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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 Keurig machine has lost its pizzazz. It makes no coffee now. I need caffeine and all that jazz, but sit I wondering, "How?" So, beg we have the daughter's pot from beans to grounds to perc. The hopeful cup we'll give it a shot. No work day shall we shirk. 'Twould be a shame to call the boss, "I cannot give thee aid. My work tonight must weakly toss, since coffee can't be made." Yet, she would surely bid me come. "Now hie, Thee, to the room of break. Pray, fill thy cup, and drink thee some. Thy foolishness I can't more take!" How did we live on Earth below, before the brownish bean? My need to percolate, I trow doth cause me ne'er to wean. Our Lilli of the south, south, land, so far her queenish ways. To help us now's not quickly planned. The drive doth cause dismay. Cool Beanz is our restorer sweet. The macchiato made now brightens eyes through this warm treat, and Sick Day hath been stayed. by Jay O’Toole on March 13th, 2025   |
| As rabbit white in days of yore, I chase the deadline post. The clock keeps piling more and more, until the mind is toast. "The hurrier I go the behinder I get," quoth the hare of harried heart. Thus Lewis Carroll laid his bet, where commonalities often start. "So much to do, so little time" exists the human plight. That daily need I the gift of rhyme, expressing what I might. How doth the case of lost men reel from side to side at best? How doth he Eternity find by feel through ev'ry earthly test? If hurry I go, through searches many, will I be saved at last? I would not bet the horse's whinny, but my soul on Christ to cast. by Jay O’Toole on March 12th, 2025 |
| The landscape of a concrete floor, forests of shelves, caves with porcelain streams and ponds, require the skills of spelunkers, bearing tools. At times noxious sulfur froths the water, staggering the mind. Plastic pick-ax in hand, the barnacles are dispatched by diverting the stream to rinse the pond. Bloated icons fill with paper, and myriad containers of things once useful, until the balloons are extracted, then piled in insipid layers as I am disposed for disposing in final dispatch. As wanes the evening's light, the haggard Q.A. finds repose in his trusty steed, gentle of engine, while being soft on the heart. The good day's work is done. by Jay O’Toole on March 11th, 2025 |
About the time we settle in to what our life is like, we change the clock. Begin again, and try our minds to psych. So many years before, it seems a warming trend in Spring has followed the change to newer teams of morning clocks, that ring. It's darker now when most get up, but later for the set of sun beyond our evening sup, before we go to bed. But does Time really change, my friend? The sun in smirking tones doth look upon these souls, who tend the clock. He chuckles, groans. Each body simply feels the mess of Time Zones leaping forward. Please, help us, Father, survive the test, remembering Who's Lord. by Jay O’Toole on March 10th, 2025 |
The days are growing lighter, gentler from the recent frost. How do we make our lives much simpler with emotion's cost. The thawing out of some gives way to spinning winds unleashed. The further blankets of each day for some are still increased. But when the snow gives drink to ground throughout most northern climes, then flower faces will be found with hope for sweeter times. The Spring of Life will come some day when Christ breaks through the Blue. His Brightness will leave naught to say. We'll worship Him, Who's True. For now, we live the trailers of The Everlasting Show. Salvation is The One, Whose Love in us, we'll always know. by Jay O’Toole on March 7th, 2025 |
Preparing now with haste, I fuel for working hard. The cleaning and the change must quickly all be done, since clocks can't rearrange. Preparing now with haste, the traffic to respect with time to safe arrive I must in earnest leave to park as one alive. Preparing now with haste, 'fore walking to the store, I check the locks around, securing doors and panes, that later he'd be found. Preparing now with haste, I stamp my time with glee, then clean my radio to speak as I am called, and ask what I don't know. by Jay O’Toole on March 6th, 2025 |
So many things have wandered in our lives. They've walked all through to sunder us apart. It battles for our hope, but still love thrives, while living in our deepest, warmest heart. My dancing's not as much, but youthful is your face. I try to make you proud; be equal with your grace. My years are fewer now until God's Face we see, yet ev'ry moment I will live in love with thee. These forty years we've danced, some faster, some are slow. Your beauty grows each day. You're pretty, all I know. I'm still in love with you, forever and a day, for as I live and breathe this gift is on display. The evermore is soon, much sooner than our start. My youthfulness resides within this long-road heart. The dancing of that boy and girl those years ago is uppermost in ev'ry fiber, that I know. I still love you. I want you to remember that. I still love you through moments, that we've played or sat. I still love you, and will forever from my heart. I still love you in ev'ry little book and art. by Jay O’Toole on March 5th, 2025 |
How do we live from day to day a-running, sleeping, running? Is wisdom ever on display when faint we to a-sunning? If we are not on schedule same, our loved ones will be vacant from eyes, that wish the speed to tame made in sync, truly cadent. Now running, sleeping, running fast, we have no rest, that's making, erratic beats of heartfelt blast, and youth, that's often taken. But March we fourth on this fine day to slow this life by rhythm. There's much to laud as bands do play in hope, that's newly given. by Jay O’Toole on March 4th, 2025 |
Say quick. How do you tell this Truth? Of you, could this be shared? Do we know Christ, today, or youth? Have we the heart to care? I Corinthians 15 says, (verses three and four so quick) "For I delivered unto you first of all," no schtick, "how that Christ died for our sins, according to the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he rose again, according to the scriptures:" Not normal rhyming on display, but The Gift of greatest value. For by His Grace to be saved today is a Blessing, through and through. by Jay O’Toole on March 3rd, 2025 |
With needle and some thread, we weave embroidery for show. With words, and rhythms, rhymes we leave some verse, the world to know. With friends, we love, our days invest, build friendships evermore beyond today, forever blest, this wondrous, lasting store. With coffee or some steeping tea, we rest to write or read, until our thoughts, we sweetly free in this peaceful daily deed. With our hands, we plant some springtime flowers, and smile for we survived the winter with its cold, cold hours. In Christ we oft have thrived. by Jay O’Toole on February 28th, 2025 |
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