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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)    |
| A child may think the days will last, until so many years have passed as hopes are chased, and some are cast These days run fast, these days run fast. The sunset scene's a bright display, 'til light is gone to day's dismay. "The good's now o'er," some sadly say. The night can play, the night can play. "The days are still. This life review. Take time to think of things to do, 'til curtain falls for me and you, and then it's through, and then it's through." The Lord, His Purpose for each life of time in books, and band with fife, and e'en for some a lovely wife, apart from strife, apart from strife. And when we breathe each lung's breath last, or list we for Heav'ns trumpet blast. Thank Jesus for Salvation's "hast." The Day is vast, the Day is vast. by Jay O’Toole on March 27th, 2025   |
So many days of long ago, I thought that friendship wore a fluffy sweater, soft to know, 'twas gentle evermore. But now I see a different tack. A throw or camel's hair is friendship's manner, lacking tact with not a smile, but stare. Last prophet of the Jewish Torah, John Baptist wasn't sweet. His message was, "Avoid Gomorrah!" Earth's first insipid tweet. He wore his camel hair to preach to warn of doom to come. His friendship sought to lost ones reach, not win a silver sum. The greatest friends we'll ever meet are those who see the Light. They may with coarseness come to greet to save us from some plight. Like John, who came in camel's hair, a friend will guide us true for when we're on the path to There, we'll know the Grace, that's due. My Greatest Friend is He, Whose Plan for me in the Greatest Time is with His Father, there to stand, thus whitened, made sublime. by Jay O’Toole on March 26th, 2025 |
The days of spring do wend their warmish ways, until the flowers glory in their boast. True Nature honors God until obeys Humanity, that knows He's God, The Most. (Philippians 2:5-11, KJV) Each coolish breeze that meets some muggy breath brings stormy torrents to a gentle house. The hostas grow, and with them wondrous heath, 'til stand we do some day with lasting Spouse. The harshest damage of the winter's cold left brown the limbs, that weary for the green. Not long to wait, until new growth be bold, and bright the wonders by God's Hands be seen. This God, the Most, forever in His Rule shows Grace to those He saved by Cross, so cruel. by Jay O’Toole on March 25th, 2025 |
The Scream so raucous demanded my eyes. It leapt from the fabric an unearthly mouth. The low-light on paisley, a darkened surprise, remained still unheard as meaning went south. That same paisley loop when looking, again was a slight Santa Claus with a jolly, big nose. Near black & white tint in this canvas of din with curling up mouth when the smile first arose. The white-dancing petalled camellias now seen with leaves in the background, unknown to fade fast. The pinks, and some darker as nature's slow preen. This image of threads made a longtime to last. The birds on a limb, this family so blest, a red father cardinal with others quite dull find solace together to weather each test are threaded as one by Love's greatest pull. by Jay O’Toole on March 24th, 2025 |
| There was a great need for a kitty, whose meows were first wise, and then witty. The first part of the set was to roll o'er, and pet 'fore getting self clawed just a bitty. by Jay O’Toole on March 21st, 2025 |
When the words are slow to come, and thoughts don't easily jell, we're tempted to enthrone the sum as "nothing left to tell." But all this means, I firmly feel is "life has been a load." When rough-made waters fight the keel, find harbor and abode. The heart digs in. "Just strongly move to force the body, 'Go!'" The body yelps to "Reigns remove, and more compassion show." The currents pummel ev'ry keel, then shore we must the wood, returning hope to worthy weel, rerighting life that's good. Let's help the keel each wayworn barque doth need to sail as true. The given help, the needed spark, then travel is in view. by Jay O’Toole on March 20th, 2025 |
day shines through the trees silhouetting soldiers stand ‘fore the night’s advance by Jay O’Toole on March 19th, 2025 |
Beauteous sun through the winderful panes. Thus tipping a pun with these cheeky new gains. I can not deny the beautiful sight, that makes of this moment a feeling so right. Of coffee and books here is wonderful rest. An hour's respite from each day's often test will bring hope to the heart as we sit and reflect. List to The Lord for His Peace as each fear we reject. The beauteous sun with coffee and books. Some time to reflect, some time with just looks, how gentle the day in wonderful rest. Eternally with Christ, the Lord, will be blest. by Jay O’Toole on March 18th, 2025 |
| Let's give a cheer for the ones with no fear, or the ones, who know fear, and march on! The cheer, that is dear with its purpose so clear is of Johnny, and each native son. The ladies, who serve in this cheer do deserve all the best for they give their all, too. Her arm flexes with verve, showing all of the nerve of the men when the battle is through. Ev'ry cheer, that we grace 'bout their hardest of place brings great love from the heart of our hearts. Ev'ry shoe's latchet laced t'ward the onslaught to brace is a gift made to hold the ramparts. So, three cheers for our vets ev'ry effort now lets each man, woman, child have a home. Ev'ry forehead of sweat brings the sweetest sunset, being safe so we need not to roam. When Th'Eternal Day comes, with the best of their sums for their fight has not been all for naught. Side-by-side with their chums, digging in with their drums the blest Truth has been lived, and us taught. Ev'ry Johnny and Jane in the sun and the rain fought until there was naught left to give. Through each day it was plain ev'ry foot they would gain was a gift for their fam'lies to live. Honored Vet, we now stand with a heart-covered hand to say, "Thank you for all that you've done! Forever the band in the field or grandstand will play Stars and Stripes for all you've done." by Jay O’Toole on March 17th, 2025 |
'Neath the fan, near window bottles, resting 'fore the winds arrive. What may come with plans it scuttles. Mystery of how we'll thrive. Forecast of the 'nadoes twisting. Will we know, and shelter find? Dryest winds or rainclouds misting, ties of love forever bind. Hard the winter, soon the springing, what of God's unending Truth? Will the angels come a-singing, making old man lasting youth? by Jay O’Toole on March 14th, 2025 |
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Oh, and are your writing about our WdC 
Thanks for the entertaining poem. Well done! 
