Forgive me, Father, for my anger.
And not for the anger itself, but for the depth to which my anger roots itself to my soul.
I have caressed it, coddled it like a child, raised it up to grow into a monster. Feeling blessed by my own self-righteousness I give way to bitterness, resentment, envy. They make me feel good. They are faithful friends who stay by my side, nursing my hurt and making me powerful.
But this is not the way of Love. Love takes hurt into her arms and weeps. Her tears wash away the filth in my soul, melting the monsters I have grown to cherish. She puts pain in its proper place – acknowledging it, grieving it, transforming it – and letting it go.