The heat of the moment

From my book Are You Listening?, a reminder of the danger of getting carried away in the heat of the moment, and the damage this can cause.

What came over me, Lord?

There can be few of us who haven’t at some time lost our temper. For those cursed with a short fuse it can be a common occurrence, whilst for those of a more phlegmatic disposition it may be something of a rarity; but all of us have our threshold where something snaps inside and we fly into a rage. There is, of course, a place for anger, as Jesus on more than one occasion shows us in the Gospels. Confronted with evil and injustice, with actions or attitudes which prevent people from living life to the full, it is not only natural but necessary. But, more often than not, anger is sparked by very different motives – wounded pride, frustration, intolerance, an unwillingness to face the truth, or simply misunderstanding. It doesn’t take much to send the blood rushing to our heads, but it can take a great deal to put right the consequences of one moment’s madness.

Those who are hot-tempered stir up strife, but those who are slow to anger calm contention.
Proverbs 15:18

A fool gives full vent to anger, but the wise quietly holds it back.
Proverbs 29:11

Do not be quick to anger, for anger lodges in the bosom of fools.
Ecclesiastes 7:9

What came over me, Lord?
What on earth possessed me?
To think I could be so petty,
so quick to lose my temper –
and all over something so trivial.
I can’t believe it now, looking back –
it’s as though it were some dreadful nightmare,
some awful illusion.
But it wasn’t – that’s what frightens me –
it was all too real.
And I’m to blame, nobody else –
I lost control,
carried away in the heat of the moment,
red mist rising before me,
and, before I knew it, the words were out
and the damage was done.
I didn’t mean it – you know that, Lord –
the last thing I’d ever want is to hurt anyone,
but that’s not good enough, is it? –
for I can still see the pain in my friend’s eyes,
the look of anguish as the shaft went home.
There’s no excuse –
whether I was right or wrong is beside the point;
I should have stopped to think,
taken a deep breath and counted to ten,
but I didn’t –
I just flew off the handle,
and now someone, somewhere,
is left to pick up the pieces.
Forgive me, Lord, for I’m so ashamed.
Forgive me.

My child,
is it me you should be coming to for forgiveness?
I’ll give it to you gladly, just as I always do –
and, yes, I’m glad you’ve come,
glad your sorry.
But it’s not me you hurt, is it?
I can forgive you all you like,
but it’s not going to take away
that look you speak of,
those wounded, troubled eyes.
They’ll still be there, haunting you day and night,
following you wherever you run,
wherever you hide,
until you’ve made your peace.
There’s only one way to change that,
and again it rests with you,
no one else.
You caused the problem,
you alone can cure it,
It may be unpleasant,
it may be costly,
and it may be thrown back in your face,
but the only one who can pick up the pieces
and put them together again is you.
So go now,
swallow your pride,
admit you were wrong,
say you’re sorry and ask for forgiveness.
And maybe,
just maybe,
if you’re lucky enough to be given another chance,
next time you are put to the test
you will think first,
and act later.