Step 1: Admit You Have a Problem

I just made a big pan of my famous lasagna. And there's no one to eat it but Abouna. Don't get me wrong; I love cooking for Abouna. It's just that if I handed him a piece of toast slathered in ketchup he would say, "Thank you, habibty, it's so delicious."

Next week marks the start of college classes at my hometown in Virginia. Usually that means I would be visited by a couple of lovely homesick engineers who would ooh and ahh over my mac and cheese, broccoli and potato soup, and, of course, my lasagna. This year that number would have at least tripled and dinner/movie at cool Coptic housewife's house would have been THE place to be. Instead I'm here.

Don't get me wrong. I love my new town. It's just that... No one will ever eat my lasagna here. All the shabab (youth) live with their mamas. And mama's food is always best. Why go to Tasoni's for dinner when mom is a short drive home? And the women at church don't cook for Sunday aghape. They prepare sandwiches (much more practical).

So, here I am in my kitchen crying over a pan of bitter lasagna. I might as well go lay back down in my bed and pull the covers over my head.This is my second week of homesickness. Last week it was triggered by the singing of one hymn which my new church does a little differently. This week it's the cooking.

Why did you bring me here God? What's my purpose? If I'm not cooking for a bunch of sugar-coated overachieving 20-somethings, what am I good for?