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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)    |
| Spinning Hole of Blackness rare shreds all Hope they know Sleep relieves of Quest his care, reunion helps Hope grow. What's wrong with me? Where is my faith? I spoke, but it won't stop. Now falling, ever falling free. What's floor and what is top? The Nothing was a mass of something, but what he did not know. No walls. No mud. No trees to thud could stop the falling flow. At first, the frightened cub could see not one thing, more nor less, but slowly and more surely came dull colors out to bless. The purple hues, dark blue, and green brought Christmas tree to light, and Momma's face was clearly seen through wispy shades of night. In that short moment, snatched away, his Mom was out of reach, which left Quest spinning there in darkness, stripped of cheery speech. "When will this end? Why am I here? Am I about to die? Will someone help me please I beg? I need somewhere to cry." A snowball whizzed right past his face. "Will this mist never clear? "When will I know something for sure? Will I be free from fear?" Despair full grasped of him the throat. He coughed and gasped for air. "Why did I leave my bed today? I miss my Mother's hair." The laughing, large, red-suited man relieved the bear a bit, but he was gone so quickly, too, and joyful laughing quit. "What is this place? What mean these sights? Is Space this empty lair? So big this naught. It must have friends, an army great out there." The cub remembered stories that his parents read to him. The dark it ate, the great abyss out-grabbed to pull folks in Alone and hopeless, still he searched in situation's bad for something new to give him hope, and then he saw his Dad. by Jay O'Toole on May 31st, 2019 |
flashing through the sky heavy rain is on the way shelter must be found by Jay O'Toole on May 30th, 2019 |
| "The Mist encloses who I am and who I want to be. The clammy fur, the awful smell, the chilling to the bone. "Oppressive darkness near to me, but still afar I see the blue above my weary head, that once was fully known." Quest mustered strength and stood him up, and studied 'round him there. He sought to see, but little saw in the shadow of a "man." What happened making life so black?, he wondered through his stare. Oppression takes the goodness back by Evil's surly plan. "'The morning' mayhaps means the blue. Of this, I can't be sure. How can I yet get out of here? How can the light be known?" He scrambled t'ward the right to leave to be the cloudy cure, but misty hand the hope bereft in villain blackness grown. On heels, he spun and to the left, he ran in sprinting gait as monster black consumed escape to fain some blinded eyes. In hopelessness it made him stew, unsettled in his wait. "See here, you Mist, that's just not fair! You do not own me in any wise!" "Now, go away and leave me be in the Name of God All-Strong. He fights our enemies, you see, defending ones, who gaze "upon His Face as needy souls, who make His Grace their song. For even in a deep despair He draws up daily praise." Without a doubt, the elements know, that God must be obeyed. The sun came through and now again, he knew the place he stood. 'Twas Peaceful Valley. It's mem'ries sweet. With Dad, he once had played, and Hide-n-Seek was great to build his confidence in the woods. But more than that, assurance gave of deepest love from Dad. They romped so hard, that when the weariness had worn them down, they fell into each others' arms and slept for they were glad. Oh, where is Dad? I wonder now, he thought and sat and frowned. Quest made his plans to go back home when what to his dismay should block his path but the awful mist, that ate the mountain's morn. Abnormal was this fiendish mist, anomaly's display. The big, black, ugly hole encroached the place, where he still mourned. "How dare you come back here, again! I told you once to leave! My Lord, this Doso Reimi's Word is stronger than you are! "What right have you to live and grow and on this mount to cleave? You must be gone! Now, from me leave! Remove from hence afar!" But nothing, that he said availed to stop the mist this time. It slowly made it's way to him, unheeding Truth, for now, the clammy mist, so black as soot comprised of gritty slime. A rebel to God's Holy Word, it just refused to bow. by Jay O'Toole on May 29th, 2019 |
summer’s heat so bright blue skies, clouds burned off and clear sun gives regal stare by Jay O’Toole on May 28th, 2019 |
