This game is GARBAGE.

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We have much to learn from the saints of the past…

O God of grace,

Thou hast imputed my sin to my substitute,
and hast imputed his righteousness to my soul,
clothing me with a bridegroom’s robe,
decking me with jewels of holiness.

But in my Christian walk I am still in rags;
my best prayers are stained with sin;
my penitential tears are so much impurity;
my confessions of wrong are so many aggravations of sin;
my receiving the Spirit is tinctured with selfishness.

I need to repent of my repentance;
I need my tears to be washed;
I have no robe to bring to cover my sins,
no loom to weave my own righteousness;

I am always standing clothed in filthy garments,
and by grace am always receiving change of raiment,
for thou dost always justify the ungodly;

I am always going into the far country,
and always returning home as a prodigal,
always saying, Father, forgive me,
and thou art always bringing forth
the best robe.

Every morning let me wear it,
every evening return in it,
go out to the day’s work in it,
be married in it,
be wound in death in it,
stand before the great white throne in it,
enter heaven in it shining as the sun.

Grant me never to lose sight of
the exceeding sinfulness of sin,
the exceeding righteousness of salvation,
the exceeding glory of Christ,
the exceeding beauty of holiness,
the exceeding wonder of grace.

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Four A.M., two hours to go
I’m wearing out a lonely glow
I miss you more than I could know
Here I am, here I am
Won’t you get me….

I’ve got my hands at redemption’s side
Whose scars are bigger than these doubts of mine
I’ll fit all of these monstrosities inside
and I’ll come alive, come alive

With my fist down at your feet
I was running out of mysteries
Insecure and incomplete, here I am, here I am,
won’t you get me?

(((((I’ve got my hands at redemption’s side
Whose scars are bigger than these doubts of mine
I’ll fit all of these monstrosities inside
and I’ll come alive, come alive, alive, come alive

My fears have worn me out
My fears have worn me out
My fears have worn me out
My fears have worn me, worn me out

I’ve got my hands at redemption’s side
Whose scars are bigger than these doubts of mine
I’ll fit all of these monstrosities inside
and I’ll come alive

I’ve got my hands at redemption’s side
Whose scars are bigger than these doubts of mine
I’ll fit all of these monstrosities inside
and I’ll come alive, come alive)))))

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This tax policy is completely counter-intuitive to me.

A 40% tax bracket essentially means that the wealthy would have to work until May to pay their taxes.

That’s just not right. It smacks of class warfare, and, worse than that, a classless society. (I won’t use the word for that, but if it looks like a duck, walks likes a duck….)

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Boris Yeltsin is my clear favourite here.

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