She arrived to her grandmother’s house soon after dusk. Her shoulders were drooping and her heart was barely holding together since she was so unhappy. It looked like the rain couldn’t stop falling on her coat either. Her lips didn’t move, but her bulging, red eyes told the story.
When the door opened, she walked in and sat down in the old kitchen chair that had always seemed like home. It felt warm and cozy there, but it didn’t feel like the comfort she used to get from it.
She continued, “My husband cheated,” her voice cracking and her eyes full of tears.
She could hardly get the words out before she started to cry again. She shivered at how hard it was to say such things out loud and put her fists over her face.
“I don’t know how to keep going,” she remarked in a weak voice. “Grandma, I’m very tired.” I’m done trying. “Life keeps tearing me apart.”
There was nothing her grandma said. You don’t have to rush to calm down or say something nice to break the silence. Her slippers murmured across the tiled floor as she glided neatly across the kitchen. She nodded at him a little, like if she knew what he was talking about. She filled three pots with water and put them on three different burners. She didn’t say anything as she turned on the stove and waited for the water to boil.
She got some fresh carrots, a carton of eggs, and a little jar of ground coffee beans out of the pantry. She labored slowly, as if she were in a daze. The granddaughter watched through her tears, confused yet quiet. She was too sorry to ask what her granny was doing.
The granny put a bunch of carrots in the first pot. The second one had a few eggs in it. The third one gets a spoonful of ground coffee. But she still didn’t say anything. Just stayed there, listening to the calming sound of boiling water and watched the bubbles rise and roll.
There was silence for minutes, except for the granddaughter’s occasional whimper and the water bubbling in a steady pattern. The smell of coffee brewing filled the kitchen, and the warmth of it wrapped around the room like a blanket.
Finally, the grandmother turned off the burners. She gently took everything out and put it in a different bowl. Then she turned to her granddaughter and murmured, “Come,” in a soft voice.
The young woman still wasn’t sure, so she got up and walked to the counter.
“Tell me what you see,” her granny urged.
“Coffee, eggs, and carrots,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her grandma nodded and pointed to the veggies. “Feel them.”
Yes, she did. When she touched them, they were so soft that they almost fell apart.
“Now, crack the egg.”
She tapped it gently, and the inside was hard-boiled. Good. Not quitting.
“And the coffee?” her grandmother asked with a smile.
The young woman pondered about it for a bit before leaning down to smell it. Rich. Courageous. Welcoming. She had a drink. It was strong and warm, and for some reason, it was exactly what she needed.
Her grandma came closer. Her eyes were serene and wise.
“You see,” she said softly, “all of these things went through the same hot water.” But they all reacted in different ways. The water broke down the carrot, which was hard, stiff, and couldn’t be bent. It’s soft now. Not strong. Not strong. The egg looked the same on the outside before and after, but the inside got hard. Stop it. Made harder by the flames.
She stopped and held the cup of coffee like it was something precious.
“But what about the coffee? It not only stood up to the water. It changed things. It cooked and turned into something else. It changed into something that smelled good. Something important. It didn’t let the environment affect it; it modified it instead.
When her granddaughter gazed at her, her eyes filled with something else this time. Don’t stop. Not losing. But recognition.
“Well, my dear,” her grandmother began, her voice filling the room like the steam from the cup. “When life gets too much for you, when it aches, when it breaks, when you believe you can’t carry on… Are you going to be the carrot? What about the egg? Or the coffee?
There was no need to rush to get an answer. The only things in the room were the smell of coffee and the powerful, quiet beat of love.
In that silence, the granddaughter felt something change inside her. She thought about the pain: the betrayal, the sadness, and the exhaustion. She thought about how life had hurt her and how she had felt like she was breaking apart.
But now she saw a another way.
She didn’t have to break like the carrot did. She didn’t have to get hard like the egg.
She was able to manufacture beer. She was able to transform. She could deal with the pain, the heat, and the chaos of existence. She could construct something that would be sturdy, warm, and soothing for herself and maybe even for other people one day.
That night, she held the cup in her hands and took another leisurely sip. The tears fell again, but not because she was upset.
From power.
From clarity.
The change started right away.