Crooked Finger (crookedfingers) wrote,
Crooked Finger
crookedfingers

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sinful nature is primarily a matter of perverse will, not intellectual error

It is 11:14 AM late Wednesday morning here in West Michigan. It is gray damp morning. I do not know if we will see sunshine this afternoon.

I got up this morning around 6 o'clock AM. When I got up I found my wife reading for devotions from a book titled, 'Celebration of Disciple: The Path to Spiritual Growth' by Richard J. Foster. She has also been reading from a book titled, 'The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Christian: an english professor's journey into christian faith' by Rosaria Champagne Butterfield.

So I got up made for Carol and I a pot of oatmeal for breakfast. We ate our oatmeal and then we talked for awhile and then we prayed. After prayer Carol took a walk and I wrote in my paper diary. This morning I have been reading from Volume 9 of 'The Works of William Perkins'.

Carol left to do errands and I am writing in my online diaries. Carol works tonight so she will sleep this afternoon. I plan to spend the day writing and reading my books. I am not sure what I will read this afternoon. Lately due to all the inactivity I find myself falling asleep.

Last night after Carol went to bed I filmed a video for my Youtube channel and read William Perkins. I went to bed around 10:55 PM. Now it is another day during the Coronavirus Pandemic.

I brought up from the lower level this morning these two books to look at this afternoon-

'A Treatise On Comforting Afflicted Consciences' by Robert Bolton (1572-1631)

'A Puritan Theology: Doctrine For Life' by Joel R. Beeke & Mark Jones

Well I suppose I will close to drift into the afternoon hours.

O sacred Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down;
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, thine only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory,
What bliss till now was thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.

What thou, my Lord, hast suffered
Was all for sinners' gain:
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!
'Tis I deserve thy place;
Look on me with thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me thy grace.

What language shall I borrow
To thank thee, dearest Friend,
For this thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me thine for ever;
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to thee.

Be near when I am dying,
O show thy cross to me;
And for my succor flying,
Come, Lord, to set me free:
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From Jesus shall not move;
For he who dies believing,
Dies safely, through thy love.
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