Move over! You’re in the speed lane!” My slight case of “road rage” fills my car’s interior. My fingers tap out my irritation on the steering wheel. “The light is green, ignoramus!” I inject at the next intersection. While waiting in line at the grocery store, I shake my head and seethe out my irritation beneath my breath, “This is the 10-items-or-less line! Can’t you count?” My words may be silent, or almost so, more from fear of embarrassment or confrontation than from compassion; and definitely not from any lingering holiness on my part.  My pasted-on, plastic smile may not offend an errant brother or a hapless sister, but the sudden, almost pleasurable spurt of negative adrenaline does affect me. The same is true for passing on politically viperous e-mails.  In time the corrosive acid eats away at my peace, my joy, and any delight that can be ... »
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