school, tomorrow" did quite bless this two-day break of sweet reprieve. To stay up later, movie watch, and sleep in Saturday 'til 10:00 might know my mom's best butterscotch, and have some basketball to win. All day Sunday was in church. Morn and evening sang the hymns, opened Bibles, there to search for The Word of God had gems. Now, most Friday nights mean work, clean and do the shoppers good, keeping pace as QA clerk, do my best as always would. by Jay O’Toole on February 9th, 2024 |
| About round thoughts are bound. How to go? Roustabout dirty work, coffee perk, never shirk; Roundabout. by Jay O’Toole on February 8th, 2024 |
| The sun careens off bush and tree in its silent gift of light. This light blue sky, unmoved, is free to bottle rays in flight. What peace revealed upon each yard. What gentle fingers blow across each leaf not lifted hard by winds, that often throw. A metal "bird" doth rumble on. A car comes swishing by. My cats oft bask in the brightest sun, but called without reply. The sunlight lengthens toward its set. A neighbor softly sings. The workday starts too soon to get more peace the hour brings. But someday soon The Lord will come, and with Him peace for aye. Please, help me, Lord, to count the sum of Your blest gifts, today. by Jay O’Toole on February 7th, 2024 |
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