God, remind me that it can be
a most ordinary sound —
the backbeat of a pop song
from, you know, that time,
or cicadas,
or something that isn’t a sound at all —
the scent of mother’s cologne,
some popcorn at the youth group,
a match striking, wet dog fur,
or the sight of the sunrise,
a photograph,
or maybe the way a child I love
puts a trusting finger
right in my despicable hand,
as if I didn’t just deny
everything holy
three, twelve, twenty-five times.
I heard the prophesy
and I just didn’t think it would be me.
Everyone in the congregation
has done the same thing.
Remind me before I read these words,
that people are really listening
for something as ordinary and irritating
as roosters –
the thing that makes each of us
run away and cry.
Gifts in Open Hands 
Thank you for this. Remembering how tender, fragile, many of those who will hear us are. I also need to remember that “I never thought it would be me…til it was” and my own betrayal needs to give me compassion
In some ways the most heartbreaking of the stories — we know how it ends. Those in our congregation may not know how it ends for them.
And you’ve reminded me of my job to tell them. That the 1st resurrection that day was Jesus’, but the second was Peter’s. That part of the good news about Jesus defeating Death is that the deaths in our lives can be over come as well. (Climbs down off my soap box)