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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)    |
| Two scripts upon this Terran life stage. I cannot choose to act both and live. The popular one was "just all the rage," but back to the right the one smells of sage. To its wordy softness my heart I can give. What is the attraction of the one? Why do the many flock to its words? Is it the source of lasting great fun? Is it a place for friends in the sun? Does it help feelings to fly with the birds? How thick the woods. It's hardest to find. The wordy, softer script of the page, it's light unto the ones, who are blind It's food for those, who crave the word, "kind." It's solace made to heart-fears assuage. Alone I walk in the thicket of trees. I read out loud the script of The Way. The weight of this life, it finally frees. Eternally blest by the greatest of these, so honored at last in The Maker's Best Day. -------------------------------------------- This poem is an imitation of the style of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken." ABAAB is the rhyme scheme. Tetrameter (4) is the length of each line. The rhythms are a mixture of iambic and anapestic feet. by Jay O’Toole on October 31st, 2023   |
| The holidays are here, again, but why the blackened door of sooty sulfur, costumed friends, and candy they implore? One monk was nailing arguments against indulgences bought. The Bible's Truth of Curtain rent was better than they taught. November sees construction work of lights for the great display on lowly digs or grandest kirk, where "snowmaned" souls do play. The Thankful Day with turkeys dressed rolls lavish carpet red for Santa's laughter as we're blest by football and more bread. A month goes by 'til Christmas Day with Joy and sadness mixed. When boxes are no more displayed new focus must be fixed. A New Year's Eve will come and go as work returns to force, until the jolly elf can show again our days of choice. One wonders, "Will we stop, reflect upon Thrice Holy God? Will hearts and knees we genuflect as His name full applaud?" by Jay O’Toole on October 30th, 2023 |
The One, Who made Creation fair is Glorious to make each heir of ones, who sinned, were lost, unwhole. The living days have just one goal. To show His Glory all will do, redeemed from Sin, or lost and through. Redeemed by choice of Him, made whole. The living days have just one goal. All made to glorify The Son, Who bore the cross, was raised and won. All through The Word of God, The Scroll, shows living days have just one goal. So, quickened by Him we can trust Redeeming Lord, forever Just. Please, write my name on Jesus' Roll. The living days have just one goal. (Philippians 2:5-13, KJV) by Jay O’Toole on October 27th, 2023 |
Bless my little snowman heart. I'm cuter than you know. Holidays can't fairly start without cold to make me grow. "Our Daddy was a famous guy. His hat caused dancing joy. 'Happy Birthday!' His reply when made a live snow toy." "Cuteness. We have much to spare, and the sweetest cavities are made by looking. Please, don't stare or we will quickly freeze." "Crimson hats are made of fluff. Our hairlines watered down. We're really cute, but not so tough. We're the talk of our hometown." "We're sleepy babies in the snow, mischief etched on every face. Winter's months we only know. Summer's toads our puddles grace." I'm thinking of a number now 'tween one and four. Oh, please, choose one. I am your best. I'll take a bow. What sweetness! Always full of fun! My thinking cap, so red, it's plain. I'm playful through and through. I have to dance when in the rain. My cuteness is what's due. I cannot hear an unkind word. I think about the best. My cuteness is not ever blurred. I'm one, who is quite blest. Oh, God, I thank you for my life. I'm really loving You. When I am older make my wife a cute one through and through. We can't be bored by the cutest snow. Their faces are so sweet, but the boards behind them never know this cuteness factor treat. by Jay O’Toole on October 26th, 2023 |
Open up the greeting card. See a friendly face. Happy Christmas, Child and Bard, full of wondrous grace. Many are sweet mem'ries now, full of Santa Claus. Wooly white upon his brow. Much of life on pause. Can I see him place the gifts? Can I have my proof? Can the hopeful joy it lifts track upon the roof? Not of fam'ly, not of friend, should this give me pause? Many toys will concern mend, sweet old Santa Claus. "He knows when I am sleeping. He knows when I'm awake." My little heart is creeping. "Oh, Mom, what can I take?" A big, fat man lets himself in. The reindeer kick roof slates. Is this okay with kith or kin? The hour is quite late. It's okay. The greeting card is right beside me, now. Nighty, night, 'neath sky so starred. I need not know how. by Jay O’Toole on October 25th, 2023 |
