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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)    |
| The tea is waiting. Hour's late. I really need a sip. Chamomile is really great. Must cool or burn my lip. A midnight cup with time to swill, and sniff the fresh bouquet. It does not take much strength of will a "Yes" t'ward tea to say. A book to read in cozy nook, while tea attends me there will bless the time I stop and took, unburdening my care. Near time to start, must poem post, I'll lift the steeping bag, then tip the hat, to Stevia toast. O, let the moments drag. by Jay O’Toole on June 20th, 2024   |
| Darkness haunts the scurrying days of life, that wonder, "What's next?" So many days rushed past the portals of youthful triumph at breakneck speed. Things to do with places to go, while occasionally a friend would run in lock-step. Is this aging soul merely mushed into the urn of "Used-to-be Usefulness?" Final vestiges of light silhouette the trunks, limbs, and leaves of daily life amid the growing garment of night. So many things unsaid. So many things left undone. What would be the wisest path through the oncoming uncertainty? The benefits of nightly cover show myriad gains. Sleep brings forgetfulness of less-than-hopeful moments. Rest bears thoughts on lofty wings of dreaminess. None looks upon the face of weary, languid tears puffed in heaving breaths. Gnarly fingers clasp their terminal grasp, squeezing out the graying light of day. Sentries of night stand transfixed beneath the murky sky, that once was day. The blazing light of technology pushes back the blanket of suffocating night. "Will I be remembered? Is there a new day to come? Will hope attend me when I wake?" Depression battles for mastery amid the fading strength of youth. useful day is gone darkness stands 'mid absent light comes the day anew by Jay O’Toole on June 19th, 2024 |
| How do we speak the Truth, that we may know in ways, that show we love the one we seek? One wonders, if it's possible to grow, without some social errors, that seem bleak. Evangelism is a dirty word to those, who feel, that all ways must be right. Yet, Truth is often spurious and blurred when all is best, and nothing's more than trite. Mere human, that I am can't know God's Mind. Regenerating me, He makes me see. His Kingdom's not a Place, that I could find. His Gift of faith, now makes me sa-ved be. He works within my heart to will and do, that which will be His Pleasure ever true. (Philippians 2:13, KJV) by Jay O’Toole on June 18th, 2024 |
| How tall the sky! How flat the land! The trees are few as planted. The little boy near home can stand. This goodness takes for granted. The horn now blares to cause him fear. Where can escape be safety? Tornado blows up frightful clear. We run to bunker hasty. To live in danger's sudden, awful path reminds us of the need for saving's bath. by Jay O’Toole on June 17th, 2024 |
humidity's thick darkness covers half the earth lanterns push it back by Jay O’Toole on June 14th, 2024 |
Staying fresh with poems now is really quite a trick. The blank page stares. I don't know how. I'm feeling slightly thick. I like to write a poem through the five days of the week, but sometimes I can't make it new, no matter how I seek. 'Tis then it's best to write about the struggles of the day. I've nothing left to laud, nor tout no matter what I say. These verses mostly mark the place within my daily blog to sit aside in slight disgrace as coffee's new-formed bog. An exercise of rhythm, rhyme when subjects are undone, revives the heart 'til most sublime as word's new story's won. by Jay O’Toole on June 13th, 2024 |
Questions come when much is done, but not a lot is said. Conflicts in between us won when lines between are read. Friendships smooth the rough between when feelings are quite weak. Strength of friends are often seen when best for others seek. Weekends come to give us rest, but in between is stuff, the work we do, the often test, the muscles say, "Enough!" Books are filled by many'a page with conversations 'tween characters, whose joy and rage create some selfish scenes. Hills are blest by wondrous views as valleys lie between. Darkness there may us confuse when hills do light beams screen. by Jay O’Toole on June 12th, 2024 |
| It's hot in the South, once again, attacking our health, foe or friend! Our features from sweat now can blend. To make us all cooler is quite a pretend. It's hot in the South, don't cha know! Let the mid-western dialect now grow, that the coolness from there we may sow, now here we could plant Minnasowta's good snow. It's hot in the South, I declare with humdiddity enough we can share! Give your address, we'll mail it o'er there, that you'll know what we feel. It's really quite fair. It's hot in the South! Summer's long! We can sing you a hot, sloppy song 'bout how work-clothes in suits feel just wrong, but our BO can make us exceedingly strong. It's hot in the South right as rain for it comes after heat once again! We live in our pools, it's quite plain, while working from there we seem most insane! by Jay O’Toole on June 11th, 2024 |
humidity grows thunder rumbles in the sky earth prepares to drink by Jay O’Toole on June 10th, 2024 |
Making things with my own hands is wondrous, joyful, sweet. Gifting is by God's Own Plans. His Glory is replete. Polyclay requires to be the hands as very strong. Necklaces or pendants see as in the heart a song. Needlepoint is finely tuned to tie the threads toge'er. Knit, crochet, embroidery soon will be a gift to share. by Jay O’Toole on June 7th, 2024 |
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