It stung to realize that I was less than what my family thought, and I began to feel an unbridgeable distance between us. I blamed myself, but I also blamed the God who my family had always promised would help me. I tried my best. Why am I failing?
Why would I want to believe (if I do believe at all) in a God who requires blind faith and has destructive ethics, for whom we must be violent in order to show devotion?
