The Crooked Finger

Conquering Anger, Creating Peace

On my right hand, I have a crooked index finger—and that’s on purpose. I’ll tell you why. But first…

Growing up, I had an anger problem. A real one. From a young age, I had unpredictable, explosive outbursts. I wasn’t constantly angry, but it didn’t take much. Like a twig under just a little too much weight—I’d snap. And once I snapped, it took a long time to settle back down.

That’s actually why I got sent away to live with my grandma and grandpa down in southern Indiana. I was acting out in my first-grade class, and my parents didn’t know what else to do. My grandparents were old-school disciplinarians—no nonsense, no patience for outbursts. And to be honest, they spanked most of it out of me. But not all. Anger stuck around, like a ghost haunting the corners of my soul.

By nature, I’ve always been even-keeled. Calm, matter-of-fact. Until I wasn’t. When something lit the fuse, I’d boil over.

In my teenage years, that temper got dangerous. I was bigger, stronger, full of hormones, and when I got mad, it could turn into a fight. Or worse.

Then I became a Christian.

That changed a lot. One of the first things I noticed was my fuse. It got longer. Much longer. It took a lot more to set me off. But when it finally burned down? The explosion was still there.

My wife Emily—freckled and lovely—had a bit of a temper too. So in those early years, it was often two angry people going at each other over things that probably didn’t matter.

About ten years ago, God brought deep conviction. The Spirit really drove home how much Scripture values self-control. Temperance. Emotional discipline isn’t just practical—it’s holy. It’s a virtue worth pursuing. So I started chasing it. Hard.

These days, by God’s grace, I rarely get angry in a sinful way. I still get angry at sin, at injustice—as I should. But that simmering, explosive kind of wrath? It’s mostly gone. Not by my strength, but through the Spirit’s work in me.

But several years back, one of my older boys got extremely angry with a younger sibling. He was relentless—mean and bullying. And I lost it. I yelled. I saw red. And like a fool, I punched the wall.

It was about two feet from his head.

In most cases, I’d have left a hole. But nope, there was an HVAC system behind the drywall. Metal. The wall didn’t break. My hand did. I shattered a finger and tore the tendon in my right index finger.

Embarrassing? Absolutely. Humbling? You bet.

I apologized. My sons forgave me. The whole thing lasted maybe thirty seconds—but in those thirty seconds, I did damage. You can get in a lot of trouble real quick.

A nurse friend said I’d need surgery to fix the finger. But as it healed, I realized I could still write, type, and work. It functioned just fine. Still, it stayed crooked. And I decided to keep it that way.

That crooked finger is a memorial now. A reminder.

Of what happens when a strong man loses control.
Of how quickly anger can turn destructive.
Of how a flash of rage doesn’t fix anything—it just breaks things.
Breaks bones.
Breaks trust.
Breaks hearts.
Breaks relationships.

So now, every time I look at my hand, I remember.

“The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” (James 1:20)

That finger is a scar. A failure.
But I’m surrounded by signs of success.

As I’ve taken responsibility for my emotions—and what I do with them—I’ve watched my kids start to do the same. I’ve seen my boys begin to master their tempers years, maybe a decade, sooner than I did. They’re still boys, and like most young men, anger is a battle. But here’s the thing: kids follow your example. And when you’re not a hypocrite, they’re far more open to your correction.

As I’ve turned down the anger in my own heart, I’ve watched God turn up the peace in our home. And let me tell you—one of the best gifts you can give your children is a home marked by real peace.

A place where problems get handled with a level head.
A place where restraint is praised.
A place where kids are trained to face a world full of angry men and prowling devils—both eager to provoke them, push their buttons, and bait them into sin.

Brothers, you’re responsible for how you respond to the brokenness of the world.

Maybe your dad was harsh.
Maybe your mom was overbearing.
Maybe you came of age at the wrong time—
in a bad economy, under woke schools, betrayed by churches, mentors, or friends.

Maybe your anger makes sense to everyone.
Fine. But is it righteous?
Is it rightly aimed?

Or is it splashing out onto the people you love, like acid—
burning down what’s good,
destroying the peace in your home,
tearing apart what you’ve been called to build?

In the grand scheme, a busted finger isn’t much. It’s a small scar. A minor consequence.
But if you live like a slave to your temper, you’ll tear your whole life down.
You’ll ruin what you already have,
and block the blessings you might’ve built.

So what do you do if you’re haunted by anger?

Here’s my answer—for this and just about everything else: you pray.

You take your irritations to the Lord.
You ask Him to help you see clearly.
You study Jesus—especially in Philippians and the latter half of Hebrews.

You sit in those truths.
You steep in them.

In Christ, you see the man you’re meant to become.
Not emotionless. Not without anger.
But the kind of man who flipped tables in righteous fury,
and yet—when mocked and attacked—didn’t revile in return.

A man who suffered, even to the point of death,
for the sake of those who hated Him.

You soak in that example.
You breathe that air.
And you ask the Spirit to make you more like Him.

And He will.

Not overnight.
But in time, your fuse will grow longer.
Your peace will grow deeper.
And that fruit will last.

Your anger is your responsibility.
God has given you tools.
Use them.