Raising biracial childrenThe house is humming this morning.

Cartoons are blurring on the TV, bacon is sizzling on the stove and our Bernedoodle Irie is barking at a squirrel in the backyard through the glass sliding door.

My daughters are cuddled up together under a faux fur blanket.  Giana’s curls are piled atop her head and Misha hasn’t bothered to remove her Swurly silk sleep cap.

My husband meets me at the Keurig and hands me a piping hot cup of donut shop coffee.  I add my favorite creamer International delight’s caramel macchiato creamer to my ceramic cup.

I watch as the white cream swirls into the dark coffee, blending, sweetening and cooling it to perfection.

I take a sip to evaluate if it needs any more, to my surprise it’s just right.

Growing in my spirituality has been an ongoing unachieved goal.  I have this desire to dig deep and challenge myself to find my purpose. An internal need for faith and hope growing in this climate of instability.  The media is full of despair, constant uncertainty, fear, and reckless political leadership.

Progression has crumbled into regression.  Unfortunately, I no longer feel the dignity I once had for my nation.  The questions uttered from my little girl’s mouths wondering if the leader of this free world is a good or bad guy?  My ability to provide reassurance is fleeting, my frustration is mounting and my faith is dwindling.

Here in my home, here where we are united, I feel peace.  On Sunday mornings, no one is obligated to leave this zone.  The creation of our children a representation of our love; measured, blended and mixed to perfection just like the cup of coffee in my hand.

For this moment, I don’t want to be anywhere else but the security of my home.  Because today I need not look any further for my purpose.  It remains right here in this room.

To my delight, it feels just right.