Why is it okay for me to feel something negative while I judge you for losing it? What about my own ungodly reactions? How hypocritical can I be? You have to endure me, too, when I get angry and say things I shouldn’t. Don’t I want you to love me anyway and give me grace? Of course! But I get weary of your ungodly choices. I expect you to be farther along in your healing, so why don’t I expect the same of me? Why do I hold you to a different standard? It’s such a battle for the mind.
So why does your trigger affect me? Maybe it has to do with expectations. I expect to live in a perfect world. I expect to have a perfect day. I expect a birthday to be all about me. I expect Christmas to be full of joy and peace. I expect to not have my boundaries trampled. I expect you to have the emotional maturity of your physical age. I expect to have good health till the day I die, and my clothes to always fit, and the roof to never leak. I expect my mango to be sweet and my new car to never get dented. I want to live in a state of perfect harmony and peace, and your reactions allow a foul wind to blow. And when my expectations aren’t met, I’m sad, angry, and disappointed.
When that happens, do I pout? Clam up? Put on a happy face? Steel myself mentally or physically for your responses and reactions? Give up all expectations or just expect the worst?
When I erect a steel-plate armor to protect myself, I’m encased in a jail cell. My heart grows cold, and I distance myself from my Heavenly Father (the source of love) and from a compassionate heart.
I repent of my self-protection and preservation. I give permission to Jesus to drill and unscrew and remove my steel plate so I can step out, free of bondage. Without my armor, however, I am weak, pale, starved, and thirsty for connection. Jesus gently ministers to my shrunken frame, murmuring, “I’ll be your protection. I love you. I will never leave you or forsake you. You are Mine.”
In my visual, Jesus leads me up to the roof of the Castle of My Heart, where we sit in rocking chairs, enjoying the sunshine together. He doesn’t say much, but I’m suddenly aware that even this perfect state could be disrupted at any time. Off to our left, a messenger arrives bearing a white envelope on a silver platter. A letter for me? It’s so pretty and pure. A love letter, I hope. But I’m expecting the worst. I’m reluctant to open it. Will I find gray ashes inside?
Now I can see the metaphor clearly. I want the missive to be a love letter, a perfect day, my desired Christmas gift, a friend who never criticizes my choices, a carefree marriage, and always-obedient children. My expectations are founded on gray ashes.
“Open it,” Jesus commands, and when I do, I’m startled when a pure white dove flutters out and flies away. I peek inside to find a ruby red heart. I’m puzzled.
“Your heart is what determines your destiny,” He says. “Your perfect day cannot be spoiled by someone else’s choices if your heart is pure.” And with that, He places the heart inside my chest. “Your heart is protected and surrounded by my love and care, and nothing can touch it there except your own willful choices to use your own self-protection or to refuse to release your pain.”
Father, I invite you and implore You to protect my heart where I’m vulnerable and weak, so that I don’t fall prey to the enemy’s lies and deception.
I was having a glorious time—perfect spring day with everything in blossom, enjoying a walk, sitting on the deck, delighting in sunshine and a soft breeze on my skin. Feeling genuine joy, contentment, and happiness . . . when spoken words, negative in content and tinged with anger, dashed my sunshine with cold water. I lost my joy, and my inner anger flared.
Why do some people carry around buckets of cold water, ready to douse the first bit of joy they sense in others? I know it’s their protection to cover their pain, but please pour the water over your own head and cool yourself off before you enter my space!
I use my own anger to try to bring some warmth back to my cold body, but it’s a warmth that is self-induced and unproductive. I willingly hand my anger to Jesus, and in my visual I step into a warm shower. Now I feel the sadness and disappointment of a ruined moment, a stolen joy.
“I am your source of joy,” Jesus says. “My presence is what brings you pleasure, and nothing can separate us . . . not man, not beast, not any evil spirit or Satan himself. I am the Light, your warmth, your provider, shield, and protector.”
After Moses finally agreed to obey God, return to Egypt, and ask Pharaoh to let God’s people go, Pharaoh refused and made things worse for the Israelites. And Moses began to whine to God:
WHY have You dealt evil to this people?
WHY did You ever send me?
YOU haven’t delivered your people at all.
If God commands, and I obey, and things get worse before they get better, this is normal. Perseverance, endurance, and overcoming all require faith—especially when it gets darker.
