You've found yourself in a hard place. You are looking for a way out, a purpose, hope through this experience. You are not alone. Others are in hard places too. Others have been in your shoes and have come out the other side. Here are their stories of how they found The Rock in their hard place.
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Hope for the Hard Holidays
Guest Post for Deeply Rooted Magazine By Kara Ranck
“It’s the most wonderful time of the year! There'll be much
mistltoeing, and hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near… ” proclaims
the famous Christmas song by Andy Williams. But are those words true of your
Stop for a minute and picture your favorite Christmas memory from
childhood. For many of us, our childhood memories of Christmas appear magical.
This was back before we understood that carols might be drowning out intense
adult conversations, or that twinkling lights blinded us to the angry looks
passed between relatives. Back before we knew the realities of life in a fallen
world with fallen people—even during “the most wonderful time of the year.”
We desperately long to go back to those magical memories, because
we know now holidays can be hard. Many of us try to replicate those past
enchanted celebrations for our own family and children, but end up feeling like
we fail simply because our image of the perfect holiday has already been
shattered... Read More at Deeply Rooted.
Kara Ranck lives with her husband, two preschoolers, and cows on their family dairy farm in Pennsylvania. Kara curates The Rock + a Hard Place, a collective site of essaysgiving testimonies of how God (the Rock) meets people in their hard places. You can follow on Instagram @therock.and.ahardplace or the blog at https://www.therockandahardplace.com
This site is a collection of real stories by real people about The Rock in their hard places.
It is curated and edited by Kara Ranck, who is a wife and mother of two children living in Pennsylvania. Kara herself has traveled some hard places in life and knows there is hope and power when we tell our personal stories about The Rock, which brings us through. Thank you for joining us here!
By Tiffany Miller I wish I could say I remember the exact song that was playing, what I was wearing, or even the date. Sadly I don’t remember any of those details about the day I heard God speak. I couldn’t hear audible words in my ears, but there was no denying what God was saying to my heart on that Sunday while worship music played around me. “I have adopted you as my own, and you are to do likewise for your next child.” My husband and I were blessed early in our marriage with two beautiful sons. I loved my pregnancies and adored seeing them grow from tiny newborns into personality-filled toddlers. Our boys were ages 4 and 2 at the time, and we had been discussing “when” we’d like to have a third baby, but that was the extent of the conversation. So when I told my husband what God firmly pressed on my heart later that night, he was clearly surprised. None of our families or close friends had adopted before, and we were (wrongly!) under the impression that adopting a c
By Amanda Miller PC: Unsplash One of my husband’s characteristic sayings is, “What’s the worst that can happen?” It’s meant to dissuade anxiety or unrealistic worries, and it used to help a little. Until one day, the worst did happen. Brian was ran over by a tractor. Actually, he was run over by the farming implement the tractor was pulling — a 20-thousand-pound no-till drill, a heavy beast fitted with rows of sharp discs meant to plow through hard-packed Kansas soil. The tractor kept going, until it lodged itself in a grove of trees in the middle of the section, a quarter mile from the dirt road. So by the time anyone started to be concerned at Brian’s absence, it was already getting dark. I was at work, and normally I would have tried to be in contact with Brian several times throughout the afternoon and evening, but I was in the throes of prepping for and teaching a cooking class and didn’t notice that there was no response to my single text. I had
By Kara Ranck PC: Unsplash The shutdown in March provided the opportunity to tackle an extensive home renovation in our 1889 farmhouse. From March through June, you could find me removing wallpaper that my husband’s great-grandmother hung, scraping chipped paint off ceilings and spindles, spackling, sanding, scraping again, sanding again, and priming. By July, I was ready to paint. It’s mid-September, and we are finally done—with that project, that is. As I look around my home, I can make a long list of jobs that still remain. That’s the nature of home ownership, especially owning an old house. There is always something to improve and maintain. An update to satisfy the standard of living we desire. The list never ends; the paint keeps chipping. Our lives are a lot like our homes. We keep improving, trying to update ourselves to maintain or satisfy who we desire to be. I have spent most of my almost 34 years attempting to measure up on my own strength. Even as a professing Christ fo