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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)    |
| Thoughts of white snow cover the ground, painting the mind, wherever found. Gentle the cold greatly to sow, lifting oppressive heat that's bound. Twinkling lights show chill we can know. Cover the ground, thoughts of white snow. White snow, my thought, ground cover bliss, making me cool, thinking of this. Presents are wrapped, things that I bought, hoping for peace, childhood I miss. "Honor the Babe," from youth was taught. Ground cover bliss, white snow my thought. by Jay O’Toole on July 24th, 2025   |
| How does He do it day by day? He keeps us safe when all seems lost. The gas was nearly gone away, yet fuel came when needed most. When traveling at greater speeds on the interstate, that leads to home the nearness of some cars brought needs of safety 'fore too close 'twould come. The day went fast, but stops were made for food and coffee, other things. When needed most good care He bade. The heart of gratitude still sings. When change was needed in the drive, the next road would on sign be seen. The heat was too much to survive as the AC kept the air at mean. The strength was spent when home was won, then to the couch a nap was gained. So much could be lost without The Son, but in Him all of life's maintained. by Jay O’Toole on July 23rd, 2025 |
| Gentle rain upon the earth, sweetest sound of sodden leaves, drying plants, they know new birth. Wilting flora know reprieves. Fauna in a rain-soaked nest, sleep or fluff their feathers, pelt. Life is good as God knows best. Cool the day from swelt'ring melt. Pleasured taps of falling drops, rhythmic rocking off to snooze, little squirrel skitters, hops to clean each table, it would choose. Diamonds hang from every fir. Bushes glisten verdant hues. Summer snow through bright light sure. Smokey Cloud has paid its dues. Cardinal perches, concert entones, red to speak in authority. Regal in its newfound throne. None may question his dignity. Hours before the set of day, we drowsy on the porch do sit. The new rain in its blest display provides for man beyond his wit. Some more may fall 'fore slumber comes. Such blessed rest as God provides. He cares for His in greatest sums, in the shadow of His Wings they hide. (Psalm 91:1-4) by Jay O’Toole on July 22nd, 2025 |
| Cheapened words, deeds forgot, long ago, then made what's not. Sparkling eyes, remembered joys, dusty love, 'though once employed. Whispered tropes, the turning head, shadowed tears, fear hope is dead. Olding age with memory lost, love once young may be the cost. Innate flame, that lit her fire, glances piqued this heart's desire. Flabby features hold not much to warm the face, to spark the touch. To fade into the dark of night, to hang the head at love's own plight, to make again the love we knew, before cold's done, before bliss' through. Such agony to reach heart more, to draw young love through old age door. To grow our lives as once we’d do, before we're gone from what we knew. by Jay O’Toole on July 21st, 2025 |
Newish night with fireflies, mysterious dancing lamps. I look to see with all my tries. They blink so oft their amps. Floppy ears are near unseen as sunset melts to night. The statue sits as what has been becomes a new thought bright. Fireflies and bunny hopes, restoring peace to heart as resting 'mid all mental soaps each moment to impart. Bunny hopes and fireflies, the simplest of our days. Adults are left with silent cries when child hearts leave dismayed. As fireflies search the newish night, and bunnies hope to hop, th'environment oft creates a plight, that makes the cycle stop. Too hot, too cold, then how will live these actors of the dark. They grow, then fail, yet still they give much pleasure with each spark. The fireflies live lives so short. Each bunny life the same, but smallish lives have such import. We see, but know no name. Fireflies irratic flights, the bunnies darting swift bring joy to child hearts through the night as weary days they lift. by Jay O’Toole on July 20th, 2025 |
| Perspire these rivers flow across my face. Each moment of the day draws torch's blast. Relief will come when coolness gives me place. Or puddled features showeth me at last. How warm these dogs, returning thoughts en masse to chilly days of Christmas coats and lights. All peaceful hopes that soon this heat will pass, restoring health to Body's shoulds and mights. Humidity it floods the daily storms. Encased in hold, the home becomes a barque. The AC fights against all muggy alarms. We go not out, but 'fore the fan we park. When winter comes, we know quite less the ice, rememb'ring Dog Days then is rather nice. by Jay O’Toole on July 18th, 2025 |
| The voices that confuse me now are myriad 'mid the din. They cause my heart to lowly bow, denying human sin. The voices say to "Just think good. Forget depravity. None's that bad. So, 'knock on wood.' It's Heaven you're bound to see." Confusing voices know not God, nor His Unchanging Word. Eschew the swill of "truth," that's mod from minds so worldly blurred. To build my house on The Rock, that's sure, I cover loving ears to voices that will not endure as bound to human fears. by Jay O’Toole on July 17th, 2025 |
| Quiet is the tone when I am alone. Unseen. Daughter on the phone, a job, she is grown. No teen. Wife with Mama sown. Life now fully known. Sad scene. by Jay O’Toole on July 16th, 2025 |
| "Mama is gone," attempts to say, that she has left this life today. So few the words, it's not okay. Emotions feel so raw. "Mama is gone." She'll not come back to live within this house of lack, where days are long, and pains attack. Released, her soul is free. "Mama is gone." Was all bestowed? Were things well-said? The thoughts we owed? Beware of Grief's accusing mode as we begin to heal. "Mama is gone." Please, help us, Lord, to find great solace in Your Word, while reading Truth through eyes still blurred. We live in lasting Hope. "Mama is gone," but Jesus comes. The days to live are still great sums, where all is blest in work, that hums. He's JOY, dear grieving heart. "Mama is gone," but just for now. We'll all before the King soon bow. His Blessings evermore bestow to know His laughter there. "Mama is gone." What more can be said? "Our Hope is in Christ, Alive from the dead! Our sins are paid by He, Who bled." There's nothing more to pay. "Mama is gone." The sun is set upon these earthly days to get. One dash can nevermore be let to stop the life, that comes. "Mama is gone," but we are here to help each other combat fear, to light the path, to walk it clear, until He calls us Home. "Mama is gone" to joy in her peace, to lay down weak life in fullest release. Now, knowing more strength, that life can increase. There's Hope to embrace once again. by Jay O’Toole on July 15th, 2025 |
These annual days of joyful cheer are gifts we all can share. When two or three are gathered here reduce we every care, but multiply we wondrous joy, among these hearts at one, that when our songs and smiles employ great nourishment is done. Anniversaries, and birthdays, too, are days so wondrous sweet. How great to share with friends like you! In writing oft we greet! by Jay O’Toole on July 14th, 2025 |
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