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An Angry Prison

randomlychad  —  May 22, 2013 — 11 Comments

Anger

Today’s post is another in our ongoing series about anger. I’m thrilled to be hosting Chris Morris (see his bio at the end of the post).

An Angry Prison

I called my pastor for the same reason most people call their pastor—my life was falling apart, and I didn’t know what to do. My daughter’s health had taken a definite turn for the worse. She has always had seizures, but they were increasing at a staggering rate, so that she’d had more in the previous week than her entire young life. Add to this, her neurologist didn’t believe I was telling the truth.

So I scheduled a sit-down with my pastor, to get some practical guidance…since I am a hothead and don’t always handle tense situations the best. I am not sure exactly what I expected, but nothing prepared me for what he said. He essentially told me my own sin was opening the door for the Devil to give my daughter seizures. I needed to repent if I hoped to see my daughter healed.

I did not repent of anything that day, though in retrospect I should have, because I was angry. My daughter’s seizures were not then and are not now my fault. I don’t have a secret sin that opens a mystical pathway for terror to enter my family’s life.

Continue Reading…

Today’s post is another in the ongoing series on anger, and comes to us from Larry Carter. Larry is a husband, dad, Christ follower from Tennessee. Larry’s blog is Deuceology–Deuce being his nickname (his dad, Larry is “Ace”), and “ology” representing “theology.” Thus over there you can read Larry’s take on life, faith, and a few other things. You can also follow him on Twitter @LarrytheDeuce.

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'anger' photo (c) 2009, anyone123 - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

He shook my hand, asking if I would still come to the meeting the next night? I watched him walk off my deck to his truck in stunned silence. I was slackjawed, and in a state of shock rarely experienced in my life.

I walked into the house. Jan asked me what was wrong. I think she could tell from the look on my face that something happened, something which had not had a positive effect on me. I looked at her and kind of laughed. Then I told her what happened.

I had been fired.

No, not from my job. Nothing like that. No, I had been fired from teaching Sunday School. Suddenly the weight of poor decisions and casual conversations came home to roost.

I was angry. Angrier, perhaps, than I had ever been in my life. Not the kind of anger that exploded and then subsides as quickly as it erupted. This anger was trickier than that. This one started out the size of a kernel and grew into a monstrous thing that would engulf me for months to come.

Why?

Why was I angry?

I had done it, in part, to myself.

Everyone had pretended there was no problem until it came time to kick me to the curb.

No one sat down to talk to me about it.

No attempt at anything approaching Biblical discipline was even made.

Nada. Nothing. I was just fired without any warning.
Continue Reading…

Angry With Myself

randomlychad  —  May 15, 2013 — 6 Comments

Today’s post is another in the ongoing series on anger. It comes to us from my friend, Tim Gallen. Tim, in his own words is:

“a writer, truth-seeker, and legend in his own mind. He loves good stories, good words, and good beer. He shares his random thoughts on life at his blog, The Daily Gallen. Follow him on Twitter @tim_gallen, or stalk him on Facebok. He won’t mind.

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Angry with myself

I’m a pretty easygoing guy. I tend to go with the flow and embrace the situation.
But, please, don’t misjudge my easygoing character.

I can get angry. Really angry.
I have screamed, howled, and cursed. I have thrown things, I have punched pillows and walls. I have embraced my anger.

But, for me these external manifestations are rare exceptions. Usually, I internalize my anger, keep it inside.

I get angry a lot, actually. I get angry at the idiots who don’t know how to drive. I get angry at the idiots in my neighborhood who don’t clean up after their dogs or who let their yards become so overgrown they look like untamed jungles.
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Today’s guest post comes from my friend, Kevin Haggerty. He’s a Christian, husband, dad, web/graphics designer, writer, and MMA blogger. Kevin and his wife, Kim, are going through a year where they:

Both lost their jobs, and

Welcomed their son, Aidan, into the world. Through it all, hard as it’s been, God has been there.

Kevin’s blog is The Isle of Man, and he can be followed on Twitter @kevinrhaggerty

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I’m a pretty nice guy.

As a kid, I was probably somewhat of a pushover. I am the oldest of seven kids. I was obedient. I didn’t get in a lot of trouble. I held the line. I was essentially next in command if the boss went down.

I also have always been an introvert, though that is not something I’ve understood about myself until very recently in life.

Because of those factors, I generally kept to myself and avoided conflict as a child. In high school, I wasn’t a lot different. Though I started to stand up for myself a little, I was very much still going through a process of self-discovery.

The truth is that I probably took more crap than I needed to for the first 18 or so years of my life.

It was somewhere along that point in time that I started to become acclimated with anger. It was my out. My new savior.

It was my superpower.

Continue Reading…

Over The Edge(r)

randomlychad  —  April 30, 2013 — 12 Comments

This is a guest post from my friend, Ricky Anderson. Ricky is a Christian, husband, dad, database guy, and vehemently denies owning any more than one shed. His blog is at Ricky Anderson.net, and he can be followed on Twitter @Arthur2Sheds.

Please note that this post is part of a series on anger; there will be others as well.

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I was angry.

No, I was out of control. I had been sent out to edge and mow the lawn, and I was ticked.

Our edger was an old one; inordinately heavy and obnoxious to use. It was electric, which meant plugging in the extension cord and hoping it’d reach the end of the yard. Anything it didn’t reach had to be trimmed by hand. That edger and I didn’t get along.

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Partway through my disgruntled efforts, the cord got snagged on the swingset. I didn’t want to walk all the way across the yard to pull the cable around the pole it was stuck on, so I simply yanked.

And yanked.

And yanked.

Harder.

And harder.

With no result. In my 12-year-old immaturity, I lost it. I started bashing the edger into the ground. I yelled at that stupid edger. I pulled out every word I’d learned at school.

Then the head of the edger broke. I turned it off and dropped it. As I started to calm down, I was rational once again and became afraid. What would I tell Dad?

I looked up and froze. Dad was standing ten feet behind me. I didn’t know how long he’d been there.

I mentally started packing my bags for military school. Maybe the circus would take me, or one of my uncles. I didn’t know whether to run or cry, but I knew this was not going to go well.

After a few moments, my dad spoke.

“Well, I guess it’s time to replace that old weed whacker. Hop in the car, let’s go.”

We got a gas-powered edger that weighed next to nothing. It was wonderful. And Dad never said a word about my childish tantrum.

Sometimes when I’m angry about a situation and I’ve messed everything up, I don’t want to pray about it. I don’t want to go to my Father and show him what I’ve done. So I get angrier and angrier, avoiding what I know I need to do.

And I wonder if he’s watching the whole thing as my Dad did, just waiting for me to calm down and let Him “make all things new” (Revelation 21:5).