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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 days throughout this month of bliss create in me great Hope's display. The Gift of He, Who came is this, Salvation's Grace beyond dismay. The Love of Christmas is fore'er. The Birth of Christ, the Lasting Bridge. Eternity that's free from care. His Dwelling Place, the Northern Ridge. The lower lights of twinkling white remind of upper lights through dark. The coldness of each wintry night reminds of Sin's most lasting mark. I love to find the childlike joy still living in this aging man. I'm blest, that love can still employ Evangel's Word of His Great Plan. The Love of Christmas let it be an ever-new, and lasting Gift, that quickened eyes forever see The One, Who from our sin doth lift. The Day of Christmas, God made Flesh. He's fully God and fully Man. The scene of ev'ry yard-placed creche helps boys and girls to understand. "Oh, help me Lord to embrace Truth, to see, that Jesus is the Way. The quickening Touch makes blest new youth, redeemed forever from that day." by Jay O’Toole on December 12th, 2023   |
Finding hope in Valley Dark, shorter days and all. Nights of Lights we must embark to hear the joyful call. Colder times make bundle warm the people where we live. Cheery faces take the form of those, who joy can give. Twinkling lights through lifting cause our hearts to see a way. Gentle nights know Santa Claus, who kneels before The Day. Nights of long dark peal the Truth, "The Light has come to save. He died upon the cross in His youth. He's Victor o'er the grave." Light of Life removes the dark in hearts, that He receives. Night must leave to disembark, replaced as Truth perceives. by Jay O’Toole on December 11th, 2023 |
| How many times I criticize the fact that I can't live perfection in The Savior's Eyes, best worship to him give. How many days are full of tears when weariness precludes some hoped-for goodness jumped by fears or dragged down by my moods? How often have the heavens seemed so closed to muddied prayers as the cloudy heart is that day deemed unworthy for its cares? Can this believer find his way through the Slough of Great Despond? Can one, who started, daily stay the upward Way upon? Whence cometh sadness when great Joy is in the Heart of Christ, Who lives in those by his Grace employ as One, Who paid the price? Believing days are not without the things we face down here, but Saving's Hope beyond all doubt is known when all's made clear. Oh weary eyes, so prone to look at ornery waves untoward, remember from The Blessed Book the Goodness of The Lord. The not possible is oft today, but wondrous is his Thought. The hoped-for time when it's okay is promised as we're taught. He cleans the cup through struggles rough in lives most blest Elect. His daily Grace is true, enough to make his Face reflect in the face of ev'ry blood-bought child, who's saved by His Great Plan, resulting in his Peace, so mild to help them live and stand. by Jay O’Toole on December 8th, 2023 |
| Light, glowing night away. Warm, gifting from the heart. Grace, showing how to smile. Joy, combating earthly ills. Stretch, removing lethargy. Make, giving with the hands. Commit, Christmasing through the year. by Jay O’Toole on December 7th, 2023 |
| Christmas Carols, music snow, blanket of our nights and days. Peaceful comfort blest to know, accent for the light displays. Hymns, that teach us doctrine truth, drawing hearts to saving grace. List to age as from our youth, affirming Christ His premier place. Early dark with coldest chill, recoil the body from the night. Blessed music hearts do fill, lightening mind, relieving plight. Christmas Carols, Joy to Ears, hopeful words to guide our way. Seasoned hymns with message clear, Savior came to bring us Day. by Jay O’Toole on December 6th, 2023 |
| Snoopy hug for bestest friend can keep us going day by day. Hearts with hope consistent mend the souls, that feel the cold betray. Snoopy hug is doggy love, so faithful to the master's side. Human friendship's not above the gift of dogs, that stay, abide. Snoopy Hug grows old too soon when Best Friend can no more go on. The doggy teens cast shadow's tune to sing when faithful friend is gone. Snoopy hug doth cause me wish for younger years on a farm with stock. To see her run, and chase, and swish her tail in joy from glen to loch. Snoopy hug I give to thee, dear cherished friend, through faithful days. Your smiling face I joy to see. May more the days I give thee praise. by Jay O’Toole on December 5th, 2023 |
| A little boy stood marveled, froze, transfixed, the silver tree of ornaments most blest, emotions in his heart were truly mixed for Christmas day was here, the waitings' wrest. At this same time, the day was best and worst for presents came, yet some were not amongst the wished-for ones, the heart's own unique thirst. The waiting's o'er, another year upon us. So many months he'd looked for Christmas crafts among the shelves of Five and Dime, big stores when finally sight elicited his laughs, "They're here!" as wondrous times of years before. November and December were his days of brightest lights and snowy banks for plays. by Jay O’Toole on December 4th, 2023 |
| December is the time to play, among the whispering winds, that come. To live among the lights of day, we rise quite early, stay out some. The night doth fall so early now. Our evening plans walk in the dark. The tiny lights can show us how as headlights show us where to park. When to the job, I go to do the work I'm called to keep so clean. When the shift is over, and I'm through December lights still seem so keen. by Jay O’Toole on December 1st, 2023 |
| Two scripts upon this Terran life stage. I cannot choose to act both and live. The popular one was "just all the rage," but back to the right the one smells of sage. To its wordy softness my heart I can give. What is the attraction of the one? Why do the many flock to its words? Is it the source of lasting great fun? Is it a place for friends in the sun? Does it help feelings to fly with the birds? How thick the woods. It's hardest to find. The wordy, softer script of the page, it's light unto the ones, who are blind It's food for those, who crave the word, "kind." It's solace made to heart-fears assuage. Alone I walk in the thicket of trees. I read out loud the script of The Way. The weight of this life, it finally frees. Eternally blest by the greatest of these, so honored at last in The Maker's Best Day. -------------------------------------------- This poem is an imitation of the style of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken." ABAAB is the rhyme scheme. Tetrameter (4) is the length of each line. The rhythms are a mixture of iambic and anapestic feet. by Jay O’Toole on October 31st, 2023 |
| The holidays are here, again, but why the blackened door of sooty sulfur, costumed friends, and candy they implore? One monk was nailing arguments against indulgences bought. The Bible's Truth of Curtain rent was better than they taught. November sees construction work of lights for the great display on lowly digs or grandest kirk, where "snowmaned" souls do play. The Thankful Day with turkeys dressed rolls lavish carpet red for Santa's laughter as we're blest by football and more bread. A month goes by 'til Christmas Day with Joy and sadness mixed. When boxes are no more displayed new focus must be fixed. A New Year's Eve will come and go as work returns to force, until the jolly elf can show again our days of choice. One wonders, "Will we stop, reflect upon Thrice Holy God? Will hearts and knees we genuflect as His name full applaud?" by Jay O’Toole on October 30th, 2023 |
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