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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)    |
| A light in the woods across the lake, white streaks of clouds giving way to night. No place to sleep, but a chance to take, a dinghy, paddles, without much sight. The lake's so deep, unknown dangers hide, but there's nothing here to make a fire. "No options" haunts my eroded pride. Dark Death seems ready to call the choir. These slurried strokes raise my hairs on end. The minutes slow until hours long. The thud of the bow, now shore attends. That I still live brings to throat the song. The light falls soft on the shore through trees. A cabin's porch with three lights burn bright. The hope of help quickens steps to see. Pounding raps on door, heart beats with might. Naught moves inside, but the rustles start. A bear? A snake? I must find the key. Above the door, there it is, so smart. Insert, then turn, quickly in, now free. I bolt the door, see the couch, then flop. Knowing now I'm safe, there's hope for the night. Unbuckling the pack, it rolls over to drop. The quilt from the couch, a fine cover alright. by Jay O’Toole on October 3rd, 2025   |
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