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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)    |
| deer visits at night finding food at compost pile flowers leave alone |
The most important jobs should pay the highest checks by far, but in this world, each given day we laud the athlete's star. The most important jobs are those, that honor God-blest Truth, the preacher, who Salvation shows, the teacher equips youth. The athlete's gift, its short shelf life gives flabby us some hope, that we are winners 'mid the strife of things with which we cope. Yet, ever we will live in Joy, since some man showed us God. And early teacher's sweet employ, we all must them applaud. True! Who in one long century will care, that won or lost the bones and dust of former stars, though buff, made tickets cost? Don't get me wrong! I love to watch some sports and movies, too, but entertainment cannot touch what God has made so True! My one request with every breath is not to make those less, who use their gifts of God's bequeath, but those of Truth be blest! by Jay O’Toole on June 5th, 2025   |
Verbal sparring 'tween the clouds, the word boasts flooding down. Curtain wetness, grassy shrouds, the drops that the windows crown. The bout, now called, the ref has tied. The chiming of the leaves, with drizzling rain, and eyes unpried, a nap of drooling sleeves. The words on the page from a caulking tube stuck find their mark from great effort, not bliss. Seems we poem today by the weight of a truck. Not much pucker remains left to kiss. On this rainy day slow the writer's asleep. Nonsensical thoughts wander 'round, 'til all that be left is the snoring one's peep on the couch where the dreams still abound. by Jay O’Toole on June 4th, 2025 |
"When a tree falls in the wood, and no one's there to hear, does it make sounds so full and good? The sight, is it quite clear?" Today, I heard a cracking sound from one old wooded lot. "A tree is falling." Thoughts abounded. It's damage I knew not what. Some movement through the boughs impressed, but leaning it must still for landing sounds of earth depressed did not fulfill its will. Some parts of life may finally fall with objects in the way, then stuck with tension high and tall remains there on display. To leave precariously the lump means tension stays and stays, until we cut it loose to dump the bile that frees our days. A tree may fall in a forest stand, and lean for some time to come, but finally, down it comes, unplanned to mar what's 'neath the sum. The tensions in each life, not bid, are still ours to attend. Relieving the hurts of the heart to rid some burdens as we mend. But deep things may not e'er remove, until the gladsome Day. For then the Savior's final move will cause all to obey. (Philippians 2:5-11) For now, a limb in the fiercest storm impales the wounded ground. What need we in its sheer alarm, that peace may there be found? A round of wood, and the leveled limb may there a bistro make, where gentle moments, now a hymn reclaim the harsh mistake. by Jay O’Toole on June 3rd, 2025 |
Sometimes steps give way to stops, when going is not best. The active skips, and jumps, and hops. The wise reviews the test. Some days, events don't make good sense when trying meets rebuff. The hairs' not clean, another rinse may make us clean enough. Somewhere a victory is won when Hope becomes the gift. The sadness weighs a living ton. The heart despairs to lift. Somehow the day, though wearing thin is what it needs to be. The Lord can teach you how to win when Self from Self is free. by Jay O’Toole on June 2nd, 2025 |
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