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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 good ol' wad o' social dancin' of lowest naive or high-born prancin'. Good honesty ye pay when glancin', but when they're hardened, thee waffles thy good name by chancin', excused and pardoned. Faith wad the name o' goodness bein' within thy parts that no one's seein', that stands thee strong whilst others fleein'. Good character is with neighbors, and thy God agreein' 'til end endurance. The Pow'r o' God all true men make us, before that darksome angel take us, and o'er the bier the fresh dirt rake us, for we are goners. Then soon may His great Rapture quake us to lasting honors. The men we are inside's important. The good He gives is always ardent. The hymns we sing are aye accordant with truest hopin'. Escape in Christ that Place so mordant, no saneness copin'. O flee the flea in bonnet handsome, that ithers see not chinkness prancin' for reputation hath no ransom, nor returnin'. Oh, be we by The Savior's Ransom, never burnin'. by Jay O’Toole on July 18th, 2024   |
dear o deer, dear me Red Japanese Maple feast sapling's vuln'rable by Jay O’Toole on July 17th, 2024 |
The quiet times of late-day bliss when the sun is lesser seen. The fan blades cut the heat of this to temperatures between. To set the kettle on for tea, it makes the greatest sense for the evening's moments, then we see to make the nerves less tense. The Day of Gentiles sets anon, and soon The Rapture comes. The Hope of Glory lies beyond these earthly, daily sums. A sip of tea as night-cloth falls, a moment's thought of Home, Our Supper Time when Jesus calls will start the future tome. In a body weakened by the heat as the days of age now creep, we find new hope, that shan't retreat in great Truth, that flows so deep. The days of eve, all levels known, as God's great Plan unfolds, the days of life have wondrous grown, His blissful Future holds. This late-day bliss, it morphs into the glories of The Day. When the comfort of the tea is through "forever blest" will stay. by Jay O’Toole on July 16th, 2024 |
Of milk, of sweet, of flavors some the coffee takes its shape. Within a cup, the moments come plus muffin or a crepe. The coffee sits by lady, man, or child with a friend. The moments start without a plan or duty there to tend. Some talk is soft, or not at all. Some mouthfuls swilled in bliss, but when we're through, we've "had a ball" in chosen times like this. by Jay O’Toole on July 15th, 2024 |
The days of life all find the mist as wing-ed youth turns ancient weight. My mother's cheeks, now long since kissed, sleeps by the side of her dear mate. The Christmas songs of long ago, the three-three thirds and forty-fives. The record players we did know no longer played, no longer thrive. Where is the rumble seat for trips? Where is the faux wood along-side? Vacations then are now just blips. We live here without parents' pride. Where are the days of pats-on-backs? Where are the days of medals won? Where are the smiles, that wiped all lacks? Where is encouragement as his son? These days are written in a Book. The Wisest One knows how to find the memory's bliss, the longing look, and when they're seen His Mercy's kind. by Jay O’Toole on July 12th, 2024 |
When I was a child, I was so very playful. I was so very playful, and hopeful every day. A-dancing in my bedroom, throughout my house, the yard and throughout my house, the yard and the things I'd do and say. A little boy, who needed a friend to be forever, a friend to be forever, and Snoopy was his name. My friend and alter-ego, this Snoopy is my buddy. This Snoopy is my buddy for Charlie, I'm the same. The happy feet of childhood meet things, that we must do for The things, that we must do for adulting ev'ry day. Adults still house a child, that needs to stop and dance blest. That needs to stop and dance blest, since God we must obey. "Forbid not little children of such is My Own Kingdom." Of such is my Own Kingdom, today and evermore. (Matthew 19:13-14, KJV) "Let none despise thy youth for you must be examples. You must be examples of believers to the core." (I Timothy 4:12, KJV) Remind me, while I'm older to be so young and playful. To be so young and playful, I'll live a lasting Truth. Forever we'll be younger, if Christ has bought, redeemed us. If Christ has bought, redeemed us, forever we'll be youth. by Jay O’Toole on July 11th, 2024 |
Did Jesus' birthday really come upon that cold, and night-filled day? Or did He fill our history's sum by filling one, lone manger's hay? The One appointed to redeem could easily have been true born as the Atoning Day's first gleam, that blazed through sin's most awful storm. It seems that Fall's a wondrous time to swaddle the Newborn King among the animals in the stable prime, where an angel could shine, and joy be sung. I understand the date we use to symbolize the Brightest Light when darkness could not Him refuse as God invaded all that's night. The Birth of Christ, the fall of Man, The Yom Kippur of HIStory. His Death, His Call by God's Blest Plan, Elected souls He came to free. by Jay O’Toole on July 10th, 2024 |
How often when I'm feeling sad, I walk away from you. The words I wrote have made me glad, to give perspective new. Forsaking my dear writing place, I run away and hide. The mountain vistas of Your Grace they met me as I cried. The Oklahoma Panhandle, a child's place all alone. The darkish walk with one candle, a safe place when I'm grown. How can I write when sadness reigns? Where is Atlantic isle, that helps me blest perspectives gain to break from me denial? The writing helps when sadness falls to lift me from despair. I cannot breathe 'til a new word calls, and breaks my lasting stare. A planet, far away from here, in rocket ship so fast the town of Joe 'N Tea, it's clear is one great day's repast. I find another town to walk and trip o'er one great joy to paint with feet, and hands, and talk with my own heartfelt boy. Though sadness lingers as I write in the land of murky woe, He leads me home out of the night with rest as on I go. The seas are filled with salty tears. The mind, a desert blows, th'unwritten feelings are great fears, the nighttime morbid grows. The written thoughts an ember lights. The fire from hopeful breath moves back the darkness with respite the growth of purplest heath. by Jay O’Toole on July 9th, 2024 |
fauna need relief taking shelter from the heat shade trees are a gift by Jay O’Toole on July 8th, 2024 |
| “It’s after Math,” our Science we're told. We learn great truths, that make us bold. Our History doth make us wise to learn from battles of great size, we pan for nuggets of pure gold. In Phys. Ed. we are hot 'til cold. In English "bells" for us are "tolled." Of lessons learned we shan't despise its aftermath. Fair lunches as our meals are sold. When talking teachers oft do scold. Free evenings are our final prize when three o'clock all cheers and cries, the Science homework now we hold. It's after Math. by Jay O’Toole on July 5th, 2024 |
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