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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)    |
With needle and some thread, we weave embroidery for show. With words, and rhythms, rhymes we leave some verse, the world to know. With friends, we love, our days invest, build friendships evermore beyond today, forever blest, this wondrous, lasting store. With coffee or some steeping tea, we rest to write or read, until our thoughts, we sweetly free in this peaceful daily deed. With our hands, we plant some springtime flowers, and smile for we survived the winter with its cold, cold hours. In Christ we oft have thrived. by Jay O’Toole on February 28th, 2025   |
Moments resting 'tween workdays help me free the slog of weary muscles, that dismay, making water, grog. The anger toward a parent's death shows sadness inside out. The flowering of the bluish heath on their old-age grave is stout. These eight years now, Febrero's chill hath taken Mom away. The March, that took Dad from my will, 23 years display. The ones I'd wished "to have, to hold" all off-ramped Love's Turnpike, but God's lone best has been pure gold to heal each miss and strike. Each dog and cat we loved for years, that died and left us blue are honored with our many tears because their love was true. Emotions need these poem forms to lift up skyward, pain, since, earthly hearts have never norms, and heat brings often rains. Whence respite 'fore th'eternal one? Can earthly days know peace? Not in the self, but in The Son, Whose Mercy gives release. by Jay O’Toole on February 27th, 2025 |
So bound by thoughts of nevermore at peace, her windswept heart sank down in miry clay. She hoped, that pain and beatings soon would cease to find her Groom returning in the Day. "I'll come for you." She knew it must be true, but why he had to go she couldn't see. Awaking on the concrete, feeling blue, "Deliver me, My Love, to soon be free." "Remember, Dear, I touched your very heart to make alive your spirit deep within. I'm with you when we seem so far apart. This Counsellor gives peace, where once was din." The day approaches. Pain is nearly through. "Forever face-to-face, I so love you!" by Jay O’Toole on February 26th, 2025 |
So many years, lamenting waits, betroth-ed to her lasting Mate when soon they're joined in wondrous state, the pain will be forgot. Cruel beaten by such wicked hands her heart felt doubt of his best plans. "Why did he leave by called demands as though his love were not?" "I'll come for you." These heart-clutched words build up her hope, through teared eyes blurred, oft bothered by her thoughts, like birds, until she falls to sleep. Awaking on the cold, slab floor, her mind is drawn to him once more, "Deliver me through the open door to bind in love so deep." "Return, he will," in rapturous thought, still clinging to the love he brought. Alone she waits in rigor wrought, determined in her heart. "Remember, Dear, I touched your heart, enlivening that spirit part. I'm with you when we seem apart. This Counsellor is true." The day approaches. She will leave with he, who comes to her retrieve, though oft she's shaken, she believes his word from the very start. Forever in their lasting Place, the Joy of wondrous Hope, and Grace, the gift of his, dear, blessed Face, says, "Dear, I so love you!" by Jay O’Toole on February 25th, 2025 |
To every time of life on Earth, there is season for the things we do. The day we're born, and second birth need to be done for us before we're through. We pray for seasonings, that repair the bitterness of our painful times. These things, that make us stop, and stare. draw earthly hearts to life sublime. The seasons of our hopes in youth are filled with Joy, delightful goals. Renew we must this ageless Truth, that keeps us moving on as whole. The seasons narrow as we near the diving board to the lasting Day. In Jesus Christ we need no fear, the seasoning of his hope displayed. by Jay O’Toole on February 19th, 2025 ------------------------------------------------------------------------- "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:" (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, KJV) |
| This sunny cool of Florida, refreshes, while the rest endure the snow, the sleeting cold, a blustery, windy test. The spring will come quite soon enough, but not so soon for some. This winter’s wild and wooly days created hearts so numb. These past six months have been a romp through things, that stretch the soul. A ‘cane most rough, a frost, that bites, events to wear those whole. The word is, “There is more to come, a cold to chill the bone.” Until that day we’ll sing His Praise in wondrous, Heavenly tone. A sadness fills the earthbound soul, but hope, it fills the heart of one, who knows the lasting Goal will in His Presence start. by Jay O’Toole on February 21st, 2025 |
| Blooms of light, so red and white along the murky road. Headlights shovel away the night as darkness piles its load. Steady beams of white and maize continually march this way. Knobs of white stand on display as signs we must obey. Multicolored lights dance free, proclaiming wares for sale. Gasoline’s the sign I see for thirsty car’s detail. Green signs, yellow signs, and red, a book, that car lights read, preparing us for what’s ahead to wisely drive each deed. The droning of each passing mile can rock us near to sleep, but we’ll be home in a little while, where pillows rest us deep. by Jay O’Toole on February 20th, 2025 |
The Christmas Corner, crafting room of needlepoint and lights. This gentle place it makes to bloom ideas 'mid the sights. The Christmas Corner, smallish place to think, to craft, to be. What will the moments of this grace bring forth for all to see? Some dream of hills, of forest glen, of meadows, and their streams, but I am helped by way back when the child's Joy wrote by reams. The Christmas Corner calls to me when life has been a mess. The gentle lights, the carols be environment of rest. The Christmas Corner's other names to those, whose restful peace restores their hearts as Life it tames to give their hope release. In Christmas, there's identity with One, Whose birth we sing. Salvation, chest from stone, it frees and gives the spirit wings. The Christmas Corner, day by day reminds of Heaven's Bliss. The hopeful heart will always say, "He made us just for this." by Jay O’Toole on February 19th, 2025 |
The times of troubled weather news, the times of other news, that's bad are hampered by so many views, but where is news made glad? The news political is vast. The news of truth seems mostly gone. The news of hope is sadly past. The future bright needs a hopeful one. The news is good when spoken by The One, Whose words bring Hope, so blest. The Savior, Truth, will never lie. He rose for aye beyond the test. by Jay O’Toole on February 18th, 2025 |
| So many truths to deal with now. It seems that all must be respected, and before them bow, or awful will be me. I've seen The Truth in John 14, verse number six it reads, "I am The Way, The Truth, and Life." There's no other Truth to heed. "That's not so loving, Preacher Man. It's intolerant and strong. You need to change your Gospel plan, and tune your singing song." by Jay O’Toole on February 17th, 2025 |
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