What the coffee grinder told me.

Today, I had burning coals heaped on my head.

The truth is, I asked for it, big time. If you've been following my admittedly prolific blogging the last few days, you're no doubt familiar with the coffee grinder incident.

Now, I was particularly proud of this blog entry. It felt poetic and justified. It expressed rather concisely all the anger and hurt I've been feeling and was witty to boot. Okay, so it was rather passive-aggressive, but maybe I tend that way when I'm feeling strong emotion.

The coffee grinder was symbolic, really. It represented my loss. My anger. My depression. Somehow, pushing that button and hearing no buzz of spinning blades resonated with the state of my heart, trying to beat in rhythm, but finding no charge, no power.

But today, after I checked the mail and as made my way up the flight of stairs to my apartment, I paused halfway up. There it was, sitting unobtrusively by the door. An orange and yellow box declaring its name, "Mr. Coffee." It might as well have said, "Eat this, bitch."

But it didn't say that. It whispered regret. Forgiveness.

There was that little box, smiling sadly at me. Pitying me.

No frills.

No note.

Just the box. Contents: Coffee grinder, sheet of directions, and, way down at the bottom, my pride, neatly folded up and handed back to me.

No words could have said it better. No apology could have expressed what that gift whispered to me.

Proverbs 15:1 tells us, "A soft answer turns away wrath."

My anger is turned away. It dissipated with the sight of the box.

Now, I'm still sad, but not angry. I wish things were different, but they aren't. The man who just two weeks ago I was convinced I would be married to next year let me go, and that's not going to change.

But with this new coffee grinder, I feel like I'm beginning to heal. I pour the beans into it, turn it on, and hear the coarse hum.

And my soul also begins to hum.