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) |
These trees become grand silhouettes, great arms, and feathery branches. The light is lost as night is met the need for darkness stanches. We say, “Goodbye” as friendships fade into the days now past us. We hope our words were best obeyed with memories held, not casted. The night orbs burn with twinkling lights the sun’s-light gracious gave them. We thank the Lord, that hope still bites through dourness of grave men. The silhouettes become the place for bright night lights to paint them. A silvery glow now lights each face as shadowed features acquaint them. Naught left to see within the yard, unlike Sir Carroll’s “muchness.” My eyes do strain to see quite hard of property’s new “lessness.” by Jay O’Toole on February 3rd, 2023 |
The sun goes down. The sun comes up upon the same ol' day. We build the same old coffee cup to go our same old way. Tomorrow will be February two, just like it was today. The next day after that we'll do the same, that we now say. I wonder when will cycles stop to bring us newer times? I wonder when we'll movie shop to reach a better clime. A groundhog sounds like someone who puts all their things around to keep a plot of land from you as selfishness abounds. Just start the clock a-going now. Make Punxsutawney past, that when tomorrow comes somehow the future then will last. by Jay O’Toole on February 2nd, 2023 |
Are the days gone by, now really in the past? Is there no benefit from thoughts of childhood, that still last to help the senior medalist? The days of joy, and playing in the yard, until the sun went down, creates the ancient and the bard, whose words would change a frown. The holiday's "eternity" brought joy to ev'ry heart. All wrapped in coats their "play" to free. Its laughter always starts. The days of mirth need be reborn. Let's hold that child upon the knee to stroke the pate of Self once torn, to comfort smallish me. We can't return to the days of yore in childlike body gone, but rest with him (or her) some more makes daily trials won. by Jay O’Toole on February 1st, 2023 |
Garland hangs around the space, reflecting lights about. The long, and thin, and silver chaise, the red and white doth shout. The vestiges of Christmas past enhance the winter's nights. These garlands make the season last to keep the lifetime bright. The child remembers garlanded trees with fluffy, silver rope. Their daily tactile picture frees to give the man some hope. by Jay O’Toole on January 31st, 2023 |
The sun was shining wondrous bright. The pansies needed homes. The work required was far from light. I tousled up the loam. A three-pronged claw released the roots. My hands grabbed clods of grass, and throwing them past my big boots, I finished a big task. Garden soil, now, fully bare, I brought the cedar mulch, and smoothed the cover from here to there aroma to divulge. Well thought-out placement, flower faces found their homes in front of the greenhouse "castle," and it's graces, like a cake of loamy bundt. This joy, now done needs water's spray to quench the thirst of all, to settle roots in newest day, protection from God call. Such beauty blessed, I pray their safety now from cold and fauna, that they might e'er live. The frost tonight could make them freeze and bow, but hope in tact, I'll wait them time to give. The pansies last beyond the hardened freeze, but deer can be another thing, indeed. The ice can come and go on all of these, but "salad" brings them low of faunish greed. By grace we'll see the pansies soon, and joy at ev'ry sight. Tonight the cold may be a boon for springtime's joy, delight. by Jay O’Toole on January 27th, 2023 |
Work, it comes so often now, to grab my mind and eyes, and brow the briskest pace elicits, "WOW! Do we have time to rest?" The job is often just the same as yesterday when then we came. Consistency we bless, not blame as making comfort's nest. At work, we run, while dripping sweat to pay our bills, and keep from debt, ensuring goals are daily met to bring us smiles when done. My prayer is that when life is o'er my work will pass the fire before, existing in God's ready store as blessings ever won. by Jay O’Toole on January 26th, 2023 |
Finding strength to move ahead is in the Hands of God. Following now when once we led seems hard to thank, applaud. "My Grace is all, that you will need," so says the Mighty Lord, "Your weakness becomes strength, indeed," when resting on The Word. Then Paul enjoins, that "gladness comes" when "weak days are embraced, for then," says he, "Christ's gladdest sums of Power can rest in Grace." Now, finding strength to truly live is gifted from Above. No works from me are left to give, receiving blessed Love. ------------------------------------------------ 2 Corinthians 12:9, KJV, “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- by Jay O’Toole on January 25th, 2023 |
To say the things I'd like to say is always my first goal, but thoughts expressed of the day to day may end up not quite whole. Why do the things, that mean the most within the heart of me become some sad words, often toast when I speak them liberally? Why do my tries to share the Truth so often just fall flat? Why does the zeal from my own youth seem best when under my hat? Confused our speech the Lord, He did when Man built to the stars. Improper worship must be rid. So, language met with scars. Communication fractures much when views are not the same. We speak with strength all hearts to touch, but hearing is to blame. by Jay O’Toole on January 24th, 2023 |
chilly, wet, and cold blowing strong as winter’s kept flora, fauna rest by Jay O’Toole on January 23th, 2023 |