Last week, I wanted to run screaming away from the mission I've called motherhood for the past six years and some months.
After spending five days away recharging at a conference, I thought I'd feel ready to return to regular life and live it with courage and dedication. So much for that.
While away, I was reminded of the importance of this motherhood mission - that as a writer on special assignment from the Great Editor and Chief, the most beautiful words I will ever write will be ones of love and truth written on the hearts of my child, who will hopefully go out into the world and live those words through their lives.
While I'd been away, I was encouraged to choose to live in the courage of faith.
While I'd been away, I was challenged over and over again to choose to take heart, to be strong and courageous.
While I'd been away, I was admonished to choose love and truth before I choose to believe the persistent, softly whispered lies that are so easily tossed about during the dailyness of our lives.
Funny thing is, I didn't know why I needed these message in relation to mothering. When I'd left home, everything was going swimmingly.
As I soaked in this wisdom and truth at the conference, I thought it might have been more of a preparatory message for the season of mothering I'm heading into that includes welcoming a 12-year-old orphan from Eastern Europe into our home this Christmas season for five weeks.
While it likely will apply to that situation, I didn't expect to return home and need those truths fresh in my mind just survive the week with my boys.
I'm not talking about true batten-down-the-hatches, the-storm-is-a-raging kind of survival that happens in the face of a tragedy, but rather the kind of survival from a storm that churns up the internal waters in the soul and stirs up a sort of water funnel that's trying to suck everyone under.
There were tears. There was anger. There was frustration. And that was just from me.
While my youngest was just extra clingy from our separation, my oldest was swirling around in that water vortex, threatening to drown in his own bad attitude. For the sake of his privacy, I won't divulge details, but I will tell you that it made me feel like all the mothers of grown boys had been holding out on me. They failed to share that six years old is the new 16.
As we muddled through really hard days filled with more discord than normally fills an entire six months around my house, I clung to the truth of choice.
I had a choice. I could choose to live in faith that God would walk through this with us, or in fear that we were somehow ruining our child.
I could choose to take heart and face the challenges or take off running away from the issues, scared to face them.
I could choose to love my boy and believe he loved me or I could choose the lies that whisper other atrocities.
Everything is a choice. We can either react to circumstances or we can respond to them in faith.
I reacted quite a bit last week, but I responded in faith more than I would have had I not been fresh off a weekend that encouraged me to cling to the truth.
The truth is that life isn't easy. God never promised us easy lives; free of worries and cares.
What He did was promise to walk with us through the hard times because He cares for us.
This week, I'm trying to choose to walk in the courage of faith.
Walk with me?
A journalist by nature and profession, Hyacynth has been on special assignment from the great editor and chief covering the foreign land of motherhood alongside her brave husband for six years.
See more of Hyacynth's stories here.