Coptic Dad & Mom

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I want to thank all of you who took my survey. I was BLOWN AWAY by the number of responses I received, and I have learned SO MUCH. It is a very big deal for me that you took the time to do that. I have been writing here at Coptic Dad and Mom since early 2009, and I can't believe it took me this long to work up the courage to hear from you like this.

We're mostly women here, though some men did take my survey. We aren't all Coptic Orthodox--or even Christians--and we aren't all clergy wives--or even married. Yet we are deeply connected.

I remember vividly all the dark times I survived by writing here, and I am so happy to be on the other side of those days now. All of your encouragement and love have made a world of difference to me. When you're out in the storm and you hear the voices of loving people--no matter how faint over the crash of the waves--it gives you strength to hold on and to move forward. I feel so blessed that you have been there for me, praying for me, and I am paying it forward both through face-to-face interactions here in my world and through future posts in the online world. I'm really very grateful.

I am working through why I write and trying to understand for whom I write. I want to serve wholeheartedly, the way Christ loves, and the way you all have been there for me. I yearn to serve you better, to encourage you better, and to improve myself as a writer, as a servant, as a child of God, by listening intently to you.

If you would like to contact me directly, e-mail me at bloggingtasoni AT gmail.com. If you would like to join my e-mail list, you can do so here: Coptic Dad & Mom E-mail List.The first e-mail includes the behind the scenes stats from my survey!! (Don't worry--none of the personal writing will be shared in that way).

Get ready for changes--but I won't take away the one thing you all told me you valued most--my raw honesty. I will work to be me in everything I write, so you know exactly who you're hearing from.

P.S. You asked for video in a BIG way, and WOW that is scary. I am trying to work through the fear and figure video out... but WOW that's scary :D!!

P.P.S. I tried to find a picture that captured all of me. I'm also a professional photographer, so I had to fight the urge to "fix" myself in Photoshop. This is me. My trademark smile, my goofy self, the twinkle in my eye, the hair that just. won't. For some of you, this is your first time seeing me. For those of you who know me, what do you think? Accurate representation of moi?

I was going to just close the survey without telling anyone and then the most recent survey respondent just blew my mind. Now I feel guilty if I don't give everyone a fair chance to speak their mind.

So I am giving you all until 11 p.m. EST today (Tues. 10/6/15) if you want to take the survey then it will be CLOSED. Just ten questions [essays ;) optional] but trust me I read every word and pray for each one of you as I do.

Next post on this topic will give you an idea of some of the intriguing results :)!

COPTIC DAD & MOM SURVEY

We arm our enemies, then we lament as they turn on us.

We arm them when we don't pray.
We arm them when we don't care for the poor.
We arm them when we ignore the helpless.
We arm them when we indulge the self.
We arm them when we harbor grudges against one another.
We arm them when we label an "other."
We arm them when we're negligent in our fasts.
We arm them when we keep one foot in the world.
We arm them when we are afraid to speak up.
We arm them when we tuck our God away for the sake of "peace."
We arm them when we don't know our faith.
We arm them when we don't learn the answers to important questions.
We arm them when we lose our tempers.
We arm them when we hide our tears.
We arm them when we don't submit to one another in love.

I'm working on a novel. It's going to be a New York Times Bestseller instant viral hit that solves all of life's problems and tackles all issues facing the Coptic Orthodox church and its youth today and basically does the job of a Sunday school teacher for you. Did I mention the instant part? No pressure yo.

So, of course, the novel is going utterly dismally. Because who can write with all that weight on her back? I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Add to this that I'm a very post-modern existential writer. I write in vignettes. They go nowhere. They end at the beginning. Nothing happens. No one learns anything. They just are. And then they aren't.

Add to this that I'm a stay-at-home mother of a toddler and feel like I live just left of The Yellow Wallpaper and may lose it at any moment.

Add to this that I'm constantly face-to-face with other people's crises and feel no longer capable of giving advice of any kind. Even indirectly through fiction. Just go and live your lives, people. Nothing to see here.

After years of being one of the kids, one day I suddenly found myself in "tante" shoes. When I got married and had my own child, I--in what felt like an overnight phenomenon--became one of the aunties at church to everyone else.

