Coptic Dad & Mom

There's a period of time each night, maybe about 8 to 9:30, when I wonder if he'll be back before I fall asleep. When I am sitting alone, in the dark house, the children silent in their beds, and I wonder if I can hold on for a few more hours. Sometimes I try to fill the space with conversation with friends or episodes of my favorite TV shows, but it's an empty exercise. What I mean is... I still feel the emptiness, regardless of whatever mirage I set before it.

In a normal family, in our pre-ordination life, this would be our time. The kids asleep, dinner warming our bellies, we'd tackle "grown-up" time. We'd watch a movie, plan a church outing or new service, or discuss something I saw earlier in the day. But alone--the time is a wasteland.

I know what the Sunday school answer is--read the Bible. But I'm too worn out at that point for anything real. If I were to be honest, I should go to bed. No one should be awake at that time when everything inevitably seems dark, when the house creaks, and every flash of light in a neighbor's yard casts eerie shadows in mine. But I want to be the good wife, to greet him at the door with a smile... as I always have.

He comes in three hours later, worn away by the burdens of other people's lives. Dinner is cold because, no matter how hard I try to time it, I'm working with too many unknown variables. And, let's be honest, all I want to do now is take a fork to the pan of brownies my daughter made earlier in the day and stretch out on the couch wrapped in a blanket. He pulls his 3ma* off his head, sets it before him at the dining table, and, despite the exhaustion, pulls his face into the sweetest smile, saying, "I'm tired. But I'm happy." And so we are.

*priest's hat