%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    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)    |
The Christmas Corner, crafting room of needlepoint and lights. This gentle place it makes to bloom ideas 'mid the sights. The Christmas Corner, smallish place to think, to craft, to be. What will the moments of this grace bring forth for all to see? Some dream of hills, of forest glen, of meadows, and their streams, but I am helped by way back when the child's Joy wrote by reams. The Christmas Corner calls to me when life has been a mess. The gentle lights, the carols be environment of rest. The Christmas Corner's other names to those, whose restful peace restores their hearts as Life it tames to give their hope release. In Christmas, there's identity with One, Whose birth we sing. Salvation, chest from stone, it frees and gives the spirit wings. The Christmas Corner, day by day reminds of Heaven's Bliss. The hopeful heart will always say, "He made us just for this." by Jay O’Toole on February 19th, 2025   |
The times of troubled weather news, the times of other news, that's bad are hampered by so many views, but where is news made glad? The news political is vast. The news of truth seems mostly gone. The news of hope is sadly past. The future bright needs a hopeful one. The news is good when spoken by The One, Whose words bring Hope, so blest. The Savior, Truth, will never lie. He rose for aye beyond the test. by Jay O’Toole on February 18th, 2025 |
| So many truths to deal with now. It seems that all must be respected, and before them bow, or awful will be me. I've seen The Truth in John 14, verse number six it reads, "I am The Way, The Truth, and Life." There's no other Truth to heed. "That's not so loving, Preacher Man. It's intolerant and strong. You need to change your Gospel plan, and tune your singing song." by Jay O’Toole on February 17th, 2025 |
almost spring but not cold returns in frigid nights protect the flora by Jay O’Toole on February 14th, 2025 |
| #1 Bob Denver sailed as Skipper railed about the plights of island nights. #2 Bob Denver's day near shallow bay was filmed in time when cars weren't prime. #3 Bob Denver's folks heard ill-timed jokes. "Three-hour tour" did years endure. #4 Bob Denver's name was nearly same as he, who sang, but then bells rang. by Jay O’Toole on February 13th, 2025 |
| For when a squirrel across my path doth cause me give him chase, I stumble forward, soon to laugh at circumstanced abase. On a rabbit trail the bunny hops, before my wistful gaze. I run, pursue before it stops, with stupered friends amazed. My knackered frame on verdant knoll, near-flopped without command when a hawk swooped down with a smile so droll, "I pray thee still to stand." While trippingly with my tongue I bade, "Fly not away from here." "Whence can we sup, low-brow, earth-made in situation clear?" The squirrel, again the rabbit's dance, the eagle's beak, the closest glance, the tree trunk wins, the respite sleek, the battle thins. The dust now settles on the scene as hawk unperched in limb so mean his head now rattled, no food to glean. Raspberried tongues so small. How focus we upon the day of earthly tasks? This cautionary tale us slows, consistent asks, "Doth rushing here and there, and there and here in masks portend a ruthless fall?" A focused heart in a slowish gait may help us think anon, while many tasks upon our plate do work best one by one. by Jay O’Toole on February 12th, 2025 |
| The love I feel within my heart is never fully known. The hope I knew at our day's start was real. Oh, how it's grown! The love, that sacrifices all, to give the greatest Gift, forever hears the lasting call to help his loved one lift. The love, that focuses upon the everlasting Day is one, that loves The Greatest Son in all we do and say. by Jay O’Toole on February 11th, 2025 |
| Chilly wisps, like fingers clutch the skin, that's not enrobed in coats or blankets, that its touch seems a burning, frosty stove. This winter pushes spring away, that polar freezings thrive amid these cloudy skies, today, uncertainty alive. Chirping birds, and dancing leaves, the frogs and crickets trill. Distant winds almost deceive by subtle strength of will. One wonders, if this cold-pressed word of God's a warning touch, "Your North's a shaky, sadly blurred now image as you're much." God's greatest Judgment is to give us just what we demand. Our leaders often are reflections of our human plans. To separate us from our wants, and stated great desires would make rebellious every jaunt, and warrings with God higher. So, God in wisdom steps away from things He oft protects, and gives us what we'd like displayed. Our hearts of sin reflects. To "give us over" to our hearts is what we think we want, but then each consequence, it starts in never-ending haunts. Like parents, who would give their children icecream every meal, the self-demanded blessing's rendered past it's great appeal. As winter's cold, that numbs the digits of the exposed hands each heart unfettered by its wishes can't see God's Great Plans. If you can see the wisdom of the self-denying way, then thank the Lord, Who reigns Above. His Hope is on display, but if you're satisfied with a life, that lets you live for self, the coldness of a lasting strife has placed you on the shelf. by Jay O’Toole on February 10th, 2025 |
I cry about the loss of friends, and family, and all. I cry to be with them, again, with all on Whom Christ call. I cry about the days of yore when we would often play, would go to shop through many stores, while living day to day. I cry about the light, that seeps through black, stick, fading trees. The last of life on Earth, it creeps, until the New Day sees. I cry about the time I wait, until I see anew the names attached to the word, "late" when grieving days are through. The star above, a steady point, that shines in the night sky. The Christ, The Light, that God anoints forever, by and by. I cry about the ones, now gone, I know not their last state. Were they full told about The Son, before it was too late? I cry for joy about the souls, who know the One, Who saves. I thank Him, that they're fully whole, beyond the loamy grave. I cry for hope in big, wet tears, that someday all the pain will leave with all my earthly fears as Heaven's portals gain. by Jay O’Toole on February 7th, 2025 |
Light gray clouds afloat through the sunset sky. Less of day be wrote, 'til it says, "Goodbye." Minutes we have few. Soon it's black as pitch. Sunlit times are through as to night, we switch. Trees are silhouettes, but they won't be long. Floodlight show it gets some trees, then birdie songs. Poem canvas, now, it goes inside to sip some tea, and take a bow passed o'er the lower lip. by Jay O’Toole on February 6th, 2025 |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