In a previous post or two, I tried to explain tantes to all the youth out there who think they can read tante's mind.

Recently, as the mother of a toddler, I have started to recall those feelings of insecurity we often get when we feel a tante is frowning at us. We are certain they are judging us, and we assume all their thoughts are hostile.

But as I grow older, I realize I frown in liturgy more often. Sometimes I frown at people coming in to the church. Sometimes I frown at someone passing by. And I wonder to myself what they must assume I'm thinking.

Here are a few things I might be thinking as I frown at you:

1. Did I forget to close the garage?
2. Oh, I love that dress she's wearing. I hope I remember to tell her after.
3. Aww, look at that tiny newborn. Mine are all grown up now. Woe is me! How I miss that age.
4. I am a horrible person.
5. Did I ever return that call from her mom?
6. How come I don't know this hymn?
7. Lord, forgive me, a sinner, and have mercy on me.
8. We really need to change that wallpaper.
9. Uh-oh. Was I supposed to bring a snack for the youth meeting?
10. She's frowning at me. My kid's whining must be bothering her.
11. I miss my mommy.
12. Oh goodness. Am I frowning? I hope I'm not frowning.

I mentioned before how much I loved How to Win Friends and Influence People and how my biggest takeaway from that noble tome is that everyone's thoughts are self-centered. We all worry about ourselves and our situations first and foremost, and we assume everyone else is thinking about us, too. This way of viewing the world is at its most heightened in adolescence (about age 10-19) but can linger all through our 20s.

The likelihood someone is actually thinking what you think they're thinking is so so slim. Trust me. I confront enough people to know that their thoughts are in quite an opposite direction from what I would expect.

If you really want to beat tante at her own game, go up to her after church and say, "I'm so sorry, tante, that I was bothering you in church." I guarantee that in all sincerity she will be completely baffled and have no clue what you're talking about--and will take special care to be extra kind to you from then on.

Yesterday, our congregation prayed a memorial service for the 21 Coptic martyrs killed in Libya. I was surprised at how difficult it was for me. I thought I had put to bed all my inner conflict about the event. I thought I was ready to "rejoice" at their homecoming, singing glorification hymns in celebration of their entry into paradise and their acquisition of holy crowns of martyrdom.

I am not ready. I am not ready to close the book on their lives and relegate them to memory. I need their example before me.

I don't want to debate politics or policy. I don't want to argue about anything (which is completely shocking if you know me at all). I have already forgiven the murderers.

I have not forgiven myself.

For not appreciating God's blessings, His mercy, and the countless "second" chances He grants me.

For ever complaining about missing meat or cheese while He hangs on the Cross for me.

For the moments with my family I take for granted.

For the lack of trust and the wallowing in worry that I do to make myself feel useful.

For the pettiness.

For the selfishness.

That's all I have to say today. I need more time to reflect. The verse that's on my mind is

"But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty..."
1 Corinthians 1:27

Though yesterday I presented my own response to the brutal public execution of Coptic Christian men in Libya, I wanted to share with you other notable responses as they appeared across the web. I will try to update this list as more statements are issued.

Fr. Anthony Messeh
From One Emotional Extreme to Another

His Grace Bishop Angaelos of the UK
The Only Way Forward Is to Forgive

Ann Voskamp
The Wake-Up Call that is ISIS: Who in the Church Is Answering?

WHY I WRITE
I hesitate to add my own voice to the chorus of people responding to ISIS's recent video of the beheadings of 21 Coptic Christians in Libya.

I hesitate because the story is new. The blood hasn't dried on the beach yet. How can I even begin to process this event?

I hesitate because the story is old. Every Divine Liturgy (the Orthodox Church service), we read the day's entry from the Synaxarium (the Lives of the Saints). We all know this story. Christian under tyranny of the enemy. Holds fast to faith. Tortured. Beheaded. Crown of Martyrdom. (Today, it reads, with no irony, "[The governor] ordered that the head of St. Paul be cut off at the seashore.")

I long ago released the urge to have the visceral "Let's go kill all the people who did this" response. I am too tired now for that. I have to point out a different direction of thought. Otherwise, what's the point of writing at all?

