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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)    |
It's time to start my work anew, the daily tasking grind. I eat a meal when I am through, relax in time I find. To clean and make the place pristine is what I'm giv'n to do. I sweep, and mop, and throughly clean, a good job done for you. So many bags of trash are tossed because we eat and throw containers we don't need. The cost is such a waste, I trow. So, guys like me, we serve the good of our Society. A lower rung, like Bert, we should just "Step in Time," to free. Now, when I start, I see the piles, but I work by daily plan, that when I leave I see the tiles. They're shining, Cleaner Man! by Jay O’Toole on November 8th, 2024   |
| Snowy scenes, that are no more, Christmas morning's cozy quilt, looking out the plateglass window, feeling anticipation, joyous peace. Piles of papers, forlorn boxes, bereft, unwanted. Gifts, no more a mystery, played with, bored with, sloppy tears of "It's all done!" Family piles into the station wagon, disk sled at the ready. Can joy be restored? Flying down the whitewashed hill, landing on the pavement hard. Mom's terrified face as I miraculously come to a stop without sliding under some car. "Time to go!" She's done. Why is Christmas always such a build-up and let-down? Santa isn't real? AUGH! For years I've wanted to recapture the joys of childlike Christmas before it was a hoax. Music of the season brings memories of what was. Twinkle lights, glimpses of what was. Georgia pralines, eggnog, cinnamon, oranges, pine, all the joys and sadnesses of what can never be, again. Mom's not here. Dad isn't, either. Dad decorated so well for Christmas every year. Mom cooked amazing meals and snacks. I'm alone in the world with people, some my age, most are younger. I miss my forebears so badly at times. Oh, for a day of no responsibilities when the "big people" take care of me, again. I want to see and be with them, but I'm not a quitter. So much yet to do. The Lord is yet to call, "All aboard!" His Heavenly Train. Snowy scenes, joyful arms. Eternity lies before. Christmas wonders evermore, looking in His Face, feeling anticipation, joyous peace. Piles of deeds, days now gone, but life is never undone. Judgement Seat examines life. The worthless deeds are ashes on the floor. Deeds done for Christ, purified to precious stones, gold, and silver. sloppy tears of "I'm finally Here!" Homesick for a Place I've never been. Longing for a childhood, that can't grow up. Searching for a Self I can't quite find. Mystified by doubts, wondering if assurance is even possible. Honesty, thy name is "Too Old to Care!" Where can I find the good, that remains from youth? Does that little boy still live, "resting 'neath the sheltering wings?" Will the joys of my childhood be restored with the Ancient of Days, Who is ever young? "Dear Lord, make me ever hopeful in this life. Make my eyes to see clearly The Blessed Hope of the Everlasting Day. Always Your Word. Amen." by Jay O’Toole on November 7th, 2024 |
Rain clouds fill the weary sky. Tears of what must be. Days until the Jugment's nigh? Returning, when will He? Rain clouds fill my weary soul. Sunshine will again? Come, Lord, make our world new, whole. Save our lives to win. Rain clouds fill our future, now, before the Son of God will 'stablish Throne, before Him bow, forever cheer, applaud. Rain clouds filled with water, full, to fall upon the land. "Oh, save us, Lord, as white as wool, and give us strength to stand." Rain clouds rumble with the sound of God's activities. Washed and cleansed we're newly found, restored, the ones He frees. by Jay O’Toole on November 6th, 2024 |
Early in the afternoon the sun is setting low. Silhouetting, golden crown to bring the night we know. The sun is setting on this day. The night will show its will when the light has naught to say. Its absence, dark will fill. To hold a candle when the deeds of darkness flood about is weariness amid our needs. It's prone to tempt with doubts. But when at last long, lonely night gives way to wondrous day, we'll see our joy or ling'ring plight with one Truth, that we say, "The earthly candlesticks don't hold a candle to The Lord. This King fore'er is lasting bold. It's stated in His Word." by Jay O’Toole on November 5th, 2024 |
The first step in a coffee shop, aroma's in the air. The gift I never want to stop. Just close my eyes. I'm there. A hurricane may come this way. It's in the air, again. My heart is shaky, in dismay. It wonders, "Really? When?" Election? Has it been four years? It's in the air, again. Amid the "truths," and often jeers, will anybody win? A coffee shop in Antarctica. It's the place we need to be. In the air, each breath wins the new life from all we see. by Jay O’Toole on November 4th, 2024 |
NaNoWriMo on its way. Blessings to the pack. Many things to do and say. Chapters, quite a stack. Daily sprints to keep the words flowing to the end. Light and dark are often blurred a new book to tend. Struggling to keep the pace, eating catch as can. When it's done, the story's place is firmer with a fan. Poet, waiting in the wings, words of hope to give. Friends, his honor quickly brings. in peace and joy, we live. NaNoWriMo on its way, waiting for the next. Rhyming words do often say, "Stand firm. Be not perplexed." by Jay O’Toole on November 1st, 2024 |
| The trio of wards skitter down the driveway as Dad fumbles with the key in the lock, desperate to keep up. Locked! Turning on a dime, he trips on the bottom step, feeling a pinch in his chest, falling face-first into the mud. Lights out, pungent, acrid smoke alarm the fumbling parent. "Where are they? Where am I? Stop biting me!" Dozens of worms gnaw his flesh. "Where did I land?" darkness blankets sense deathly hollows of the mind nevermore the same by Jay O’Toole on October 31st, 2024 |
| The calm, before the holidays is where we are right now. Before the Christmas tree displays, we rest from turkey chow. Tomorrow we'll recall to mind a monk, who nailed his thoughts to Wittenburg's own door so blind to doctrine's awful knots. The sweetest moments past this day are when the shadows flee, removing masks to truly say what's in the heart of thee. A President or not we vote this year as ev'ry four. A happy song of pleasant note is what we hope's in store. Then for six weeks we'll light the lights, and decorate our trees. The wondrous joy of shining nights each childlike heart it frees. Each cup of tea, that shares this calm, or joe we smile to know may lift the heart, and warm the palm, while dark of night doth grow. When Santa finds his kneeling place, beside a manger bed, the lasting hope of joy and grace knows The Savior from the dead. On New Year's Eve more pomp and lights will bring us '25. The ball when dropped 'mid starry sights a good thing we're alive. The calm, before the holidays with time to sit and wait, I hear the rhythm, turn a phrase, enjoying moments great. The calm, before the holidays, some time to sit, reflect, the longish look, the lasting gaze, we never should neglect. by Jay O’Toole on October 30th, 2024 |
| The Day of Grace is fading fast. When will the last of normal days see light displays? The early night will soon arrive. Will we then thrive in change of time through lights sublime? The season's hope when casting vote with peace remote is faith in heart as new days start. by Jay O’Toole on October 29th, 2024 |
It's a gift to sit and sip a cup of warmish tea. Even 'fore we leave the tip the peaceful moments be. But we know it's bound to come, the time, that we must go. Have we finished all the sum? Do we fully know? Some day in Eternity, we'll know as we are known. Some day pains of the past we'll free. In Christ, we're lasting grown. We'll see the scars, that saved from sin, that nevermore can claim we're what we were, now blest in Him. Forgotten all the blame. The lasting cup for friendship's sake, and gratitude unbound will bless The One, Who did our past take to make us in Him FOUND. by Jay O’Toole on October 28th, 2024 |
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