Inspired by the Gospel's story of Peter denying Jesus three times

“Before the cock crows,
You shall deny me times three.”
How could he say that?
Deny him? Me?

Shall I deny Him now,
And His pow’r from on high,
To say that I shall follow Him,
Should I falter and I die?

He is Master, He is truth,
He is the Way and the Light.
How could I deny such perfection?
How could I turn in Flight?

General Revelation through Mathematics
Sarah E. Lash
03/02/2017

You may have sat in many a math class and wondered why. As a child, I would labor over long division, multiplication tables, and algebra, and shake my head at the apparent uselessness of it all. Mathematics seemed not only utterly impractical, but also entirely devoid of anything pertaining to the pursuit of Jesus Christ.

Northern Tuscany
December, 1490

There at the door he stands with hope,
A lad of fourteen, tall and broad;
He knows not to what end he goes,
To take the ship that sails abroad—
That sails to places without hope.
Yet when he sees the pain that shows
On tender Mother’s brow so still,
He kisses her and softly says
“Dear Mother, I’ll come back, I will!”

Ileuad pulled her mud stained cloak tighter around herself, trying not to wake Ewen. She shuddered in the cold, and cast a glance over to the other side of the cave. There Adaon lay, never to rise again. He was shrouded in his dark cloak in the very farthest corner of the cave.

I am empty and torn,
sad and forlorn,
I do not understand why.

I should be happy for you,
with all you’ve been through,
so why is it so hard to try?

I thought I’d be there,
to help and to care,
not miles from your side.

I thought God was clear,
and my intentions sincere,
but I almost feel like He lied.

I know it’s not true,
cause that’s not what You do,
and there’s always a purpose and plan.

But at times I don’t know,
if I am to go,
or remain here where I stand.

In my dreams, I race very fast,
In my dreams, I flee from my past.
In my dreams, towards the future I run
In my dreams, we’ve only just begun.

Of every soul I’ve ever met,
You are my favorite, as of yet.
And even now when you are gone,
My love for you goes on and on.

And after all these years, my friend of old,
You still have that heart, made of gold.
And after all these years that we’ve been bound,
I realize my heart had been lost, then found.

All I ever hear is
You’re not worth it
I get beaten down
And I can’t forget it
I’m told to grow up
And I’ll never be enough
And every time they say it
I cry a little inside
I die a little inside

I’ll never be good enough
Never be smart enough
Never be enough
For them

Northern Tuscany
December, 1490

The kitchen was awash with mid-afternoon light.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

The cup clinked as he set it down in front of me, nearly sloshed over the rim. It was a woodsy, deep black-brown in its cheerful yellow mug, on the cheerful pale blue table.

“Thank you.”

“Cream?”

“Sure.”

He took it out of the fridge. It was stored in a mason jar, and so thick it left tracks on the side of the glass. It streamed into my cup, and then I picked up the spoon he’d proffered earlier and stuck it in the mug and stirred, stirred, stirred.