THE MASKED MEN
If you saw the video (I did not and have not even linked to it here because I understand it is insanely graphic) or stills taken from the video, you will notice that while all the martyrs' faces are visible, the executioners have their faces covered. I think perhaps this serves two purposes. The first is for ISIS to appear as the terrifying face-less bogeyman of this decade. The second is so that no one person bears the guilt of these deaths. It is not so-and-so who beheaded the man before him; it is ISIS as a whole.

Unfortunately, no amount of face covering can remove individual guilt. There is a person behind each mask, an individual with a story. I am not the type to believe that all the psychopaths of the world just happened to gather on the beach for this massacre. The story is more complicated than that. I'd like to believe the person behind the mask has a name. I'd like to believe the person behind the mask has a family. I would like to believe that he will be haunted by his guilt.

Did he know the name of the man he killed? Did he see in him a man much like himself? How will he explain his actions to his conscience each morning satisfactorily? Does he know he ripped a hole in his soul? Can he feel his humanity seeping away?

Did he do it for money? Did he do it for a sense of "purpose"? Did he do it because all the other guys were up for it, in a show of male bravado? Did he do it because he was bored? One day he leaves his childhood home for a more exciting life as a "warrior"; the next he's on a beach taking part in horrors his heart may never process?

MY WISH
I am sincerely concerned about the individual executioner. The man he beheaded is dead and warmly welcomed into the Father's embrace. The martyr's family will be cared for by the Church and dearly cherished by God every day for their sacrifice. The Church everywhere will reel, but most of us will continue to live our cushy lives.

The executioner lives. The pallor of the murder he committed will lay over him. The shadow of God's vengeance will trail him. The stench of blood will never wash out of his fingernails. Will he go mad with the pulse of the martyr's heart ringing in his ears?

Yet that is not my wish. My wish is that the name of Jesus Christ, shouted by those killed, worms its way into his brain, works its way to his heart, spreads like fire through his nervous system. until he sees Him shining in glory before him. "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?"

Christ knows his name. Christ knows his heart. Christ sees his face. The Lord will reach out to him. Over and over.

OUR CALLING
Christ reaches out to us. He demands we live to a standard higher than that of our enemy. He demands that we LOVE our enemy, that we do GOOD to those who persecute us. He demands that we BLESS those who curse us.

God is testing YOU, dear reader, and me. Can we love this enemy? Can we do good to them and bless them? Can we follow the example of our Lord and say, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34) and mean it?

Today is the first day of Lent for the Coptic Orthodox Church. We have a long journey to the cross and the thorns. A long journey to the glory of the Resurrection. Can we turn our hearts and minds to worship the Creator in truth, by obeying Him?

“But why do you call Me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do the things which I say?" Luke 6:46

(other notable responses)

I have spent the last two years or so coming to terms with my new life and my new role as the wife of a Coptic Orthodox priest. I remember the darkest moments, but they have become so faint to me now. This blog might be the only record. Even the scars on my heart that I thought were so permanent have faded. Looking back, I can see now God's embrace, His support, His plan. The unknown is so terrifying, but His light illuminates everything.

The very worst moments have now become good memories. I can't believe I am typing that. In the absolute lowest moments, we did the only thing we know to do and relied on God. And the moments passed in peace.

I didn't write about all of those moments. I didn't tell you, dear readers, about the time I thought we would be slaughtered in our beds. Or the time my mother went to the emergency room in critical condition, and I stood with my sisters in fervent prayer as tears drenched their faces ("Merry Christmas!"). Or the time I thought I lost my only two friends forever. Or all the other times.

It has been, without a doubt, an emotional roller coaster. I often felt tested and rarely passed, and yet God was with me through it all. I look back and laugh. Yes, I can laugh! How silly I was to doubt--even for those few hours--that God would care for us. Truly, five sparrows are sold for two copper coins, yet they are not forgotten before God.

So if we were sitting together over a steaming cup of tea, and you asked me if I would do this again, if you asked me whether I would give up my cozy Virginian life for the swamps of this tropical state, if you asked me whether it was worth it all to begin anew and feel so much confusion and pain, I would say, "Yes. Of course."

