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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)    |
With much to say and much to do, confusion blows its fog on a brain. When is the rushing finally through, that just a touch of rest we gain? The years of life make years so small, that walking feels like running fast. The few are left on which we call as rocket fuel fills ev'ry task. An infant's days are really slow, since ev'ry day near lifetime makes, but ev'ry year the more we go the days and years less time they take. From Santa Claus to Santa Claus so much of life is in between for toddlers, who love toys because all Christmas days, new wonders seen. But older years are spinning wheels. No seasons stop. They rush on by. The colors of the spring fast yield to humid green, then fall hues die. Each winter seems to slow the pace, but not for long. It's hot, again. The body feels not much of grace as hot and cold and hot they blend. The hoary hairs grasp oft for sleep, 'til sleep takes o'er the growing night. Eternal pace no more will keep the speed of Earth, our modern blight. by Jay O’Toole on May 6th, 2024   |
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