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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)    |
Waiting for the next blest thing to come, and show me how to serve. When The Lord will cause me sing, and give me place I don't deserve. Waiting for the next blest day to go with Him, forever safe. When The Lord will wondrous say, "I know you. You're no more a waif." Waiting for the next blest time to be at peace, no more distress. When The Lord in HIStory's prime will clean up ev'ry manmade mess. Waiting for the next blest sight to be known by the Son of God. When The Lord breaks earthbound plights. We'll ever praise Him, and applaud. by Jay O’Toole on March 29th, 2024   |
Food. Small bites change the mood, give new insights. A great place to be. Sitting down with some friends to eat the best meal's not free, but talk and food with Hope attends. by Jay O’Toole on March 28th, 2024 |
| Sometimes Life has parts now past, effectiveness, now gone, But the things, that always last will always linger on. The things, that are not needed much, we put out with the cows to eat the grass, and sometimes touch, and hear applause with bows. Days at home seem always right with days in town quite few. Youthful days with greater might seem pastured, now they're through. Pastures with their grassy hills complete a well-spent day. "Peace is loved more than great thrills." Well, that's what my thoughts say. by Jay O’Toole on March 27th, 2024 |
| Life is full of wondrous sounds. The birds above in boughs they sing. Christ, The Maker's Grace abounds. They sit to chirp or take to wing. Softly drops the rain this night to water peace within each heart. Pitter pat in hope that's light with rest it gives from evening's start. Hymns are blest in ev'ry form. The instrumental "white noise" paints quiet evening, no alarm, gentleness for Blood-washed saints. (John 3:16; John 6:37,44; John14:6) Cars, that travel on this road, they bring their drivers home to dine. Bless-ed peace in one's abode. An evening there with rest so fine. Trumpet Call for those, who wait. The Wedding Feast in robes of white. Season seen, but not the date. To live with Him there's no more night. by Jay O’Toole on March 26th, 2024 {/center} |
strong cuppa hot brew drink it well, today and e'er rest for evenings' joy by Jay O’Toole on March 25th, 2024 |
| The dark of rain, it shrouds the day with moisture coming from the sky. The sun is hiding, naught to say, and Earth can't see it, nor reply. The dark of rain might stay awhile to cause some wetness to my job. I need to be strong and wear a smile, not letting darkness hope to rob. The dark of rain helps growth to spring the flowers on their newfound way. With pollen washed I now can sing as darkness soon becomes light grey. The dark of rain is not fore'er. The sunny days return quite soon. The challenges have no more care than God permits for our best boon. by Jay O’Toole on March 22nd, 2024  |
| I was twelve when I first came to Roulhac Middle School, but some years later it became abandoned, sadly cruel. Chipley High did fully live for years when I was grad, but now the name, "Historic" gives a face that's truly sad. TTU in Choo-Choo Town was where I met my wife, but now no classes can be found where we had started life. It seems a terrible, bad joke, that where I went to school would be just empty buildings cloaked by history's overrule, but knowledge, I have gained each place, and love doth wondrous grow. The memories rest in sweetest grace as lives back then we'd sow. by Jay O’Toole on March 21st, 2024 |
| 1974: My heart is like a rocket. -------When her name is mentioned, My heart leaps to the sky; -------but when I think of reality, My heart loses its exuberance. -------It falls to the ground, and My heart shatters into infinite pieces. -------I try with all my might to mend it; but My heart is hopeless, -------so I gather the pieces, and put My heart into my pocket. ----------------------------------------------------------- 2024: My heart was such a fickle thing when youthful way back then. It shot itself up to the moon for love, it could not win. My heart, depressed, it stalled and fell. It shattered on the ground, not knowing, that the Plan of God would lift me and abound. My heart tried with my earthly might to mend me and renew. The pieces were so small and trite, not knowing what to do. My heart was hopeless as a youth. The pieces there were laid. Just placing them in pocket's truth was not made new. So stayed. My heart is older. Now, it knows, that sometimes pain's a gift for in the wind, a tree most grows, airplanes know greatest lift. by Jay O’Toole on March 20th, 2024 |
cold days now are two soon the heat will come and stay enjoy the respite by Jay O’Toole on March 19th, 2024 |
Swimming trees through cloudy blue lift hearts through mid-aft chilly breeze. Season's day is always new as life is lived by its degrees. Cat stands near the master's chair, rubbing leg, while scanning yard. Gaining strength, relieving care to honor his near sitting bard. Elm tree sways in rustling wind, revealing gaping holes in boughs. Light green leaves their message send "We hang on 'mid the tests to vows." Earth is never still at all. It spins and hurtles through the dark. Days of life still shout God's call to find our safety in His Ark. Dead the pine still towers o'er its place within the grove of trees. Curious how many more will be the days this regal sees. Small dianthus blooms amass, so strong enduring temps extremes. Cold the winter's recent past, so hot the summer's months it seems. Squirrel skitters on the fence, but "on the fence" he's not 'bout much. "Place is mine!" He will not mince. Intruders quick he them will touch. In God's Hands all still is good. Each day is ordered by His Word. Man's attempts won't change His mood. Forever He is Holy Lord. by Jay O’Toole on March 18th, 2024 |
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