We didn't dedicate our life to God when we accepted the call to priesthood. We dedicated our lives to Him separately years before. Then we rededicated our lives to Him when we chose to form a family, to marry and serve before Him. And we showed Him again, in our feeble human way, our commitment to His will when we put aside our dreams of a bright future for the reality of a future set afire by His love. Fire burns. Boy, does it ever. But my life, I hope, is not known for stagnancy. I like to stick my heart in the immeasurable heat of the Divine Flame. Like a phoenix, I like to burn down to ashes and rise again in an explosion of color and feathers.

Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you 
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; 
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend 
Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.

Inspired by Priest's wife's post last year, I now ask my daughter once a year the same questions (and new ones) to see how her answers change as she grows.

What is the best part of being a PK?
That I can go to church early if I want.

What is the hardest part of being a PK?
That I have to go to so many events--everything! Or most of the things.

Would you like to be married to a priest? Would you like to be a tasoni?
No. I don't know. (wiggles her finger) Why not? Um, I don't have answer to that.

Who's your favorite saint?
St. Demiana and St. Sophia

Do people look at you differently because you are a PK?
(shakes her head) No, no one treats me differently.

What's the strangest thing you've learned as Abouna's kid?
I learned that every single Abouna has a beard!

What's your favorite church time (feast, season)?
Holy Week. And I mean it. Because we sing my favorite song which is "Thok Ta Ti Gom." It's so hard to remember (laughs).

Do the kids at school notice that your father is different?
Yes. That's a big yes. They ask me lots of questions.

How do you feel about your dad wearing black?
I feel fine. Awesome! Cool. It doesn't really matter.

What's your favorite thing about your dad?
That we go to huge conventions together, like the priest family convention. Because family conventions mean lots more kids to play with.

What's your favorite thing about your mom?
That she's Tasoni. Because tasonis are cool.



Notice that tasonis are cool, but she still doesn't want to be one ;). I should note that she was the one who reminded me that it was time for this interview, and she took the process very seriously.

At our house currently, my daughter and I read one chapter of the Bible and a chapter from a children's book every night before bedtime. For the last couple of weeks, she has insisted we read a random chapter of the Bible of her choice. While this has a lot of downsides, it has one upside for me in that I am exposed to completely different parts of the Bible and often to books I don't usually read. But as an overall policy, I explained to her that chapters of books need to be taken as they were written to make sense of the story.

Last night was her first bedtime with her father on this routine. Abouna and I emphasized this point again: We should pick a book and stick with it. But my daughter insisted.

She chose 1 Maccabees 16, and her father laughed.

"This doesn't make sense! You can't start a story from the middle. Look... if I read, 'Then John raised an army...,' what John am I talking about?!"

"John the Baptist!"

"No... not John the Baptist."

"I know, I know! John the Beloved."

"To be honest, these are both excellent answers," he said with a chuckle, "But this is John the Maccabee!"

He took a deep breath, then continued. "And if I read here, 'And Simon said to John'--"

"--Simon Peter!"

"No! This is Simon, John the Maccabee's father!"

And we all collapse into fits of laughter. "I can't do this," Abouna said, "It just doesn't work. We have to pick a book and focus on it."

After we read the chapter in the book of the Bible they chose together, it was time for a chapter from a children's book. She and I usually read from the Junie B. Jones series, seeing how they're both in Kindergarten.

Her father: "Today, I am going to tell you MY story about Junie B. Jones! Junie B. Jones visits the Coptic Church!"

Now I could tell you the entire amazing first half of Junie B. Jones visits the Coptic Church verbally created on the fly last night, but since my daughter wants to write it all out for her dad and publish it... Let me just give you a taste.

For example, when Junie B. gets out of the car and sees the church doors open, she gets very anxious and starts to shout: "The church is on fire! The church is on fire! Look at all that smoke!"

And you should really hear what she does instead of a metanoia (prostration)!

Although he can't often be there for bedtime, Abouna takes bedtime to a whole different level! Junie B. Jones visits the Coptic Church... Can you imagine?

