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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)    |
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 |
How do we learn to rest in the world when every day more becomes more of the things, that we do as the rushing is twirled, while we wonder what we are here for? How do we find time to help all of these, our fellowmen, needing some peace? How do we have energy to answer the pleas of pain, that is needing release? How do we have time to look in the face of just one lone customer, who's sad? Will meeting some need bring us social disgrace, since not "keeping up" is quite bad? The fam'ly we love needs some time from us, too, and "my dear little brain" needs a breath. So, what did our parents and grandparents do to keep their own minds from this "death?" They had their own cars, but fewer back then. They had their own phones on the wall. They had their own jobs, but Weather told when they'd do as the greatest needs call. We must find rest in God somehow. We must find rest in Him. We must find time to sit and bow to sing some verse of hymn. Rest. Rest. Sweet rest. Hope in His Peace. Grace. Grace meets test. Swift steps must cease. by Jay O’Toole on June 25th, 2024 |
| eating plants to live plants can't live because they're lunch hoped for growth for all by Jay O’Toole on June 24th, 2024 |
| To meet a day in any fashion, filled with rhymes and face, that's ashen. We query him, whose rhyme is best about his intake, and his rest. "Hast, thou, this night been overweening with many'a rhyme and spurious meaning? Methinks thy bod would better serve ye, filled with sleep, that won't unnerve ye." "But look how many poems I have more lasting than some drinker's deprave. Wouldst thou, that I in dissipation quick fall from my great lofty station?" "Nay, I would urge, thee, writer be, but think thee well to best health see. A po'm or two may thee write late, but sleep, thee, well to tired abate." "I thank, thee, sir, for care from thy heart, that wisdom, now, doth quickly impart. I'll binge me less, and rest me more than last night I did rest before." To meet a day in greater fashion with better rhymes, and face less ashen, write what thou canst, then take sleep. Let snore be thy lone nasal peep. by Jay O’Toole on June 21st, 2024 |
| 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 |
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