When I’m in pain or distress, it’s hard to hear the Lord’s voice. Often my first response is to blame God for my predicament. After all, He’s the King of the Universe, capable of stopping it. But when I’m angry or belligerent, God rarely answers the question “Why?” Instead, He defends His character. “You are ignorant, O foolish man. I am the all-knowing. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I pray that in my hour of trial I will be an overcomer and remain faithful and not accuse Him of withholding His love. I feel so weak. It’s easy to trust God when there’s food on the table and my health is good.
Moses’ Anger
I wonder what ticked off Moses. Was he taking on the burdens of the people he was supposed to free? Was he mad that Pharoah wouldn’t heed his warning or obey his bidding? God doesn’t tell Moses His whole plan. He only reveals one plague at a time, and each time Moses probably thinks, “Okay. NOW he’ll let us go.” Did Moses take on the responsibility of making Pharoah budge? And when he wouldn’t, did it make him mad? I can sure identify with that! I’d like to see a few people budge!
So how do I respond when I don’t get my way? Can I trust that God has the situation under control? That He can move in the hearts of men to accomplish His will?
Moses’ Worry
God gave Moses a huge responsibility: lead a million people through a desert with no water, no food, and only armed with a memory full of miracle experiences. Everyone who had a problem came to him for a solution. What a heavy burden! Did God give him daily advice? Or did He only speak at the big crunch times?
Where do I turn when the tough times come? I can work hard to build my resources and slip backward. I can sit back and not work yet move forward. I could lose my health, my home, or my livelihood without warning. Is God on the throne if a tornado wipes us out? If the breadwinner dies?
When it happens to someone else, it’s just a story. When it happens to me . . .
Worry is a large, tangled ball of string with fear at its core. How do I get through that energy field of worry, through the tightly woven string ball to face my fear and replace it with peace?
I have been struggling, fighting, working at getting some uninterrupted quiet time first thing in the morning. Not happening. This time is so precious to me, and when I have to give it up for whatever reason, it leaves me irritated. Why? What’s going on here, Lord? I know spiritual warfare is part of it.
I woke this morning with this childhood song in my heart: Jesus is the joy of living. But it doesn’t feel true today.
When, on this earth, will I quit struggling to keep Jesus as my joy? I get annoyed, upset, angry, peeved, frustrated, ticked off at so many stupid little things. I’m tired of it! Why can’t I just have a “poof pill”? POOF! And the anger is gone. Actually, giving up anger is the only way to make this happen, but it’s a lot of work getting to that place of peace. I’m a slow learner.
I know irritations in life are inescapable, but how I respond to them is up to me. Lord, give me peace.
A 2025 Update. I am in a different season of my life now and have more control over my schedule. Finding alone time is no longer an issue. Maybe that’s why my heart easily agrees that Jesus is the joy of living.
I woke up from a dream in which I felt extreme rage. My friend had rearranged all the cupboards and shelves in our bedroom, and I hated it—it was disorderly, ugly, impractical, and inconvenient. I was surprised at the vehemence I felt. Where did that come from?
I realize that these shelves reflect how my friend’s brain is organized. It’s different from mine. No wonder she has difficulty coping with life. The curious thing is why she rearranged MY shelves and cupboards. I did not give her permission to do so.
I’ve always had a strong sense of space and personal belongings. Growing up in boarding school, I owned one pencil, one pen, and one notebook, and I knew at all times where each was located. All our belongings were clearly labeled with our own names, and we understood the boundaries of personal property. The only things we traded were marbles, which were won or lost in competitions.
Order meant safety and comfort. Lack of order felt chaotic and out of control. How much of that is temperament and how much was my attempt to control my environment? My two dresser drawers were always neatly arranged because we were rewarded in the dorm for tidiness, but I seemed to gravitate toward that lifestyle anyway. My mother recalls the time that my big sister and I were instructed to set the table at home one night. In typical fashion, Grace hurriedly flung the silverware onto the table while I came behind her straightening them.
When I ask God for insight, Jesus takes me by the hand, and we fly high up into the atmosphere. “See My universe?” He says. “I like order too. The planets and atoms are all in their orbits.” Yet there’s more. Asteroids break loose and crash into the earth.
“What does all this mean?” I enquired.
“There’s a both/and.”
