Every story I read about Egypt brings up a mixture of extreme emotions. My heart flies quickly from one end of the spectrum to the other as my eyes take in stories of Christian persecution–terrible tragedies emanating from the heart of Cairo. Memories of living as a devout Muslim in Egypt seem to come alive as I study each article–places I had frequented being described before my eyes. Sometimes I wonder if my footprints are still there–if my fingerprints are forever emblazoned upon some corner fencepost or discarded tea kettle.
Today I read about two young Christians being arrested for distributing Bibles at Cairo’s International Book Fair. Mina Adel Shawki and Essam Kedees Nassif risked life and limp to distribute God’s Word–the Holy Bible. I wept when I read about how they placed themselves in the center of the Muslim-filled fairgrounds–arms laden down with the Word of God. I cried, because it forced me to remember the time I spent at this exact book fair–my head covered in a long, black, scarf and my heart covered in a thick, black, veil. If these two men had approached me during this time I probably would have given them an angry sneer coupled with a few choice words. I would have relished in the sight of metal handcuffs being snapped on their wrists and celebrated in their arrest. Now all I want to do is fly to Egypt and save them.