Kirkepiscatoid

(Poultry, detail, Gijsbert Gillisz de Hondecoeter, 1604-1653, from The Edge of the Enclosure)

While Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant-girls of the high priest came by. When she saw Peter warming himself, she stared at him and said, "You also were with Jesus, the man from Nazareth."
 
But he denied it, saying, "I do not know or understand what you are talking about." And he went out into the forecourt. 

Then the cock crowed.
 
And the servant-girl, on seeing him, began again to say to the bystanders, "This man is one of them."
 
But again he denied it.
 
Then after a little while the bystanders again said to Peter, "Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Galilean." But he began to curse, and he swore an oath, "I do not know this man you are talking about." 

At that moment the cock crowed for the second time.
 
Then Peter remembered that Jesus had said to him, "Before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times."
 
And he broke down and wept.

Mark 14:66-72

Something feels missing, Lord, and I’d like to talk to you about it.

I’ve just felt very disconnected lately, for lack of a better word.

But how can I feel disconnected when it seems I’m never alone? People are always in touch with me.

I even got a smart phone so I can always check my e-mail and my social networking pages.

But for several nights now, I’d rather sit in my living room and play role-playing games,
as opposed to living the real roles in my life.

I’d rather sit and tend an imaginary farm, rather than step outside and see the stars or a sunset.

I’d rather chat virtually with my friends rather than meet them for coffee or a meal.

What would happen, God, if I unplugged myself from it all—for even a day—for even a few hours?

How would I know you are there, if no one can text me?