I scratch my head, puzzled.
“I made order. I created it. I created you (and your temperament) to have order and logic and straight lines. Yes, you function well when things are orderly. Others I fashioned more right-brained to think more creatively. They get flustered and feel boxed in when things are too lined up in a row. Do not berate yourself for how I created you.”
I knew there was a “but” coming.
“But relationships are messy. People are not robots. You can’t have a relationship with a robot. Yes, I made an orderly universe, but I also made people. People can disrupt your orderly world.”
Just then, Peaches our cat jumped onto the bed, interrupting my writing as she rubbed against my pen and demanded to be petted.
“Did you mind the interruption to your orderly thoughts?” enquired Jesus.
“No, because she made me smile. I knew it was temporary. It is relational. I can’t have relationship with a pen.”
“Exactly.”
And with that thought, my rage dissipated. I’m glad God made us all different.
This morning, when I asked God how best to pray for my friend Suzie, He gave me this visual.
Jesus scooped me up on His white horse, and we flew over to Suzie’s heart castle. I was dismayed to look down and see the devastation. The enemy had penetrated in spite of the thick stone walls around the property. The castle and the grounds had been burned and blackened, and only the charred remains of the beautiful oak trees dotted the landscape.
“So where is Suzie?” I cried.
“Listen,” He said.
And then I heard it. Cries of anguish came from the direction of the one standing turret. I knew then that Suzie was trapped inside, fighting for her life. She had barred and locked the door from the inside, fully armed, on high alert. The enemy troops surrounded the walls and were gleefully gloating, not paying much attention except to their own shenanigans. They knew they were helpless to penetrate the turret, but they didn’t care. They knew that eventually Suzie would run out of food and water, and their mission of destruction would be accomplished.
My inclination was to rush in with a flaming sword and rescue the damsel in distress, but I knew Jesus far too well than to make plans without him. Besides, He had told me I didn’t need to bring any weapons with me because I had Him; and as long as I stayed close to Him, I’d be okay. I looked at Jesus to see what He would do.
We glided over the walls and landed softly in front of the turret. I laughed in glee as the enemy hordes scattered like rats to the edges of the compound. What will He do next, I wondered. Will He knock, inform her that all is well, and that would be that?
Instead, we slid off the horse, and He sat by the door and pulled out a bag of marbles. “Care to play?” He asked.
What!? Really? Well, okay, I trust He knows what He’s doing.
I glanced up to see a shadow cross the window above us.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“She’s noticing the quiet,” He whispered.
I listened. The screeching of the devils around us had stopped, but no sound of birds could be heard or rustling in the trees. Just silence.
Okay, that’s good, I thought. What’s next?
“She needs to know that she’s safe before she will put down her weapons, stop fighting, and rest,” He said. (He had read my thoughts, of course.)
“So why don’t we just go on in and rescue her?” I asked. “You can go through walls.”
“I could . . . but it might scare her, and she’d pick the weapons back up if she hears noises on the stairs. I want her to learn to trust Me. I’m not like the destroyer who’s out to get her. But she doesn’t know that yet.”
“But she might starve to death while You wait for her!” I exclaimed.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, Little One. She’s been starving a long time already. That’s why she called for my help.”
“Then why don’t You help her?” I asked.
“I will . . . as soon as she opens the door and lets Me in.”
“But . . . ?”
“But what?”
The question died on my lips. I already knew the answer. I had learned firsthand the lesson of waiting—when I’m ready . . . when the Kairos time is right . . . at the appointed time, all shall be well.
“Thank You, Jesus, for letting me come with You today. I asked You to help her because I knew You would. But it’s always fun to watch You work. What’s next?”
“Wait and see the salvation of the Lord.”
And so we continued to play marbles on the soft dirt. Then Jesus began to whistle a tune—a lovely melody. (I love it when Jesus sings over me. I hoped it would reach Suzie’s ears so she could hear it too.)
And that’s when we heard the sobbing. Deep, wrenching sobs of pain coming from within the turret walls.
“Now, Jesus?” I looked to see what He would do. I wanted to rush in and scoop her in my arms and tell her all would be well.
He just shook His head, silent, and I knew I was expected to stay still and remain quiet. We both looked up at the same time. A shadow and then a tousled head appeared in the window. She glanced furtively about trying to determine where the sound was coming from. But all she could see was the desolation below in her garden. We were too close to the door for her to see us from that angle.
