Every morning, I get up and make myself a little pot of coffee.

I use a french press…so I guess I could say that I make myself a little french press of coffee…a french press pot of coffee…a carafe of coffee…the glass thing on the french press is full of coffee when I’ve poured the hot water over the pulverized beans.

I don’t know how to say that righter…or mo’ bettah.

Every morning, I do that.

And every morning, after I grind the beans, I put my finger into the plugged in grinder and sweep the grounds that have stuck to the grinder…the ones by the sharp little bean cutting blades….out into the french press so that I don’t waste any potential coffee goodness.

And every morning I think, “If this was a Stephen King novel, this thing would….”.

You don’t stick yourself into a machine that has sharp blades when the thing is plugged in. That’s not something that’s done.

It is dangerous to do that.

But…most mornings…I justify it and think that anything that small…even if it was designed to pulverize hard coffee beans…might not do all that much damage to me if it came to life in an unexpected and demonic fashion.

That’s probably why Stephen King hasn’t featured a demonic coffee grinder in any of his novels.

It has potential…but a novel about it would be more of a psychological thriller than a real terror fest. It’s scary…but it probably wouldn’t keep anyone up at night.

That’s a little walk of faith…the thing hasn’t come to mysterious life yet, so I’m getting to the point where I believe that it just won’t happen…ever.

I have faith that it won’t happen.

The occasional pessimist in me knows that those silent blades can always choose to get me at any moment if I test the universe by putting my fingers into their path.

They can whir into life at any weird moment….and chop the heck out of the end of my “sweeping finger”.

So where’s the faith in that?

I’m looking for nail holes before the crucifixion.

I’m watching for the end before I even found the book.

I’m guessing that real faith is trust without limit…it’s not something that needs to be supported by experience.

It’s not supposing that the whirring blades aren’t going to get you….only because they haven’t gotten you yet.

It’s not situational.

It’s something that we give ourselves over to…and never stop giving ourselves over to.

Ah, faith…that’s a deep, deep pool.

How long can I tread water in that pond? Shouldn’t I know how to swim by now?

I’m a hypocrite…not some big “man o’ faith”. I’m fragile and angry and weak. Give me a sword and I’d chop the ears off of whatever soldier comes into the garden. I would express devotion inappropriately. I have faith in myself that I would probably do something inappropriate.

I don’t always do the right thing…in fact, I probably seldom do the right thing.

But I am loved.

L…O….V…E….D.

That’s enough to buy me some time while I try to figure things out.

And the chopper didn’t get me this morning…either.

“One More Cup of Coffee” Bob Dylan