Anger

How dare you!

I feel it as righteous indignation...

I am no child.

I do not need you to make my decisions for me.

I feel you are a Benedict Arnold. 

Yes, that is right.

A traitor.

I count this as a betrayal from someone I cared for and entrusted with pieces of my soul.

Someone I loved...

Even now my anger cools from a blistering red to a burnished orange...

I am not very good at staying angry. 

My heart yearns to turn away from this hurt,

to be comforted in the happy peace that comes from knowing that I have followed my God's will for me.

He has encouraged me every step of the way, comforted me when my fears seemed insurmountable, fortified my feeble efforts with His goodness. He has taught me to love again, to trust again, to hope again. 

I can never be angry for that beautiful lesson.

I can never be angry for loving too much. 

It seems to be both my gift and my flaw. 

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it when I sorrow most;

'T is better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.