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 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 Amanda Miller PC: Unsplash Alone I stumbled back to IMU to frantically pack up our things; alone I crumpled, sobbing, into a corner in the much-too-familiar ICU waiting room; alone I pleaded for updates while they still wouldn’t let me see Brian. This was one of the only days I was alone. It feels a little cruel that this of all times was when no one was there with me, but (especially after the fact) I can see the grace in it. In all reality, I was only by myself for a couple hours — the hours of crisis when I had no idea what was happening with Brian or if it was all over. There was no one to distract me, comfort me, strengthen me—no one to lean on but my God. The other crises I always had people to bolster me, but this time I only had God...and he was enough. Brian made it through the day, and over the next day or two showed small signs of progress — before he started tanking again. His lungs started shutting down, and in a horrible progression he went from room ai
By Jamie Horning Unsplash A year and half into our marriage, still very much in the honeymoon phase, we were tested on “ in sickness and health” to the most extreme. February 28th 2016, I was shot in the neck by a stray bullet while sitting at the kitchen island of my mother’s home. Immediate chaos filled the room. I laid there in a puddle of my own blood surrounded by many people I love dearly, relying on them to save my life. I laid perfectly still, paralyzed with fear and mumbled to my mother “take me to the hospital.” No one understood what had happened, but somehow with such clarity I was able to tell them “I got shot.” My mother instantly held pressure to my neck wound, while my husband called 911. My two young sisters screamed in absolute terror until another friend in the room ushered them away. Blood began to drip off the counter onto my leg, and time felt as though it froze. I remember my exact first thought was I’m going to leave my husband a widow at such a