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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)    |
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 |
How often do we lose our peace because of something we forgot? Responsibilities increase for those, who think, "It is my lot." The Founding Fathers did their best to 'stablish great and godly Home, that this new Place would stand the test, alleviate the need to roam. The drive to do the good we know impacts all of the life we live, but what at last will there we show when our last breath we finally give? America, America, 'tis built on Honor from the start. The good we do in lasting thus bespeaks the trueness of each heart. "Dear George, the King of our first Land, remember well our many pleas, that caused us withstand you by bands. Relieved our yolk, blest Freedom frees. "As thy dear children we were then, until provoked us overmuch. Still colonies we might have been, but now our sovereignty, don't touch." The yolk of sin still burdens souls, who are not right with God Above. The death of Christ to make us whole, His resurrection frees to love. The independence of this day, it points to greater freedom's cause. Dependence makes us blest, okay in He, Who owns our lasting awes. by Jay O’Toole on July 4th, 2024 |
beating down on earth flora, fauna feel distressed need for rain is large by Jay O’Toole on July 3rd, 2024 |
Responsibility we have to help our fellowman. How could the job we ever halve or finish God's Lone Plan? The ones, who sin must go to Hell, and sinners all we are. How can we ever finish tell, while living in this "jar?" I never feel, that I am done. I never fully start. So many souls are not yet won. No Christ in lasting hearts. The ones I love are they yet saved? Have I made Jesus known? Each heart, once born, is still depraved. This life we live has flown. Eternal life is from The One, Who died and rose again. His Substitution for us 'lone can pay for lasting Sin. His Perfect Life can stand for each, who trust Him as The Lord. When made as sons, He then can teach us daily in His Word. When I breathe last have faithful been to His Commission Great? Have I called out to nearest men, before it is too late? by Jay O’Toole on June 28th, 2024 |
Precious moments in this chair, penning rhymes in deepest stare. Time to rest some weary bones from the task of daily groans. Find a thought to poem write in the day or in the night. Find some peaceful deed to do blessing me, and blessing you. Precious moments in this cove, writing is a treasure trove. Poetry, the heart's delight, Love, it's hope, the farthest sight. by Jay O’Toole on June 27th, 2024 |
The flooding eyes near-drowned the heart, and down it went times three. With knowing look, relaxed to part, my long-time friend set free. The mem'ries flameout, lacking fuel. Great joyful barks no more. This now-closed chapter's sadly cruel. The puppy's not restored. No one stands near to welcome home the "soldier" second-shift. The faithful dog, who wrote a tome upon my heart has left. The walkers wag the tongue and tail. These faithful friends life live. The breezes lift the barque and sail their truest days to give. The fading sunset parts them twain. The solitary figure cries, "Please, come here, Girl, and part the rain." No answer as he sighs. by Jay O’Toole on June 26th, 2024 |
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