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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 sky now grumbles, darkening face. The day has hours to go. My hesitance to leave this place can't stop the schedule I know. The storm clouds grumble o'er our HIStory. The Earth has more time, too, but not much left for fancy free, 'til thoughts of wisdom do. It's peaceful now, though grumbling grows. The drummer of the skyward band impends the cadence, that it knows to show where we may quite soon stand. Dark the sky may drop its load when we must seek some sheltered place. The thunder rattles late abode as trembling hearts pursue God's Grace. Quoth Bunyan in his mighty tome, "Now flee the Wrath that is to come!" Abide His Wings, God's sheltering Home. Our sins on Christ, atonement's sum. by Jay O’Toole on April 23rd, 2025 |
Today it's hot, and soon 'twill be the land of summer heat, again, but now I sit 'neath clouds so free, that hide the sun from earthly men. The clouds can hide my thoughts as well, confusing what life seems to be, but clouds can't cover words that tell the Truth of God with hearts made free. These days are earthly, cloudy mush, uncertain paths, the way to walk. The clear Day with its green so lush will bring us time for coffee, talk. by Jay O’Toole on April 22nd, 2025 |
| To hope again beyond the tomb, emotions I can't fully speak. His week from glory then to gloom, arisen now His Face to seek. The Glory of the One, Who reigns is all that matters evermore. Salvation's Gift, removing chains, the Shepherd of the sheep's blest Door. At first He came the tiny Babe, but now He stands Death's crushing Foe. No more can gnarly mitts "outgrabe" to pull to death the King we know. 'Tis one day past the greatest day when The Victor changed Eternity. No more believers need dismay. Forever we'll His Glory see. When Jesus comes again to Earth, He conquers all this vast domain. May He your heart give second birth to snatch you from Hell's last insane. The King arrives on horse, most white to rule from whence He left at the first. His Kingdom will ne'er know the night illumined by His Glory's Burst. Eternal God, the Babe became, Who grew, enduring whip and curse. The lasting Word forever same, fulfilling every chapter, verse. by Jay O’Toole on April 21st, 2025 |
| He died upon a cross. WORST. DAY. EVER! All hope died with Him there. WORST. DAY. EVER! Our enemies in glee. WORST. DAY. EVER! Creator beaten sore. WORST. DAY. EVER! No peace have I again. WORST. DAY. EVER! The sun has now gone black. WORST. DAY. EVER! But finally, the SON arose! BEST. DAY. EVER!!! When finally, the sun arose! BEST. DAY. EVER!!! The grave lay empty of its prize. BEST. DAY. EVER!!! No thinking man of this denies. BEST. DAY. EVER!!! Redeemer, Savior, King of kings! BEST. DAY. EVER!!! Earth and Man forever sings! BEST. DAY. EVER!!! The Master of Eternity BEST. DAY. EVER!!! by His Blest Goodness makes us free. BEST. DAY. EVER!!! His WORD is True. He cannot lie. BEST. DAY. EVER!!! Salvation's Truth to lift the sigh. BEST. DAY. EVER!!! For men and women now rejoice BEST. DAY. EVER!!! Eternal God's sweet Free Will Choice BEST. DAY. EVER!!! All blessedness this life and E'er, BEST. DAY. EVER!!! we rest in Christ from all our care. BEST. DAY. EVER!!! BEST. DAY. EVER!!! by Jay O’Toole on April 20th, 2025 |
| Events so awful are now done. The passions of the crowd, released. The death-shroud blankets o'er The Son. All "Crucify Him!" screams are ceased. All evil beasts exult, "We've won!" Believers tremble in a hold. The hope of all that's good is gone. The world has darkened, demons bold. The silence of the chirping din could mark that even insects knew The Lord of all creation's been reduced in death as one who's through. A skullish mount in stillness lies. A boulder seals the cave's grave door. One wonders if the sky now cries at He, Whose strength was known before. So, one more rabble-rousing voice has been dispatched to silent be. He could have lived, if by His choice He had bowed to those who ruled o'er He. But which of these had known His Heart. He came not to be pleasant, fair, but to give lost ones a new start. He bore our shame and lasting care. The night agreed with Man's verdict. So, holding fast the bier ensconced. The new day would awake, untricked, unknowing, that now Time lay minced. What grave could hold auspicious Dead? What fiend could seal His lasting fate? What damned could know defeat had bred this Victory forever Great? by Jay O’Toole on April 19th, 2025 |
| "A kiss to show the friend betrayed?" No greater grief than this, I think to serve for years the One obeyed, then finally in Hell to sink. His robe was torn, His tunic diced. They spit on, slapped His Holy Face. With nine-tailed cat His skin they sliced. They stripped Him of His Royal Grace. The insult of the mock trial done, the injury of beatings raw, denial of the Holy Son, the Truth of Christ poor Peter saw. Nail landed true on purest wrist, feet bored, nerves bare, His side then speared, the sky turned black as humans missed the peace they sought in Him they feared. The words He spoke, all wise and true upon the rugged, splintery cross had meaning for the ones He knew, but sound as naught for those still lost. The cup, full drained at darkest three, God's Wrath placed on The One made sin. This Substitute made elect ones free. Perfection's Life with God, the Win. How could He be from His Father torn? How could The Trinity feel pain? How full our sins on Him was borne to make the Bridge of "Right Again"? The Son eclipsed by earthly deeds, then taken down to lie in state. The day did end with blackened bleeds, a perspective known as "It's Too Late." by Jay O’Toole on April 18th, 2025 |
| 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 |
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