%%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 seder meal He led with grace, replete with meaning for His men. The Lamb of God would take His place to be the sacrifice for sin. "The bread my body broken full. The wine my blood to clean and wash." He changes hearts from the sinful pull, and wills from bondage, O so harsh. With Judas now dispatched, his deed would change his life, and draw a line, but Peter's loyalty was freed to his heart's agony not fine. They sang a song, and to the mount to stay, until the soldiers came. In prayer sweat blood His head a fount. Forsaken all His men to blame. The day a tragedy at last, the soldiers took Him toward the court, The day of light had now seemed past. The darkness moved with great import. He went silently into the night. The prophecy of chapter three was started as the greatest plight, unsure of hope for you and me. The day has gone, the night has come, if Maundy Thursday is the end, but wait you for God's Victory sum when Strength in meekness all doth mend. by Jay O’Toole on April 17th, 2025 |
Not much is said in Bible Writ about the Wednesday before that Jesus to the cross He went to be Salvation's Door. Did He spend some time alone with His Father? Did He spend this day in the home of friends? Did He think of all the saved He'd gather when the breech between God and The Elect, He'd mend? It's thought that one anointed Him for burial. It's thought that Judas was paid for his deed. His Perfection was the blessed material, redeeming all sons through Him to be freed. The peace of Waiting Wednesday shows His Father is in charge of all. The one the Gift of Salvation knows is the one who hears the inner call. by Jay O’Toole on April 16th, 2025 |
| He rode in on a donkey's foal, and now before the "storm" this day confronting leaders' souls, incited the coming harm. He preached on Olivet of what would soon attend Jerusalem. Destruction and His Coming taught the fall of Israel's greatest gem. Confronting the leaders in their place of greatest strength and rule brought anger for His words' disgrace, that painted each a fool. The temple brought the Pharisees the greatest pride of heart. "The Barren Fig Tree" His decree His Honor they'd depart. This Jesus never sinned at all. His strong words spoke no miss. Elect ones heard the inner call. No enemy deigned to kiss. The spotless Lamb is Jesus Christ. Not sinning, He was bold. He spoke the words that set the price, His Death as He foretold. Unkind He'd be by modern sense. Unkindness is not sin. So, speaking Truth, He did not mince, still pure to Vict'ry win. Their culture known. He caused His death by placing on the cross each sin He paid to His last breath. Salvation without dross. Arising He on the third day to never die, again. This Son of God in great display, redeemed His chosen men. The move was made in Tuesday's peace. He spoke words hard to bear. In days to come, man's words released, "(Fie!) Crucify Him (there)!" by Jay O’Toole on April 15th, 2025 |
| It all seems gentle, peaceful now, but nerves are set on edge from months of weather's daily row, and danger near full-fledged. The weatherman, his titled posts have made me rather numb. "Extreme Weather Coming" boasts, can't process all this sum. So, "nerves on edge" or "rather numb," I wonder, "It is which Or both about the things to come?" When will our Help this switch? Adrenaline can help our minds for a time, that's just so long, before th'effects begin to blind us to the Siren's Song. The Cortisol will make us fat, preventing us to flee, but where to go where it's not at? How safe are you and me? The Lord must be our sheltering Wing to save us from the storm. In Him we rest, and there we sing full kept from all alarm. The faith He gives brings His Own Peace, that when this life we leave the lasting Hope will be our release, so far from that which grieves. by Jay O’Toole on April 14th, 2025 |
sitting on the shelf beauty in a little pot peaceful leaves stand tall by Jay O’Toole on April 11th, 2025 |
| Where is the way? I cannot see. There's no way back to go. No up, no down, no hope for me. No safety can I know. My phone is dead, my flashlight, too. Can I be safe to sit? My heart is failing. I'm so through. What happens if I quit? To save myself, I know not how. Believe that help will come? Before whose mercies now to bow? Destruction, my last sum? How did I get here? Can I leave? Is hope forever lost? Should I now sleep for morn's reprieve? What is the final cost? When in a "No Win Scenario" without an answer near, what can I do, and where to go when nothing's seen nor clear? If I have missed Salvation's Call it's worse than a night in the woods. If Hell's my lot, fore'er I'll fall. No floor. No hope. No goods. The darkness of the woods is felt. The dark of Hell's a vise. The burning cannot ever melt the Sin, that is not nice. The Light of Life, the sun, that dawns, the Hope, that never fails. The way out of the Night, that yawns the Blood of Christ avails. by Jay O’Toole on April 10th, 2025 |
It's been about six months, I think, before the hurricane. The lawn was mowed when to the brink Helene was most insane. Today was mostly pleasant, cool, just 70 F degrees, following the mower, like a mule through a soft and gentle breeze. But in the afternoon's strong sun, I was glad to finish well. First mowing of the season done, accomplishment to tell. In a respite on the family's couch, so purchased with five hours, I suddenly felt a left leg OUCH, that caused success to sour. I walked around, and walked some more, then finally Charlie left. With the backside of the thigh still sore, weird friendship thankful cleft. It's been two hours since Charlie Horse rode in to feast on thigh. The old man knows the need, of course, to stretch with water nigh. A note to self in clearest writ: "Respect advancing age. When next we mow, then call on wit to strength of body gauge." by Jay O’Toole on April 9th, 2025 |
sun, rain, wind or cold environment each day lives always something new by Jay O’Toole on April 8th, 2025 |
The things we love oft seem unique. Our tastebuds have no equal, but when we find the friends we seek, there's no need for a sequel. I like my chocolate-chip cookie dough, alone or in icecream, but hot sauce is not something I would know in life or in a scary dream. Some think Picasso is the best. Some like Stravinsky cringe, but when it's Christmas, I am blest, and with its lights, I binge. Some watch for days their monster trucks. Some golf through brush and sand. Some act as pudgy Friar Tuck. Some play the drum in a band. But tastes are like one's fingerprints, unique as every soul. Respect we must each moral bent to keep the friendship whole. by Jay O’Toole on April 7th, 2025   |
| So many voices in the world. So many truths they all profess. So many thoughts in the brain are whirled. So many "know" fore'er will bless. But voices in the ever lands are voices of the vast unknown. The voices of the shifting sands aren't the voices bowing 'neath The Throne. Some everlasting voices bless, but some forever voice their curse. Some worship He, Who saw our mess. His victory over death was terse. The voices of the lasting dark in tears or hatred voice their grief. Forever voiced escapes embark. Forever pained, they seek relief. The Voice of Truth calls thee today. Oh, listen, if the sound you hear. Blest Summons we must needs obey. Salvation's Gift to the heart is dear. by Jay O’Toole on April 4th, 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