For those readers who are not Coptic, you might not know that there's a big "anti-secular music" push in the Coptic church. Certainly, if you decide to derive your morals from Tyler the Creator, you're not going to be doing too well in a Christian environment. But I am not a big fan of Western Protestant worship music (Please put the rocks down. It's not that serious, y'all. You can like it all you want, no big deal.), and there aren't too many quality, original Coptic Orthodox spiritual songs in English (Some of us are working on it.).

I'm a student of English literature, and I believe that well-written lyrics can be just as valuable as classic poetry. The best lyric poetry is about describing the human experience.

Recently, my baby sister reminded me of Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams." (I am not going to tackle Green Day as a group, or punk rock as a genre, or marijuana, or whatever platform you expect me to take. I'm going to talk about the lyrics of THIS song and only this song.). This song is fantastic for teen angst or Tasoni drama or whatever ails you. Here's where Coptic Mom Ruins the Song (I wish I could start another blog all about my over-analysis of modern lyrics).

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone...

Who hasn't felt that way? Who hasn't felt alone and stuck? Who hasn't felt like his/her plans fell apart and dreams were crushed?

I'll tell you who has: David the King and Prophet.

How long, O LORD? Will You forget me forever? 
How long will You hide Your face from me? 
How long shall I take counsel in my soul, 
Having sorrow in my heart daily? 
How long will my enemy be exalted over me? 
(Psalm 13:1-2)

Was King David ever alone? Was he ever forgotten by God? Of course not. God never forgot him. God never left his side. But David was human and felt alone. I don't know how long he was on the run from Saul, but maybe he would've put a little "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" in his earbuds at night as he contemplated his lonely road.

The refrain of the song begins with "My shadow's the only one that walks beside me / My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating." I can't sing those lines without thinking of an Arabic children's spiritual song called (3andy 7ekaya -- "I Have a Story"). Abouna and I recently admitted to each other that the song gave us the heebie-jeebies as little kids. It's a beautiful song, but the first verse is like a horror movie to a five-year-old. This is a literal translation:

Walking in the dark one of these nights
The deceiver came to make friends with me.
He tried to tell me, "You're walking all alone,
And in the darkness you're frightened.
Quick! Give me your hand"
I told him, "Go away! I am not alone!
Jesus is holding my hand,
and He died for me!"

Can you imagine being five and thinking about a demon coming in the night to take your hand? Yeah. Not a happy thought. What can I say though? The devil still comes in times of darkness to draw us away from our Savior. He tells us we walk alone.

"Boulevard of Broken Dreams" is actually a sorrowful prayer, a cry for help. The second half of the refrain states, "Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me." The speaker wants to be found. "How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?"

The human condition makes us feel alone down here. The devil helps things along by claiming that we have been abandoned. But God is always there. Your shadow isn't the only thing that walks beside you. The angels are too. And Christ Himself holds your hand. Now, who's going to go tell Billie Joe Armstrong that?

Marriage is hard. I never understood what people meant by that when I was single. I took it to mean it was a pain in the butt and not worth the trouble and so balked at the phrase. Even now it makes me uncomfortable to say it for that very reason. What if you, dear reader, misunderstand and think it means "Run!"

So I'll start instead by saying riding a bicycle is hard. The first time my father took the training wheels off, I shook in terror and excitement. He held on to the back as I pedaled increasingly fast until he shouted teasingly, "Hey! I let go!" I immediately panicked and crashed and scraped my knee. And every bit of that--even scraping my knee--is one of the fondest memories I have.

That is marriage. Some of us have rockier starts than others, but every bit of it--including scraping your knee--is absolutely worth it.

Some people quit so early. A year or two years in they say, "Enough of this nonsense!" Ironically, marriage is like wine, or... like the stock market. If you quit early, you will lose. You will think you saved yourself, but, unfortunately, you will just never know the millions you could have cashed in later. You'll never know the sweetness that comes with time.

"But my wife/husband is terrible!" Oh, please. Unless he's beating you or cheating on you, take a deep breath. You are far from perfect, cupcake. Some of the kinds of things that have broken up marriages are to me beyond laughable. A marriage isn't a friendship. Enough of this jumping in, jumping out nonsense.

