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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)    |
| "A kiss to show the friend betrayed?" No greater grief than this, I think to serve for years the One obeyed, then finally in Hell to sink. His robe was torn, His tunic diced. They spit on, slapped His Holy Face. With nine-tailed cat His skin they sliced. They stripped Him of His Royal Grace. The insult of the mock trial done, the injury of beatings raw, denial of the Holy Son, the Truth of Christ poor Peter saw. Nail landed true on purest wrist, feet bored, nerves bare, His side then speared, the sky turned black as humans missed the peace they sought in Him they feared. The words He spoke, all wise and true upon the rugged, splintery cross had meaning for the ones He knew, but sound as naught for those still lost. The cup, full drained at darkest three, God's Wrath placed on The One made sin. This Substitute made elect ones free. Perfection's Life with God, the Win. How could He be from His Father torn? How could The Trinity feel pain? How full our sins on Him was borne to make the Bridge of "Right Again"? The Son eclipsed by earthly deeds, then taken down to lie in state. The day did end with blackened bleeds, a perspective known as "It's Too Late." by Jay O’Toole on April 18th, 2025 |
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