We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
“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) |
Red and white the garland flows through the craft place where I sit. Lights of color o'er it goes with joy to lighten wit. The flowers dry as upside down they stay beyond their day. Such memories can ne'er be a frown with honor, that they say. The threads of many colors wait to be used in a piece of clothing, scarf, or something great, that soon we will release. The music ready will be played upon the spinet's keys. Notation marks when best obeyed the song of heart, it frees. The paintings, that adorn the walls say, "God's Creation lives!" The human gifts, now hear His Call, and blessings service gives. by Jay O’Toole on May 9th, 2023 |
warmer days arrive tender plants fill out the yard time to find a breeze by Jay O’Toole on May 8th, 2023 |
O, why does it make me cry, remembering the season's love? The little boy just sits to sigh, while watching Christmas' flying doves. An aging man still wonders where the hope of childhood flies away. The window's yard, now makes me stare as years of life fill ev'ry day. Salvation's hope, it lingers near, but sadness clouds the weary mind. Can Christmas peace be newly clear, while my "little boy" needs words so kind? All therapy requires some time. The darkness grows before the Light. My Christmas place, an uphill climb, will welcome me with greater sight. by Jay O’Toole on May 5th, 2023 Reference cue: "Where Are You, Christmas?" (The song from How The Grinch Stole Christmas) |
The Rise of Man in all of Earth is said to be by chance, but how can chance create each birth, predicted in advance? How do I know the life, that comes is known by Some Blest Mind? How do you know, that living sums are made of chance so blind? No proof have we, that chance or God has brought us here, today, but "In the end, we'll all applaud the Truth, that wins," we say. It's faith, that proves our points so grand to ev'ry human mind. It's pride, that has all others banned by hearts not very kind. So, hold your thought, that chance creates. I'll never be afraid, for it's not sure on any dates what sperm and egg have made. But if the God, Who made us all has anything to say, then when His summons is our call, we'll go to Him that day. Prepare your heart to meet the One, Whose Life has made you live. He'll give you to His Living Son by His Mercy to forgive. by Jay O’Toole on May 4th, 2023 |
Interesting this year in May are temps below the norm. It makes things cool. What can I say? Unusual its form. 'Tis often, e'en from March right on the heat of summer comes. It lasts until the autumn's gone when winter chills it sum. What will this summer's heat be like in the days of June, July? Will Hot its overmuch, then strike to leave us wondering "Why?" For now, enjoy we coolish temps as pansies grow and thrive as these May Days in blest attempts keep Winter's blooms alive. by Jay O’Toole on May 3rd, 2023 |
The days of strength will wax and wane, before we reach the goal. Some wounds and pains we all must gain, before we are made whole. Some days we wonder 'bout the worth of taking one more step when pains of neck, back, and thoughts' birth all scream, "Not one more rep!" When going on is not a thing we easily can do, we then with Samwise Gamgee sing, "I'll go there, Sir, with you!" The burden of the ring of Truth (John 3:16) weighs heavy on the heart. We look to finish what from youth (Romans 1:16) the Lord did then impart. "I can't go on," says Frodo's pate. His strength had given out, but Sam did wisely say of late, "Let's descend this hill of doubt." The greatest friends we'll ever have don't shame us in our pain. They start our hope to fully calve, before the last drop of rain. The forward march must move each head, and move the heart alike, before our story's been full read, like Pilgrim's Progress' hike. by Jay O’Toole on May 2nd, 2023 |
The days of knights and castle moats are way too far beyond the memory of my lasting notes 'bout family hopes and bonds. Yet, days of Yore for childlike me were simple days of play when phones were not so fancy-free, and life was "come what may." We'd often see the sun decline behind the line of Earth, and play our instruments in line, a band of local worth. I'd ride my bike, and feel the wind, that tousled up my hair. Emotions that could always mend with hands-free riding flair. The weekends were so lasting long. We'd breathe relief at last. to run out in the yard with song. Our burdens quickly cast. by Jay O’Toole on May 1st, 2023 |
blooming plants are seen daily showers water all warmer next six months by Jay O’Toole on April 28th, 2023 |
Soft and quiet, gentle friend with bombastic times, pianoforte moods do blend in our uphill climbs. Many years ago I took the lessons that I'd need to play piano by the book. Each time I played, I'd read. But now I'm told, "It's by the ear," the best of keyboard fare is "plug and play," and "feel it clear," which makes me stop and stare. They'd eat their meals, while I would play, which part of College paid, but this type of job is rare today. My playing's at home stayed. I played at church a few years past, but not now, and I'm sad. I pray my gift will somehow last through Eternity's great glad. Piano is a blessed joy, it's ivories to gliss. Engaging all its keys employ makes tonal music bliss. The world has left this instrument, except for venues large, where it costs much cash to rent, the audience to charge, but Mama's piano is with me right now. I've played it, since quite small, and by the Lord's most wondrous "How," I'll play it 'til His call. by Jay O’Toole on April 27th, 2023 |
Gentle music from the Lord, strong thy ministry, lift my burdens by The Word, troubled heart to free. Gentle music in the air, crickets, toads, and flying doves past my sightless stare. Night can't quench His Love. Gentle music, Christmas songs, comforting the heart, which for Heaven daily longs, that angst-free life would start. Gentle music in my ears, sweetest moment's peace, loosing me from all my fears in His kind release. by Jay O’Toole on April 26th, 2023 |