Disarming rage

There I was with my fist clean through the plasterboard wall. I'd always thought of myself generally as a mild-mannered, peaceable guy. How had I lost control? A precious and loved family member and I were having problems. An argument started. Heated debate got hotter. Then something incendiary (now long forgotten) brought me to the flash point, and I exploded, hitting the apartment wall.

It was several days before a plasterer repaired the damage, days of witnessing the damage my rage had caused—the visible damage, that is. Days sprinkled liberally with shame, anger, and resentment. I had prayed many times about the relationship. In fact, this happened at a time when I was trying to understand and follow Jesus' example, which only compounded my sense of failure.

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I need not react
April 28, 1997
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