At times it seems the days are long with naught to do, but wait. Create a thought or sing a song and "Guard your post to date." Commander ordered me right here to keep a treasure great. The reason's not always so clear, but "Guard your post to date." The post is far from daily kith or battle left and right. He said to "Guard with every breath, and stand with all your might." The battle for our freedoms rage around the world and home. The children of the newest age we guard 'til bloom may come. So many lose their lives at the front, while I must mind the store. To keep the treasure safe from the hunt illumines reason more. For those, who face the surly foe, are heroes brave and sure, but same, the guards of treasure know, while keeping shall endure. We lay our lives upon the line to keep the future strong. Whether at our home or across the brine, remember we in loving song. We follow orders straight and true to guard through boredom's cloud. I'll do my best to live for You, with the treasure before You bow. by Jay O'Toole on May 27th, 2019 |
waxy greenery lovely red and yellow blooms wondrous gift to home by Jay O'Toole on May 26th, 2019 |
wondrous succulent many colored blooms adorn day opened, night closed by Jay O'Toole on May 25th, 2019 |
| The heat of summer gives a key to understanding life on Earth. The thirst we feel can help us see our helplessness and living worth. The tragic wilting plants each day need water's gift to quench their thirst. By the Hand of God in rain's display or by human hands to slate it first. But either way, it's by God's Hands, for He made rain and He made Man. The point of the thinking comes to this, "The plants will die without a wet kiss." The plants cannot e'er move themselves like books upon great massive shelves until by kindness others move them unto a place of greater good. And so we thirst by the heat of human pride, until we lay our wicked pride aside. Thus humbled before the Savior's precious Throne, we lose ourselves to find, that we are known. The soul is stuck, unmovable in the ground, so thirsty from the heat of self, I've found, that a winsome Gardener must needs be found to bring some water to heal the parch and make me sing. O, Savior fair, to thee I thirst. Restore my leaves and blooms to shine. Please, make my day as at the first when You set me in the Garden fine. Plants need help and so do we. For always help first comes from Thee. Please, plant me where I'll be my best, defending me through every test. by Jay O'Toole on May 24th, 2019 |
| Wooden slat upon the fence. Sitting there day by day without change. "I'm board." by Jay O'Toole on May 23rd, 2019 |
| "Oh! What has happened?" Casa wondered at the ratt'ling marbles in his head. "I have some paws, but where are they among this blindness in my bed? "I feel them now!" and with them felt his arms and legs and aching head." "My darling son, oh, where is Quest? How could I lose this wondrous joy? "How will I live beyond today without this one amazing boy? "Not knowing is the saddest thing. My peace to the core it doth annoy." "My Ossie, where are you, my dear? Can you yet hear my sobbing tones?" His clawing, reaching, digging wild uncovered fur and form quite known. He shook his love to quick affirm, that Ossie was no more at home. "My dearest Love, it pains me sore to know, that you are truly gone." Overwhelmed by grief his bellows filled the cave and realization's dawn, "I must find Quest and honor you. To this great service, I am drawn." "I love you, Ossie! Heaven's gain is my life's living, lasting loss. "Your memory's each day's new refrain, my future hope to bear this cross. "Our home, your tomb, I leave you now to shrouded be by furry moss." The searching took on earnestness with Casa's cough through wheezing dust. A front door must be somewhere near but covered now by earthquake's thrust. Assay I do to backdoor's space. It must be open I hope, I trust. The morning light showed through a thread. He swam through dirt and dust to gain salvation's open door to peace. To find his son brought strength o'er pain. Once outside the mausoleum's grasp, the sunlight stung his eyes to strain. As Casa scrambled here and there in search of Quest, his only son, he scratched and clawed for Hope's last thread, until his strength was nearly done. He shouted loud, until quite hoarse as on his paws he quickly spun. "O, God, where are you? Will you help? Is there direction yet to walk? "Do you exist? Are you a myth? Or to the wind do I now talk? "How silent you are in this test. Salvation's strength is like a rock." "Please, help me keep my mind on You for fear would shred my hope to dust. "Please, blow direction's hopeful way. Let wind yet push me through a gust. "I know I'll find him come what may. My God is true! In Him, I'll trust!" by Jay O'Toole on May 22nd, 2019 |
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