My daughter Ivy recently has been struggling with the idea of sharing. Despite their six year difference, her and her sister have been recently bickering over control of toys, games and even space in the house. This morning we had the funniest conversation.

“Ivy,” I asked, “Who’s your family?”

The she proudly rattled off, “Mommy, Daddy, Lala and Ivy. It’s my family.”

Eliana chimed in “Yes, it’s our family.”

This made Ivy mad, “Not your family. Ivy’s family.” She could not be convinced to share her family with any of us. Not her sister or even Mommy or Daddy. It was just her family. Hers alone.

As I was listening to the sermon today about appreciating the larger church, this conversation came back to mind. How many times have we said similar things? “Not your church, my church. Not your God, my God.” How strange indeed must it sound to our God and Father for us to talk and treat each other as we do? We’re not three-year-olds, but I am afraid we act that way sometimes.