Great art Thou, O Lord, my God who receives praise and virtue, your power and wisdom are infinite. Yet, I still mimic a maimed liberty in the presence of your great omnipotence. Why must I disobey your eternal wisdom? Why must I sin? Accept the sacrifice of my confessions.
I Haven’t Texted My Mom Back in a Few Days
I confess to Thee, O Lord, to the best of my remembrance, I received a loving text message from the mother of my flesh; that one of your holy angels sent to create and guide me through the treacherous paths of the pestilent. She, this provenance of my own consciousness, did alert me of deals upon Amazon.com for a mattress for my worried and failing back, and too a sweater for the winter (her sweetness unrelenting). In jolly glee on Friday night, mirth pouring over with each pleasurable and vacuous sip of fermented drink, I did see the piercing light of affection glow through my jeans. O new text from Mom, how I did efface you with scorn! “My Mom texted me about something, ugh, she’s always in my business,” I wallowed, casting myself deeper into the holy fire pits of ungrateful damnation. Days have passed, my mind hiding its duties but never its shame, as I did not text her back. That I should be gratuitously evil! What bade me? A thirst for revenge against a mirthful childhood of compassion? Who doth weep more than a mother for the happiness of a child? The mother’s love constrained upon a child, her choice-less act to wish me well and I disavow it for the praise of those who mingle with sin! Worldly honour, that vain but comely seductress. Ambition for the affection of Kyle, who laughed as I forsake my lineage. But whose honor is higher than Thee’s request to exalt thy Mother? Not Kyle’s, no my Lord. He may laugh now as I cast aside the maternal but who will laugh after death? Kyle, no, he will wail in hell. His screams only more voluminous than that of a mother’s for a child. O a mother betrayed!
I Have Watched a Pirated Episode of Game of Thrones
The Sabbath, to which the peace of rest dawns upon us and hails down beauty, we did sacrifice. It is a day of no evening for the holy, yet, that massive orb of rays called Sun — a lesser god of the pagans in its time — does naturally set and in the earthen shadow of night my sinful glee swelled and tumesced. A group of young fellows sought to view that secular history of dragons and wizards known as Game of Thrones on HBO. In haste and hopefulness I held up the study of figurative sayings in the Bible as the more just usage of our sacred hours. Thy mortal fellows detested, a testimony to your ever coming question of our will to please You. And, in sinful reproach I yielded to the ease of wrongness to which they bade: “Come watch Game of Thrones, John is going to stream it downstairs. Stop studying all the time.” The sin’s ease and gluttony only drew me in more. O Evil! O unholy! They bade, “He just uses a streaming site to get it for free.” O the compounding veneration of dismantling Your holy will. To be both a thief and a glutton. O I confess! With a cloven tongue I replied, “Okay cool, I’ll be right down to watch with you.” Thus appeared my most evil heathen ways, stealing art of the lowly and earthly for a simple enjoyment against Your will. Punish me O God, for I have delighted not only in disobeying you but in knowing I disobeyed; the pull of the devil truly.
I Have Looked Through a Crush’s Old Profile Pictures at Work
Laboring in spirit and human flesh, I did grow weary and prayed for the refreshing direction of You in replenishing my drying spirit of hope at employment. O Thy ministry does bang upon the walls of my mind always, yet I let such knowledge be disavowed and decayed by the infancy of faith in my actions. This sacrilegious presumption of my limps, which did, as if guided by the tight gripped arms of Satan, go to Facebook.com and look up Becky Johnson. O the ignorant Christian brother trapped beneath my holy desire of faith, laying awake in my own mind! You my inner faithless did crash against He above (He being stronger but you, my second self of horrific faithless, deceptive). My zeal for the wrong knows no ends, as I did look back through Becky Johnson’s aged profile pictures for ones that delighted the wicked sensuality of the profane. Labor’s high glory to Your ways lay stricken and withered in the road as I galloped past astride a steed of evil! I confess, I confess, I did take pleasure in seeking the photos of Becky Johnson and thought of maybe asking her to a meal. Myself, the easy puppet of defilements, did in a miserable fit of pride believe myself — this cretin of wanting for the lecherous with Becky Johnson instead of the want for the hard labor of work — to be worthy of Becky Johnson and also You my Lord! Myself so lowly and vile! To look upon Becky Johnson’s old profile pictures with lust and desire, instead of reading scripture with desire for righteous in your will or filling out reports for the 3:00 p.m. meeting. I deserve not even Becky Johnson, and certainly not your great glory O Lord. Tim came to view my progress on reports and I did lash and flail to close the windows to Becky Johnson’s Facebook page. But Tim hath no power to truly see — only You, who has viewed all my actions in this benighted cubicle of a false soul.
I Have Bought Groceries But Then Eaten Out and Let The Food Rot
You, the Good God, hast never forsaken the deeds of moral whilst I have dug further into the rooted tree of sin. This Saturday evening I requested Jimmy Johns, even with thy fresh bounty of natural earth waiting in mine own apartment. My soul lays among the dirt and poverty of fellow sinners, so far from your love, covered in the greasy peppers of an Italian Night Club. O the pull of a body against the sacraments! To be handed your wondrous heavenly guidance and betray it in the deep hollow of night for these greased and salted meats. I have sinned, in no venial manner, O it is mortal! As the food suitable to my age does degenerate like my soul in the iced confines of that box so within reach, I did order Jimmy Johns! O does some famine grip me? No, only greed! Greed which hath arrogated my soul and taken me prisoner. O Lord! O Lord! The sin, it does weigh heavy as heavy as Jimmy John’s does lay heavy in my stomach. O the justful punishment of this bloating! O this rightful reaction! I do feel all thoust anger upon me as the Jimmy John’s does rip me. O the rightness of this pain! O the rightness of your ways! O Lord! O Lord! What just punishment at the hands of your unknown but true and devoted servant in Jimmy John’s. O the rightful pain of eating Jimmy John’s.