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A father and daughter argue bitterly over the propriety of her moving in with her boyfriend. The word God is thrown around often, but He is not at their table. She has Amish length hair, but smooth and highlighted in the style of modern Christian soldiers. She wears a bright orange cardigan. Only evangelicals wear orange. It makes me more nervous than the words youth pastor or leviticus.
Dad is concerned because her faith is undisciplined. In hair-tossing righteous rectitude she lists off all her "disciplined" characteristics: 1. eating right, 2. exercising, 3. doing well in school, 4. caring for grandma 5. paying her cell phone bill. . . ticking each one off on her finger tips.
Dad asks if she has been disciplined in prayer. In exasperation, her voice raises to claim that "even when I try to talk to God, I just don't get what I want, HE'S NOT LISTENING." She is too old to stomp her foot after this outburst and scratches her chair back from the table and huffs to the bathroom instead.
When she returns sheepishly Dad helps her out with, "You know, 95 is not the best way to get to Baltimore."
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