My anger protected me for only a short time; anger wearies itself out and truth comes in. ~ C.S. Lewis
The scenario is almost always the same. Harsh words are spoken. Not to me, not about me. That may hurt me, but it rarely makes me angry. When I get angry, nearly every time, it’s because someone hurts someone else, particularly if they hurt someone I love.
That’s been the case as long as I can remember. It was magnified when my children were born. I had the maternal instincts of a Momma bear whose cubs are threatened.
This is not a new problem. And that’s part of the problem. I never used to consider it a problem. I’ve justified and rationalized and internalized. I don’t act out when I’m angry. I rarely say anything. But inside the darkness spreads.
It happened today. I listened to the replay of a conversation and instantly I was over my head. I took a breath, took a drive, held my tongue and did a lot of praying.
It wasn’t one of those glorious moments of victory where the sun breaks through the clouds. I was weary and gulping for air by the time the truth came in and my heart was willing to extend the grace, so readily extended to me.
Today, grace prevailed. I wasn’t awash with it. I was sinking and grabbed hold and once again, it saved me.