When I forget to practice forgiveness: Part I

One. I glance under the table at the white knuckles on my tightly fisted hand.

Two. I lift my eyes to focus on the far wall of the restaurant.

Three. I try taking a deep breath.

Four. Burning pain spreads through my lungs.

Five. The fiery sensation in my chest moves to the back of my head.

Six. I take a sip of water and find it hard to swallow.

Seven. I’m not sure about the reason for choking but I suspect it’s more about my anger and less about my beverage.

Eight. I clear my throat.

Nine. I smile a little across the table.

Ten. I hope that the pain in my voice isn’t too obvious as I say, “I remember that.”

Counting to ten might help control my outbursts of anger but it does little for the bitter fury beneath the surface.

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