Fluffy blanket on the ground, shimm'ring from the bright sunlight. cold, yet warming hearts thus found. Take away all shades of night. Inside hearth great embers red radiate their heat about, chase the chill as cozy fed are hopeful bodies without doubt. Christmas time has come, again, wending through each forest stand, speaking to the world of men, "God has brought His Saving Plan." Cold of Sin doth chill in death human souls, who selfish are. Resurrect with New Life's Breath those, who've wandered from Thee far. Oh, Build this house upon The Rock to fortify 'gainst Judgment's frost. Renew each heart from wintry shock of everlasting selfish cost. Cold outside doth bite and gnaw. Warmth inside feels hopeful, new. The Father's Will doth to Him draw the souls of men, The Babe's gifts, too. Cold the blanket 'round us lays. Warm the Message from Above. Heed the Words The Bible says, "Flee to Jesus' Saving Love." by Jay O’Toole on October 24th, 2023 |
| "I want to go and do this thing. It really might be fun." "You shouldn't go. A bee might sting, and harm you somehow, Son." "Or maybe I could go that place, and work, and play, and do." "That's not so very good apace for one as slow as you." "Well, what about a book to write? I think that's really nice." "Rejection there can really bite, and charge your heart a price." So many times I sit right down, defeated and alone when I encounter someone's frown, and give them my life's throne. So many times I would succeed, if I would simply walk. To take a step in grown-up lead, to do, instead of talk. Are there defeats, that I would know when exercising "Try"? Oh sure, but "Yes," is where I'd grow to own the life, called, "Mine." I have the chance to visit "Yes," but now this Terror reigns. It screams to me, "Defeat, not bless! You'll fail, and sit in chains!" "That may be true, but facing fears is what a grown-up does. The child in me could sit in tears, since bees are known to buzz, "But now's the time to grow up for so many times in past, I've walked up to a lock-ed door, and sat where strength was cast. "Oh, SHUT UP, NO, AND LEAVE ME BE! It's time to visit "Yes," and from your clutches, newly free to love my life and BLESS!" "So many times" are by-gone days, that keep me from the bad, and keep me from some good displays, that I have never had. To visit "Yes" may rosy be, or I could slip on ice. The brave ones there can newly see. I'll take my own advice. by Jay O’Toole on October 23rd, 2023 |
My prep is done, each exercise. I now must gather parts to make the story be as wise as needed for all hearts. My prep is done to read again each exercise and thought, that when it's through my book will win, and wisdom will be taught. My prep is done as NaNo looms. The task will start anon. Must find some peace in many rooms, until the words are done. My prep is done. I must be swift when novel days are here. The final book will be a gift with the message made so clear. My prep is done. The words I'll write are often in the dark, expressed when others sleep at night, some thoughts may newly spark. My prep is done. Now, meditate upon the novel's tale, that other souls, whose hopes still wait are gifted without fail. My prep is done. Now, hope 'twill be my novel writ as well. So many pages, words to see with many tales to tell. by Jay O’Toole on October 20th, 2023 |
The mirror doesn't like me much. It shows to all my face. One wonders, if a gentler touch would be in love a grace. The mirror shows an older guy. Someone I've yet to meet. Would I feel like I need reply, if he spoke on the street? The mirror doth not show the Me, I've always known I am. The guy inside wants not to see the mirror's fiendish sham. The mirror should now restore all the youthfulness of who stands 'fore its shiny, silver wall without a hopeful clue. The mirror's s'posed to just reflect the one, I've always known. In honor, it must genuflect, ignoring how I've grown. But Science is the watchword here. the mirror's just the tool. It shows what is to others clear. The years are often cruel. The mirror offers some advice. "A smile for all is best." It costs no mint, nor kingly price to radiate, "I'm blest." by Jay O’Toole on October 19th, 2023 |
How do we know without a doubt, that something is quite true? How do we work the questions out, until the doubts are through? How do we find a stable slab on which to plant our feet? Where do we find a word to grab, that builds hearts on repeat? We find The One, Who is The Truth, and rest on what He says. We question not, that from His youth Redemption's Grace is His. We read The Word of God each day, and lean upon His Heart. He is the Life, the Truth, the Way, Salvation from the Start. (John 14:6, KJV) by Jay O’Toole on October 18th, 2023 |
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