Today was one of those days…when the negative thoughts weigh too heavy to shake off, when the words all tumble out wrong, patience is thin, and finding joy in my mundane-everyday seems pointless. I make myself “do the next thing” but the fog and its accompanying despair are relentless. Harsh words to my child cannot be taken back and though I hide behind a closed door, I can’t run from the shame of it. At long last the sun makes its way back towards the horizon, and the day is drawing to a close. The house is quiet and the lazy light of evening spills onto the kitchen counter. I find myself standing in front of our old coffee grinder as it sits in a slanted patch of evening light, and I pull it towards myself. I pour the coffee beans into the top, hearing them clink against the metal rim in protest. I grab the handle, and begin methodically turning it in circles. As my muscles tense to hold the grinder steady, my thoughts tumble down one after the other, spilling in amongst the roasted beans. I watch as they are pulled into the thick metal teeth and disappear. The crunch of hard shells split open, crushed…then the beautiful aroma released. I stop. I breathe deep of it in that moment, feeling the stir of memory and the gentle soothing of my spirit follow after. The simple memory of so many peaceful mornings saturated with that scent…the quiet sipping of a warm cup before the day begins its hurry…Grace. New every morning. The chance to begin again…I continue grinding slowly, steadily, until the very last of the beans crunch through the hard metal teeth, release their aromatic promise of a new tomorrow and disappear.