My girls were fighting from the start this Sunday morning. Somewhat like the disciples at Passover, they fought over their position at the table, but clearly and unfortunately nobody was trying to be nearer to Jesus. They fought over wording, they fought over seating, they fought over who got the mirror in the bathroom, they fought over which direction they were facing in their seats as the three of us got in the vehicle and headed off to church and which way whose arms were bent. I’d been banging my head against a wall with them all morning. I had scolded, I had reminded, I had yelled from across the house, I had come back and scolded again.
The definition of insanity, I’m told, is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.