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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)    |
"1 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. 2 I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust." (Psalm 91:1-2, KJV) -------------------------------------------- O, rest, my heart, in Jesus' Wings. He never will thee fail. Such peace and joy, that always sings in ev'ry trying gale. To dwell within the secret place the most High God protects, will give me hope in wondrous grace by He, Who ne'er neglects. To thus abide beneath the shade of One Almighty God gives right to feast, that's always laid before the ones so awed. I'll say it always, evermore, "My refuge quite, He is. My fortress in a sturdy door. I trust all, that He says." My Heart, thy trust is in the Lord, Who made thee by His Choice, and gifted thee as Bless-ed Word declares for Three rejoice. What gift thou are, that Father gives to loving Son the best. Redeem-ed Bride, who ever lives as chosen, and so blest. by Jay O’Toole on March 30th, 2022 |
What a world it is today with souls so sad, and lost! How do we help? What can we say? Prevent a future tossed? I want to rush right in to hug or fix some wounded soul. I want it changed, at least unplug, at most I want them whole. But sadly some things, that are past my reach, do stop me in my tracks. I silent watch with "what to teach?" still weighing on my back. Some bitterness receives no peace, imprisons glibbered tongue. Most thoughts are simply, "Make it cease!" and let no joy be sung. How can I hope to comfort speak when I don't know their pain? How can my help improve this bleak? How can I stop the rain? I hear the anger, feel the grief, and wonder what to do. The human heart seeks just relief in the depths of me and you. I stagger at the heart's black hole. I hesitate to move. Their betterment is aye my goal. The gift I bear is love. The ship is steadied at the brink of event horizon's cusp. Should I dare go where angels blink, where good intentions rust? How could I say, "I've answer aught" when the heart can know no good? How could I speak a word, but naught until it's ready for food? I weep and stand here in my place, until I'm needed in some way. I pray some day, not pain, but grace transforms, that new, and warmer day. by Jay O’Toole on March 30th, 2022 |
| Balphrus T. Rog and Jabb R. Wocky had developed a friendship over the years, even though they lived in two very different countries. Balphrus hailed from Moriah in the mines of Middle Earth, and Jabb enjoyed his pleasant life in Wonderland as the favorite pet of the Queen of Hearts. These places were so different, that one could say, "They lived in different universes." "So, how did we meet?" asked Jabb. "Well, I seem to recall, that we both have such ongoing cases of heartburn, that we scorch the countryside wherever we go," Balphrus offered his friend. "We met on a production stage for Smoke-Vince, an anti-heartburn medication, that we were advertising, while trying to gain relief from our own personal situations." "Yes. I remember now. The cast and crew gave us nicknames. You were 'The Burning Scream' and I was 'Flame Tongue.'" "That's right," Balphrus said, and changing to a mock-order tone, he added, "Now, crown me." "Seriously?" quoth Jabb. "You've got another double-decker checker?" "I have a checkered past. Checkers is my game," Balphrus winked. "It's nice to have a friend, but when we play checkers you seem a little jumpy," Jabb's smile wrinkled. "Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump, jump. You have no more players. I WIN!" Balphrus screamed, turning on the sprinkler system by mistake. "You have got to stop doing that," Jabb scowled through dripping eyelids. "As always, you win. I'm headed home to dry out. I doubt I'll be normal before breakfast." "Nay, Dear Friend, thou canst not leave," Balphrus beckoned. "What is it with you, and this King James/Shakespeare dialect?" Jabb was building anger by the minute. Balphrus ignored the poke. "One of us has to face down Smaug, and defeat him. Elsewise, he will come in, and take over our haunted forest in a New York minute." "That's another thing!" Jabb blurted out. "Why do they call this a haunted forest? I haven't seen ghost one, since we got here." "I did. Apparently, their sheets aren't flame-retardant. You were focused on building your house, but I looked away from my construction, once, early on to see about 100 ghosts, carrying suitcases, while wearing backpacks. The one, that locked eyes with me, held out a flat hand to me, and gave me the back of his head, saying, 'Talk to the hand. Talk to the hand.'" "Got it," Jabb nodded. "So, what do we do about Smaug? We could play another game of checkers, and the winner gets to confront Ol' Nasty Breath." "You're one to be talking, Foul-Scent," Balphrus spit at him. "I have sweet breath compared to you," Jabb shot back, "but Smaug beats both of us combined." "That's why I forfeit the game, right now." Balphrus stonefaced him. "Now, just wait right there a smoky minute," Jabb said. "We need to play the game in order for me to have the chance to lose, fair and square. I can't be going to see no Smaug." "Well, we could play Rock-Paper-Scissors to see, who gets to go," Balphrus offered. "What about this?" Jabb jabbed. "Neither of us goes to see the Golden Deceiver. We keep playing checkers for the rest of the evening. We have a nightcap hot toddy, and then crash until the morning." "But what if Smaug comes to take over our forest?" Balphrus wondered. "Then, we flee, like the ghosts fled from us." "But I can't outrun Smaug," Balphrus lamented. "I know," Jabb smiled. "I can fly away, while Smaug is dealing with you." "Well, that's a friend for you," Balphrus said. "I've got a better idea. Let's leave the forest to Smaug, and move to that little hidden valley, where a giant lives, and it's always foggy." "I like the way you think," Jabb said. "There is something to be said, I guess, for those of us, who know our place. 'It's better to still live with your own stuff than to die as a charred disgrace'." "Last one in's a rotten pea!" Balphrus quoth. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Green Giant." ------------------------------------------------- Prompt ▼ Contest:
