It's not a disagreement as I'm told it is. I'm not sure how to define this ongoing volley barbed with religiosity. I keep making the mistake of believing that I can trust in others' change. I thought we'd put these things behind us. There'd been crucial transformative exchanges over the summer, and I thought my mother had changed. Call it the need for parentage, for a clan of welcome arms, for rest when there has been no place to lay the head. But walking away was the right thing to do, to keep on walking. I've asked Mr. PNU to remind me next time there's a loss, a reason to return, that the arrows will come un-quivered, launched in righteousness. It's always the bow of righteousness.
I wonder, had my mother, my step-father, and step-siblings stood beneath the cross in Jesus' hour of greatest agony and grief, if when he called out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" they would have turned their heads back to him and answered—"Everything happens for a reason! God is doing this so you'll learn something! You're actually being blessed!" Because this is consistently how they've chosen to interact with me since my husband's stroke. And when I protest, or disagree, they become indignant and stubbornly judgmental, and turn away any further support. My guess is because I will not accept their decision that God has cut down my husband to get through to me, whatever it is they think God needs to get through to me, as if I hadn't a strong, ongoing relationship with my God prior to this.
If all I do until the end of my life is refute and stand as witness that suggesting "everything happens for a reason" to those experiencing loss, disability, and catastrophic life change is un-Christian, lacking in compassion, hurtful, judgmental, and fails to answer to charge of baptismal covenants I will spend my final days well.
If, when Jesus Christ says, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me," does that not mean that offering judgmental platitudes is failing to give succor to Christ in his loneliest hour?