My four-year-old daughter, Emma, stood completely still for a moment—then suddenly rushed toward the pastor, shouting something that brought the entire room into stunned silence.

Bring dessert.

Help with the bottles.

She calls you exaggerating when you have doubts.

And wait patiently for the rest of the world to continue confusing violence with character, tradition, or stern love.

That’s why I tell this story like this, with all its ugliness.