And so we waited. But it didn’t take long. We heard the sound of footsteps on the spiral stairs, closer and closer to the door. I held my breath. What would she do next? I glanced at Jesus. A little smile played about his lips. I could hear her breathing heavily on the other side of the door, waiting for something. Jesus paused for one beat, then two, and then very softly knocked on the door. “Suzie? It’s Me. Jesus. It’s okay. It’s safe to come out now. You are safe with Me.”
“How do I know it’s You?” she demanded. I’ve been tricked before.
“Tell you what,” He replied. “Why don’t you open the window in your front door and peek outside. Don’t open the door itself until you know it’s Me and not the enemy.”
“Yes, but the last time I did that, I saw what I thought was an angel of light. But when I opened the door, all hell broke loose.”
“Good point,” He countered. “Did you use the Demon Test first?”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I know how much you love My words. You can trust them. They are life and they are true. Remember where I instructed John to write, ‘By this you know the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is not of God” (I John 4:2-3)?’ Ask Me to say these words. The demons are incapable of saying them you know.”
“Okay . . . let me think about that . . . okay, yes, I do trust Your written words. So . . . whoever you are, say those words!”
“Jesus Christ is come in the flesh.”
Slowly and cautiously, the window swung open, and Suzie peered out. Jesus winked at her and smiled. “Good job!” He exclaimed.
And then He nodded over to the black spirits at the perimeter of the compound. Try making them say those words.
“Tell me ‘Jesus Christ is come in the flesh’!” she yelled in their direction.
Some of them smirked; others cringed; but they all looked away, silent.
Jesus waited.
“But what if I open this door and they come rushing back here?”
Silently, Jesus held up His flaming sword so she could see the words written on it:
And take . . . the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God (Eph. 6.17). For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart (Heb. 4:12).
“They really don’t like My sword.” He grinned.
And then I smiled because I knew what was coming. I’d seen it hundreds of times. I heard the bolts scraping open. Slowly the door swung inward, and Suzie stepped out into the bright sunshine. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes. And I saw Jesus sheath the sword and stretch out His hand in invitation. She hesitated. She still wasn’t sure she could trust Him. Maybe He was mad at her. Maybe He was going to whip out that sword to cut her in two. The thought was still very scary.
He lowered His arm. “Care to sit down and play marbles with us?” He asked.
“Marbles!? Are you mad?’ she said. “This place is in shambles; my kingdom is decimated, and you want to play marbles?! Aren’t you going to fix this place? That’s why I prayed to You, you know. You let this happen. Where were You when I was being attacked by the enemy? Where were You when my grandma’s life was cut short? You didn’t care that my parents divorced and left me to fend for myself.”
“Who are you really mad at, Suzie?” He asked gently.
“I’m mad at myself! I’m mad that I trusted you; I’m mad that I trusted other people and they betrayed me. But I’m mad at You too.”
Suddenly she stopped. I could see the fear in her eyes. She had just told off the King of the Universe. Would He strike her down for such insolence and disrespect? He’d done it before. She’d read about it when he disciplined the Israelites. Would He react to her the same way? She shrank back into herself, still on high alert, ready to bolt back into the turret and slam the door if necessary.
Instead, He waited, saying nothing.
When He didn’t make a move, she whispered, “Don’t you care!?” I could hear the silent scream behind the question.
“Yes, I care very much,” He replied. “I cared so much that I died for you so that you could be set free . . . if you want it.”
“Of course I want it,” she retorted. “But You didn’t do anything to stop it. And You didn’t come when I called.”
He waited, silent and patient.
“Well!? Aren’t you going to do something?”
“I’d love to, Suzie. But first, would you be willing to hand your anger to Me? I’m big enough to take it, you know. You’ve been carrying this for so long. How has it helped you? What has your anger done for you?”
“It’s kept me quite safe, thank you.”
He glanced up at the turret. “Sure, sure . . . quite safe . . . and starving.”
“Tell you what,” He added.” How about we do an exchange? You give me your anger, and I’ll give you some bread.”
