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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)    |
Busy-ness, the dreaded foe has kept me from my pen. Many things won't let me go with talent growing thin. Acting has its place, I know. The gift is fully there. Time is gobbled. This I trow is making me to stare. "Music tames the savage breast," but not the rushing clock. Notes are made to soothe each test, but life's great boat may rock. Painting is a pretty thing, if color can be found to make your day to brightly sing with time to go around. Needlepoint demands we stick with knots of woven work, it shares not mind, though heart be sick with other "lives" we shirk. The years of life are marching on with interests running wild. What "hat" of skill should I best don, that life be not defiled? And for that thought, I wish to know, "How can my words improve?" The senses ebb and they do flow as daily "stick men" move. The torrent of these novel thoughts engulfs the letters' yard. afraid to edit as I'm taught. The man, who would be bard. How doth the moniker impede the "writer good" to grow! The "writer best" would supersede the "writer safe," I know. What wasted time I daily rue as suns are flying past! The good of all the things I do, which of these truly last? by Jay O'Toole on July 8th, 2019 |
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