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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)    |
| 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 |
Green's forever, where I live, the grass, the leaves around. Brown's the trunk to firmness give, it from the dirt abounds. But where's the red, orange, yellow? When does fall come here? A few days 'fore each Christmas know the trees with colors clear. Sasanquas have their red blooms, now. Lantanas colorful blooms, orange, red, and yellow show in the yard's quaint outside rooms. Not much changes where we live. The flowers bring the paint. The sunsets quite a show they give. Fall colors make us wait. by Jay O’Toole on October 25th, 2024 |
Long throughout the darkest night hopes of the day live. No lamp for the gnarly path. Unknown steps to gift. Sunlight gilds the black. Curtain rages 'gainst the day. Lies to hide the fact. by Jay O’Toole on October 24th, 2024 |
Needlepoint of colorful threads makes the image sharp. Spending time, while resting the mind, singing as with a harp. Tea towels with their coffee cups make a pretty pair. Another with a saying adds its hope to a friendship there. Two wedding gifts with its "Mr. & Mrs." were finished with great joy. "Home Sweet Home" the third one shows its pleasant threads employ. Three birdies with their feathers blue sit perched upon some stems. "Be your own kind of beautiful" are the words, that show with them. Embroidery or backstitch, knit are projects I have made. So many more to anticipate as needle time is bade. by Jay O’Toole on October 23rd, 2024 |
If I wrote another book, what would it be called? Would it be of a forward look or of some past, that stalled? Would Quest be grown, and finally home or his early years with Mom? Would the preacher's family in their roam, write their first-time earthly psalm? Would the preacher's wife share her joy of the Heavenly, lasting peace? Would the wounded girl and boy tell of their joy increased? Would the Rapture and the Reign, now-past, reveal The Truth, that God, Who made has come again, Creation's blest new youth? To write a story's one great gift for those, who know the How. A thought of Hope will others lift, forever, made right now. by Jay O’Toole on October 22nd, 2024 |
In these days of things to do, "wheres" to be, and lists to know, one blest Hope can settle you. To here I oft return and go. (John 14:1, KJV) "Let your hearts not troubled be," The Savior urged believer's trust. "You believe in God, now so in me." Christ is The One, Who makes us just. This life around us often moves in blowing gales of 'canelike wind. These challenges our metal proves, while resting in His peace will mend. Peace comes not when all is right, but when we're "resting 'neath His wings." Sustaining grace is all His might, and from that place the heart now sings. (Psalm 91:1-4; Colossians 1:16-17, KJV) by Jay O’Toole on October 21st, 2024 |
Seasons of darkness descend on the soul, making us cry, "Oh, Lord, Why?" But in the process of being made whole, the waiting and darkness reply, "Where is the One, thy soul ever seeks? Doth He just bid thee begone? Or is it the dark thy heart ever tweaks, creating a longing for the sun?" 'Tis in the dark, that mushrooms are grown. What a savory part of thy food! In shaded part of a tree are yet known the hostas, and ferns lovely good. In the darkest of night have the hurricanes screamed, blowing down all the loose limbs of life. The churning of milk brings us butter and cream. A dark time can deal with our strife. A broken bone can mend in the dark of a cast. A preacher is called in the night. Obscurity's school is a glory at last when the Truth is proclaimed in the light. When you work in the night, and sleep in the day, the lonely of Jonah sets in, but the giftings of God in their final display will show trophied souls He did win. The dark and the light of these temporal years are the tools, that The Lord, He can use. The burning of fright, and the shame of the jeers melt the dross in the gold He did choose. The darkness is subject to The Son, Who is Light. The seasons of dark are a span. The making of gems in earth's crushing of night are the gifts of The Day by His Plan. by Jay O’Toole on October 18th, 2024 |
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