A marriage is a trust. You trust someone else to hold your soul. You open up to someone 100%. They know you like no one else. They hear your farts at night and like it. I can't imagine what divorce does to a person's psyche. To have the person you entrusted your soul to hand your soul back and say, "Ew" and "Uh, no thanks. Your soul is just too ugly for me. I deserve better."

You deserve? Since when? Since when do human beings deserve anything? From dust we were formed and to dust we will return. Don't waste that time on this petty thought that you deserve something.

Marry well. And then let God work. Over years. Like a glacier. Carve each other's souls into shapes acceptable to Christ. And by God, I hope it hurts. I hope you scrape your knee and cry a little and hug each other in the darkness and remember that it's all so worth it. And then cash in in eternity.

I heard a woman talk about her marriage once. She said both her parents and his thought it wouldn't work out. That the marriage wouldn't last. "They were right," she said with a sly smile, "It didn't last very long. After 35 years of marriage, he passed away and left me." Cash in, people. Cash in... At the right time. With the last breath.

Earlier this week, we were invited to a party and told my daughter could bring her swimsuit, as there was a great pool and other kids were coming. Knowing how much she loved pool time, I told her, "Bring your towel and your suit!" Her response floored me. In the most calm, positive, relaxed voice, she told me, "I don't think I can do that, mom. I'm Abouna's daughter." (Anybody else choking up already?)

This is a very little girl. I don't think I ever said to her "do this or do that because you're Abouna's daughter." I think I have been very careful about how I phrase things. She's also FIVE, so what am I going to ban her from doing? Also, this is a pool in a private home with her very closest friends. Also, she's FIVE. But she decided in her mind that this was how she wanted to behave. It was a moment, for me as a mother, of both pride and trepidation.

This post isn't about modesty. It's about duty. My duty as a mother to protect my daughter for as long as possible from the weight of others' expectations while at the same time giving her all the tools she needs to be a daughter of the King.

I know that I often used my very conservative parents to protect me from things I didn't want to do. If a high school party was questionable, I would tell my mom, "Tell me I can't go" and then turn and tell my friends, "Sorry, my parents said I can't go." This was simpler than saying, "You're a bunch of terrible drunks, and I'm not interested." So maybe she didn't want to go in the pool (for some other reason) and was already lining up her best excuse.

I don't know. This post is not coherent. I'm still trying to wrap my head around "I can't do that. I'm Abouna's daughter." I'm only in my second year as Abouna's wife, and I am definitely making it all up as I go along.

“You shall also make a plate of pure gold 
and engrave on it, like the engraving of a signet:
HOLINESS TO THE LORD. 
And you shall put it on a blue cord, 
that it may be on the turban; 
it shall be on the front of the turban.
So it shall be on Aaron’s forehead..." 
Exodus 28:36-38a

The funny thing about being Abouna is anyone on the street can come up to you and say, "Hi Abouna!" In the distinctive robe and 3ema*, it's pretty hard to blend in. A person doesn't have to be from your church to recognize you. They don't have to be from Egypt or even be a Christian. If they've ever met an Abouna in their life, they will know you right away.

If a person is in a random foreign country and sees an Abouna across the street, he can just run over and say, "Hi! Where's your church, Abouna? I'm from such-and-such place." Actually, I've done that before. When Fr. Paul Girguis first joined St. Mark, D.C., a special event I followed carefully via the Internet, I saw him heading to check-in at Dulles International Airport. I did my power walk over and said, "Hi Abouna!" and then stood there awkwardly because poor thing he probably thought I was someone in his new congregation (which I wasn't at all) and, really, what does one say next? I still think it's an adorable thing to do :).

It happened twice to my Abouna recently. At an out-of-town graduation ceremony, three separate groups approached Abouna to say hi. The first was a young man from the local congregation who asked my Abouna where he served. The second was a Palestinian family. The third was an Ethiopian family who stopped their car in the parking lot to excitedly say hello.

Of course, the robe and the 3ema can have the opposite effect. As much as they mark you as beloved to those who understand, they mark you as a stranger to those who don't. We recently walked into a restaurant and, as usual, all eyes turned to the bearded man in black standing in the doorway.