By this time, Suzie knew her blood sugar was crashing, and she couldn’t keep up the tirade for much longer. Meekly, she handed over the fireball she’d been clutching under her arm, and He produced a warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven slice of bread, thickly slathered with melted butter and raspberry jam. Quickly she wolfed it down and then drank deeply from the bottled water He handed her. It tasted like nothing she’d experienced before—cool and warm at the same time, fizzy, like little sparkles of light dancing on her tongue. And she remembered those ancient words, “I am the Bread of Life; I will give you springs of Living Water.”
Suddenly, she knew she wanted more. More where this came from.
“Jesus?”
“Yes, my child?”
“Thank You.”
There was more, much more, to this story to come I knew. The kingdom had yet to be rebuilt and restored. But I knew there was time, plenty of time, because I knew that God’s timing is always perfect. For now, it was good to know that Suzie was with Jesus, getting to know Him and learning His ways, and would be pouring out all of her pain in the days ahead. It had been a good day.
One day three guardians named Anger, Resentment, and Bitterness stepped into my heart, and one day I decided they needed a come-to-Jesus moment.
“I’m tired, says Bitterness. “I don’t want to carry this anymore. I’m willing for You to take what’s in my heart. I just don’t know how to give it to You.”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” says Jesus. And He stretches out a full-length cloak to place around the guardian’s shoulders, but Bitterness resists.
“I’m too dirty and ragged. I don’t want a cloak to cover me.”
Jesus smiles. “I was just measuring to see if it fits.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” He says. “Now, let’s see . . . what shall we do with you?” He has a teasing twinkle in His eye.
“I just want to be clean!” Bitterness cries.
Jesus smiles and nods toward a nearby pool of Living Water. Bitterness leaps in, splashing and laughing as the cool water soaks into his scabs and melts away the dirty garments. He’s fascinated the water doesn’t turn murky as a result.
Little Emotion, now free at last, says, “I’ve been trapped here for so long, but Bitterness was too strong for me.”
Bitterness asks forgiveness of Little Emotion. “I was just trying to protect you,” he says.
“I forgive you,” she replies. “And thank you.” I watch as they hug.
Then Little Emotion eagerly runs to Jesus. “Can I have a cloak too?” she asks.
“In a minute,” He replies. “You have some wounded places that need healing first.” And He touches some spots on her shoulders, her back, and down her torso. In fact, the more spots He touches, the more appear. But when He touches them, they begin to glow, like they’re radioactive or something. I don’t understand what’s happening.
“This is just revealing where all the hidden spots are,” He explains.
“So many!” she cries.
“Not too many,” He says. He turns her around and examines each one. “There, I think we have them all,” He declares.
“Now what? What are You waiting for?” she demands.
His eyes are kind. “You’ll see.”
There’s an eruption in the earth at our feet, like an explosion, and a cylindrical structure rises from the depths. What in the world?? At first, I think it’s from the netherworld, the work of the underground, but Jesus says He wouldn’t allow that on my castle grounds.
It’s a Guard Tower, a turret, located on the back, right corner of the property, near the little pool. The three Guardians are curious. “For us?” they ask in wonder?
Jesus laughs and hands each one a cloak, just their size. Resentment, Anger, and Bitterness rush up the stairs, exploring their new digs. “So cool! Look how far we can see! Jesus, can we have some weapons too?! And please, can we change our names? We don’t like the old ones.”
And Little Emotion steps forward, tugs on His robe, and weeps. “Please, Sir, can I have one too?”
He kneels and embraces her. “Let it all out, Honey,” He says. And all the glowing spots begin to fall off like they’re made of plastic discs, clink, clink, clink on the ground. And still she weeps until the tears run dry.
“Little Flower,” He calls her, and slips a strange cloak around her shoulders made of multi-colored fabric petals. She doesn’t particularly care for it. “I’d rather have a rainbow one,” she declares, and it immediately turns into many colors. “Or a tiger-striped one” and it changes instantly.
“What kind of a cloak is this?” she wonders. “It’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something soft and shimmery and golden or something.”
“Ahhh,” He says. “This is a special cloak. It is not fake, like you thought. (How did He know she was thinking that?) It changes with your mood. People can see what you’re feeling according to what color and shape it is. Bitterness hid the real you. You are now free to feel what you feel and enjoy the shifting and changing inside. It’s the beginning of Joy.”
“I’m related to Joy?” she exclaims.
“Yes, Little Flower. You may run along now to the castle, if you wish, and see her.”
