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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 heat upon the earth makes steam, but not as hot as lately seems. Extreme the temp'ratures oppressed. No peace without just cool within. Slow movements, that blest life could win. At the sun's hands, we faced great tests, but now it seems we're back to spring. The temps less ten can make folks sing. Tonight we hope for pleasant rest. by Jay O’Toole on June 27th, 2025   |
Some days a cup of tea is all I can do or can write. The world's much faster now. It's call demands a quicker sight. Just sipping Orange and Cinnamon Spice can slow the pace a bit. A restful moment, sweetly nice, that helps me as I sit. This rooibus, gentle, herbal tea, a gift to longish thoughts. My heart can slow, some peace to free, this quietness it brought. The twinkle lights, the shady hush, such contemplation rare, first finger makes the anxious shush to drop from hands the care. Aromas of blest Christmas time, reprieve from summer's heat. Now swaddled in some Joy sublime, I hope new life to greet. by Jay O’Toole on June 26th, 2025 |
The threads of life, oft hanging there. We wonder what will come. Creative thoughts may stop and stare, until we see the sum. Just when they're new, the threads are long. The knotted gifts take time. We pull and pull, and by our song, the gift becomes sublime. The minutes stretch into some hours, and hours into days, but threaded crafts bring praise's showers when all stand in displays. Some knots are tied to keep the boat. Some knots a bracelet make. Some knots emotions catch in throat. A wedded knot two lovers take. Yet, when the craft is finally done, Life's threads are fully sown, will goodness be the trophy won for humans fully grown? by Jay O’Toole on June 25th, 2025 |
| The year started, covered with snow, Gulf Coast Blizzard 2-5, so cold. Stayed on the ground more days, I know than past years' snows could thrive all told. Summer's heat, dangerously strong, now bookends with the cold, harsh spring. Protect seniors with mirth and song, bring water's health quite bold. Burns bring. Thoughts can't fly true throughout this heat. Can't brain as well as could. Two words? This fan best friend today I meet. Sit here? Good thing. I should. some blurred by Jay O’Toole on June 24th, 2025 |
| Too much of church can make us blanch when really all we want to know is Who is Jesus? Can He stanch the bleedings of the soul, that grow? Some give up trying, since the pain is just not worth the heart's expense. "Don't talk of God, nor try to gain a hold in me. Just soap and rinse." The record shows that in His Day one Jesus hailed from Nazareth. He taught three years, but on display seemed failures, and His growing threat. He preached against the ones in charge. The men He taught weren't upper crust. His unlettered status loomed so large, betrayal by His friend seemed just. Once tried and killed on Sabbath's Eve, they put to rest the rabbi's voice. Not given even one reprieve. The mass of Man's "free will," this choice. The dead man's birth, now, counts our years. So many humans call Him, "Lord!" His greatest Gift removes all fears. The greatest Book recounts His Word. They killed Him, but no one can find His body in some lowly grave. Though Mozart's grave is like this kind, none ever calls on him to save. When Jesus came, a little Child relied He on another's arms. This Teacher, perfect, died so mild, arose as seen, not touched by worms. All outcast souls His Eyes now see. The deepest peace His atonement gives. The frightened heart, just He can free. His Substitution life now gives. O, call on Him, dear fallen soul. His Mercies are of truth the best. His Merits now can make thee whole. Forever in Him we are blest. by Jay O’Toole on June 23rd, 2025 |
| Sometimes change in life is good. Sometimes change is hard. Sometimes change is different food. Sometimes leaves are chard. Sometimes hope is "just a few days." Sometimes it doesn't come. Sometimes we dress and find some new ways. Sometimes it's a meager sum. Sometimes we know just what to do. Sometimes we hit a wall. Sometimes, Lord Jesus, it's just You. Always You're the Best of all. by Jay O’Toole on June 20th, 2025 |
“Howbeit when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will shew you things to come.” (John 16:13, KJV) --------------------------------------------- All humans have this need to know the Truth, that lasts their lasting quest. Confusion sets in deep, I trow, when buffeted by each new test. The many forms of hurt received when, as a child, we seek to trust. Despite they do, we feel deceived when childlike faith's reduced to dust. 'Tis here where some with nothing left reject the whole of spirit life. Where Hope is pummeled and bereft, internal workings know just strife. But others know "When less is all, the Truth is found in agony. I may not see the final call, but when it comes, Forever Free." So many truths, throughout the world, confuse the hearts of those who hear. The Banner sought will be unfurled when God in Wisdom makes it clear. Doth God Alone show Mercy's Choice? Do humans have something to do? Do Bible writers speak their voice? Or Holy Spirit each word True? The search for Truth oft causeth row, 'tween words seen writ and meaning dark. Our peace of heart in saddest bow doth paint the gale and shattered barque. The woods of trees, the misty path, the eyes made dim by fleeing sun. The Guide our need, the Way He hath, our Hope wrapped in The Living Son. by Jay O’Toole on June 19th, 2025 |
Gentle feeling, softest touch smoothing hair away. Windswept face, grateful much, breezes paint the day. Through the air, flying low, blue skies, yellow, red, blackened trees, "soldiers" know, twinkling stars once hid. Statue's pace, engine revs, canvas scenes deep blur, buffet winds, shuddering greaves shelter there deters. Journey through, body stops, brain meanders through the yard. Running home o'er road blacktops molding life of forces hard. by Jay O’Toole on June 18th, 2025 |
still the blackened sky fauna feeds as flora rests heat causes some thrive by Jay O’Toole on June 16th, 2025 |
smells of sweetest scent even short to bless the feet time to grow, again by Jay O’Toole on June 16th, 2025 |
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