The Temper

BY DARREN GOULD | AUGUST 17, 2026

Every Tuesday night, I sit in a room with a group of men from my Bible study fellowship. Recently, we were asked a question that cut right to the chest: What is one sin you struggle with?

When it was my turn, I had to be honest about something I usually keep tucked away. My struggle is with irritability, a short fuse over seemingly mundane things, and anger. To the outside world, I probably look like I have it all together. People wouldn’t know this about me unless I told them. When I stub my toe, smash my finger, or get cut off in traffic, I might keep the rants hidden from the public, but the impulse is right there. For a long time, I just brushed it under the carpet. I gave it little to no attention and told myself it wasn't a big deal.

Then came a reality check I couldn't ignore. Months ago, I was given a list of questions to ask my wife, including: "If there is one thing that you would like to see me change within myself, what would that be?"

Without hesitating, she said, "Your temper."

That hit me hard. The very thing I was sweeping under the rug was the number one thing hurting the person I love most. Even if she is the only one who sees my rants and temper flares, she is my wife—and that alone makes it a serious issue. It forced me to stop making excuses, go to the Lord in prayer, dive into His Word, and do some painful self-examination.

For as long as I can remember, whenever my bad habits, sarcasm, or temper flared up, people would tell me, "That’s just a Gould thing." I used that as a shield for years, convincing myself I was just born this way, that it was in my blood. But the truth is, calling it a family trait was just an easy cop-out to avoid growing up and breaking free from a stereotype. I started asking myself what actually makes me, me. How much of this attitude do I hold onto because of pride? Do I love my outbursts and my lack of self-control more than I love the Lord?

I realized I was acting a lot like the rich young ruler in Mark 10:17–27. When Jesus asked him about the commandments, he proudly said he’d kept them all since his youth. But when Jesus told him to surrender what he held most dear and follow Him, the man walked away grieving because he loved his possessions more than eternal life. I look at my own life and realize I’ve been doing the same thing. I have my own goals, my own desires, my own way of doing things. When I focus on myself, I don't leave room to truly surrender. I have to ask myself: Am I holding onto my anger because I want control?

The reality is that anger isn't an emotion on autopilot—it’s a choice I make when my expectations aren't met. It’s rooted in my own selfishness and fear. But as Paul writes in Colossians 3:8, "But now you yourselves are also to put off all these: anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy language out of your mouth." Letting go of those knee-jerk, explosive reactions is an act of faith. It’s admitting that God is in control, not me.

Doing this alone is impossible, which is why having this group of men around me matters so much. When I confess my sins to them, I know they’ll check in on me. I’d rather be completely transparent than wear a mask and pretend everything is fine. The spiritual war inside me is real, just like Paul describes in Romans 7:20 and 23: "Now if I do what I will not to do, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me... I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin." If I just walk in circles expecting things to magically change, this sin will keep festering.

I’m learning that true trust in God changes how I listen and react. James 1:19–20 tells us, "So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God." When I react with impulsive, harsh speech, it’s usually because I’m afraid of losing control. But human anger doesn’t accomplish God's righteousness; it just destroys integrity and hurts the people closest to me.

This isn't going to change overnight, but I’m taking steps forward every day:

1. Bringing this struggle to God in worship — Thanking Him for the chance to see His power work in my weakness and trusting Him for the victory ahead.

2. Owning my actions — No more blaming my genetics, my family name, or my circumstances.

3. Being brutally honest in prayer — Praying, "Lord, I know this attitude is wrong, but a part of me still wants my own way. Please change my heart."

4. Visualizing the consequences — Remembering James 3:5–12 and how destructive an untamed tongue is to my marriage and my faith.

5. Submitting to God's timetable — Accepting that sanctification happens one choice, one day at a time.

6. Practicing Christian meditation — Focusing my mind on Scripture rather than obsessing over my frustration.

Habits are built act by act, and they are broken the same way—one choice of resistance at a time. The short-term discomfort of changing is nothing compared to the long-term pain of remaining the same. I don't want to live in a loop of excuses anymore. I want my life to align with Christ, so I can finally say "Thy will be done"—and actually mean it.