The three Guardians are giggling and racing around and poking their heads through the openings in the turret. Jesus laughs with them. “Ready for your new names?” He calls.
They stampede down the stairs, nearly tripping over their new garments. These might take some getting used to, they think.
They line up in a row in front of Jesus, panting.
“You,” He declares, pointing to Resentment, “are Forgiveness.”
“And you, Anger, are Guardian.”
“And you, Bitterness, shall be called Sweetness.”
“Sweet! Can I have some candy? Preferably bittersweet chocolate?”
Jesus laughs. “Go on with you. There’s some in your drawer in your quarters upstairs.”
Forgiveness kneels before Jesus. “Jesus, I’m sorry for staying away from You so long. I’m sorry I held Little Emotion captive.”
“Ah, dear child, you are already forgiven. I took that for you two thousand years ago. Welcome home! And thank you for trying to help. I appreciate that.”
“I like Your way better, though, Jesus. Thank You.”
“Guardian!” He commands. “Step forward please.”
Anger Guardian bows his head, ashamed of his role in this little drama.
Jesus kneels, lifts his chin, and looks him in the eyes. “You did your job the best you knew how. There is no shame in that. Thank you for doing your part to protect Emotion. Are you willing to try My way now?”
“Of course, Jesus! It would be foolish to go back to my former life.”
Jesus nods sadly, “Yes it would. But I have a feeling you might change your mind under different circumstances. When you’re in the thick of the battle, you might resort to your old cloak again. But I promise to be there with you. As soon as you realize you’re doing that, I’ll be right there to exchange cloaks again for you if you wish. All you have to do is ask.”
“I’ll try to remember. I like Your way better than mine.”
Guardian bows to his Lord. “I’m still feeling bad.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know . . . I don’t like me very much when I use the old cloak. It’s not who You made me to be.”
“You’re not? Did you know I get angry sometimes?”
Guardian’s head pops up. “Really? You!? But I thought we weren’t supposed to use that cloak.”
“Oh no, my child. I don’t use that one. I use the one I gave you. I created you for a reason. You are a protector, a guardian. Your new Anger Cloak is for defending others who need it. When you defend yourself with the old cloak, you hide yourself from Me. When you defend yourself or others with your new cloak, you become strong and effective in battle.”
Guardian scratches his head. “I have to think about that,” he says. “How will I know which cloak I’m wearing?”
“They look quite different, don’t you think? But if you’re confused, just check with Little Flower. She’ll help you decide, for she can tell the difference. The old cloak will start squeezing her, and she’ll begin to feel restricted again. I suspect she’ll let you know when that happens,” He says with a wink.
Pour forth the overflowings of thine anger. Job 40:11 ASV
Anger is a hot topic—literally. Some people visualize their anger as white-hot or like red flames. But this verse in Job references anger as “overflowing.” It makes me think of a liquid metaphor where there are different kinds of anger: there’s the slow, low, simmering kind and there’s the roiling, boiling kind. They’re both hot to touch.
Depending on the vessel (the type of soul one has), anger water can be contained (as in a pressure cooker or cooking pot) or it can cause a meltdown (if placed in a plastic container for instance—I know by experience). What difference would it make if the container were made of steel or cardboard or glass? Most of us are not capable of holding onto anger for very long before we feel its effects in our body, and our “overflowings” spill out and burn others. Or as a Facebook meme stated, “If you don’t take the time to heal from what hurt you, then you’ll bleed all over those who didn’t hurt you.”
In contrast, God’s anger is slow, longsuffering, patient. God’s vessel is capable of withstanding the hottest heat without exploding. It’s best to siphon off our anger into His vessel because He can hold it. But eventually even His anger reaches the “overflowing” stage. (See the book of Revelation.)
Depending on the vessel (the type of soul one has), anger water can be contained (as in a pressure cooker or cooking pot) or it can cause a meltdown (if placed in a plastic container for instance—I know by experience). What difference would it make if the container were made of steel or cardboard or glass? Most of us are not capable of holding onto anger for very long before we feel its effects in our body, and our “overflowings” spill out and burn others. Or as a Facebook meme stated, “If you don’t take the time to heal from what hurt you, then you’ll bleed all over those who didn’t hurt you.”
In the Pursuit of Peace 