Word Count: 693 by Jay O’Toole on March 29th, 2022 |
The balrog and the jabberwock explored their checkered past. Who'd crown the most 'fore time could tock. The pieces down to cast. In haunted forest, light not much, where ghosts were not at all, these fiendish foes, whose breath could touch were sneezing a fireball. "Let's light the night, and sneeze some faces in the wooden bark," said Wocky without common graces with a lot of snark. "Thy breath is foul. I humbly trow," the Balrog quoth anon. "The traveler near would faint, I know, before thee shouts, 'Begone.'" "Of roses would my worthy breath smell sweet compared to thou, but there is one more drenched in death. Great Smaug 'fore him we bow." "Thou speakest truth. His wretched mouth still reeks of many days when never brush touch teeth gone south, and none could guess decays." "Let's set 'em up, and play, again," the Wocky chortled loud. "The winner gets to then play him, to go before him, bowed." "I forfeit, then, O, Worthy Wock. I seek no audience 'fore he, whose words all tend to mock with breath, that's all too obvious." "O, nay, Balrog, I need the chance to lose it, fair and square. I can't approach the one, whose glance doth torment, like his stare." "So, rock-paper-scissors to see who goes?" "Of course, but do we need to go before the one, who shows his home is full of greed?" "What would, ye, then, O, Jabberwock? To go us home, and sup, avoid his wrath, to eat and talk, to while the daylight up?" "O, yes. That's it. I like it true. He is the fiendish best. I'd save our lives, and friendship, too, avoiding that great test." The jabberwock and balrog went about their nasty lives, without a moment awful spent 'fore Smaug, and hopeful thrived. There's something to be said, I guess, for those, who know their place. "'Tis better to still live your mess than die a charred disgrace." by Jay O’Toole on March 28th, 2022 |
warmer over-all time has changed, and summer comes spring is near the door by Jay O’Toole on March 25th, 2022 |
What now waits beyond today? Who can see the Son? How can we a great hope say? When's the Victory won? Where can we find lasting peace? Why is Earth so now? Christ, the Lord, gives the best release. At His feet, we bow. Life is oft the testing ground to strengthen true resolve. When in Christ our hope abounds, and fears in short dissolve. by Jay O’Toole on March 24th, 2022 |
When the day seems gray and still without a purpose known, When the hours are hard to fill with aught, yet but a groan, When challenges start piling on without a hope of change, When turn-arounds don't come anon, and heart can't rearrange. When the body lumbers heavily forth as the fat on the torso piles, When all hopes of seeing future worth is lost in staring whiles, How do we find the way back home to better days of yore? When will we be invited, "Come," by Love, that doth implore? When "all is lost" doth seem my lot, when better days seem o'er, how do we see the best we've got, remembering "before"? Remember what He's always done. Remember His great care. Remember Christ, His Only Son. Remember Hope to dare. Remember that all trials known do purify from dross. Remember Lordly final groan, redeeming ev'ry loss. Remember that He comes again. Remember the lasting Day. Remember Restoration's win. Remember The Truth to obey. by Jay O’Toole on March 23rd, 2022 |
Up and down, back and forth we play the fluid keys. Little pipes are piercing north. South a large pipe frees. O'er and o'er like kneading bread we make the sound become a baken praise for One once dead, but lives, again, Salvation's Sum. Sound must always ebb and flow, the keys, a lilting dough. Kneaded loaf makes silence go. Baguette musicians know. A symphony of joy and praise, serving to The Lord the best of all our earthly days, great food of God's Own Word. With stirring hands, and churning mind the player deftly smokes these organ keys, while playing blind for blest and flying folks. The "baker" makes cacophonous all kneaded dissonance, not a moment aphonous, but offered in magnificence. Groaning, growling, kneading best all notes upon the score. Giving praises past the test of notes, that carpet the floor. When the loaf is offered high as worship to the king, let His children laugh and cry at organs, that do sing. by Jay O’Toole on March 22nd, 2022 |
grows in a cherry high, a tree of altitude makes consumers fast by Jay O’Toole on March 21st, 2022 |
The fields are green in peaceful rest, surrounded by the pines. The torrents dropped, in recent test, and colored in the lines. The fields of grass may soon become some fields of cotton boles or peanut tubers, making some great meals to keep us whole. The fields remind of parents’ house so many miles from here. The loss of Dad and his dear spouse is grief so daily near. by Jay O’Toole on March 18th, 2022 |
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