Dear God, before Whose anger the universe quakes in awe, but Who is yet slow . . . slow . . . slow to such anger, I come. I come with my toxic, simmering, explosive angers that don't work Your righteousness - but my destruction. I cry for mercy.
Forgive me the long-held grudge, hidden behind the icy smile and plastic words. Forgive me the defining resentments, long since separated from offense, that keep me warm with the slow-burning fire of simmering rage - a smoldering soul. Forgive me the way I hold on to those unintended, untargeted, unconscious woundings received - keeping them covered, not allowing the light and fresh air in to heal them, choosing rather to let them fester in unforgiveness. Forgive me the explosions born out of frustration and fear, triggered by small irritations, mostly imagined, that ought simply to be ignored, but made worse by weariness or a sense of "enough is enough!"