My husband is an expert at dealing with being the "werido in the beardo," flashing his epic smiles right and left, disarming those who would see an enemy, pouring love on any embers of fear or hate. And it works. I can't go to the dentist, for example, without the hygienist spending the entire time talking about how wonderful my husband is and how blessed I am to have him (while I uh-huh through her fingers).

*Coptic priest's "hat"

At the core of being Coptic Orthodox is the will to keep the faith alive even under duress.

Every Coptic child is taught from a young age not to say the Shahada, the Islamic statement of witness. It begins, "There is no god but God..." and we were taught never, under any circumstance, to speak the rest. As it is a common greeting (one party says the first half, the other responds), my grandmother taught me to say gently with a smile "and Jesus Christ is the Son of God."

Apostasy. In Islam, everyone is Muslim. It is not a choice. If you were born to a Muslim father, you are already a Muslim in Islamic countries, under sharia or sharia-derived law. If it can be proven in court that you spoke the Shahada or signed your name to it, you are considered Muslim. Conversion away from Islam is punishable by death. Thank God, often, that sentence is commuted.

I knew most of this by the time I was seven. Living in America, I thought my parents were crazy old coots from the old country.

My mother always said that to be born a Christian is a great privilege. In Egypt, this is not just a cute saying; this is a reality. When someone is not born Christian, but wishes to be, the penalty is death. When someone is born a Christian in an Islamic country, he or she is just one phrase away from losing everything.

All this pregnant mother has to do is say the Shahada (and leave her husband). Then she can go "home" a free woman with her toddler (who is staying with her in prison).

But...  "what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?" (Mark 8:36)

If she keeps the faith, she is a saint. If they beat her, she is a confessor. If they kill her, she is a martyr.

“Do not fear any of those things which you are about to suffer. Indeed, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and you will have tribulation ten days. Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life." (Revelation 2:10)

Easy to say from behind my computer.

Pray for Meriam Ibrahim and for the girls of Nigeria.

I took the time to find all the posts I have written about being Tasoni and presenting them to you in a hyperlinked list. Sorry I didn't have time to make it all pretty with images and such, but I thought you might enjoy reviewing the story in order. A permanent, regularly updated page with this list is now under the "Becoming Tasoni" tab above.

I'm surprised how easy it is to see the ebb and flow of my excitement and dread at my new life. Without a doubt, whether you can tell below or not, it was a rocky first year, as first years tend to be.

Speak, for Your servant hears...
In which I announce his ordination

How I Hate Goodbyes
In which I bid farewell to my past and imagined future

What Fr. Anthony Has to Do with This Blog
In which I dedicate myself to continue to blog

To Thine Own Self Be True
In which I get some good advice

Take Care of Father
In which I define my job

First Weekend Highs and Lows
In which I smile at my new home

Step 1: Admit You Have a Problem
In which I am homesick

I'm Thankful for... a New Place to Love
In which I am grateful

Testing of Faith
In which God allows the devil to kick me in the gut

Finding Joy
In which I try to stay positive

What Cancer Does to a Home
In which I succumb to my sorrow

Distance Is Excellent
In which I (stupidly?) decide not to have friends

Coolest Tasoni I
In which I try to figure out my life

Being Stupid Together
In which I struggle with the new public limitations on my marriage

Missing Father
In which our daughter struggles with her father's new vocation

Heeeeeere's Happy!
In which I shake free from winter blues

Coolest Tasoni II
In which I recall why I chose this path

You Can Call Me Tasoni--Or Don't
In which I debate the importance of titles

Life as a Priest's Kid
In which my daughter answers a few questions

Lessons from Palm Sunday
In which I miss my husband

Thoughts on Holy Week
In which I admit I'm still adjusting

Redefining Feast
In which I realize life will never be the same

QT with Fr.
In which I acknowledge my husband is my favorite companion

On Common Ground
In which I spend time with other priests' families

Unworthy
In which I admit I'm not good enough for my God (or my husband, or this calling), but that I pray He makes me worthy.

Tasoni: Waiting for Abouna to Come Home
In which I'm a little lonely