The Rock That Changed Everything

 There’s a story in The Recovering Farmer about a hidden rock in the road—one that created significant issues. But as it turned out, that rock saved us from something much worse. I won’t give away the whole story here (you’ll have to read the book for that), but let’s just say it taught me a lesson I didn’t see coming: sometimes what trips us up is actually what saves us.

Life, whether on the farm or beyond it, has a way of throwing these unexpected rocks in our path. Some are small stumbles, others feel like full-scale disasters. And in the moment, when you’re flat on your back (or face-first in the mud), it’s hard to see anything but failure, loss, or frustration.

Setbacks hit in different ways. Physically, there’s the exhaustion, the tension in your shoulders, the gut-punch of things not going as planned. Mentally, it’s even heavier. Doubt creeps in. The mind replays every wrong turn. You start questioning if you’ll ever get up again, or if it’s even worth trying.

I’ve been there. More times than I care to count. Farming, finances, family, mental health—life has knocked me down in ways I never saw coming. And in those moments, it felt impossible to believe that anything good could come from the mess.

I have also sometimes heard people say, "What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger." I’ve never fully agreed with that. Sometimes, what doesn’t kill you just leaves you exhausted, broken, or questioning everything. I talk about this in The Recovering Farmer—because the truth is, not every struggle makes us stronger. Some just change us. And maybe that’s the real lesson: strength isn’t about never falling. It’s about figuring out how to stand again, even when you’re not the same as before.

There’s an old saying: When the barn burns down, you can see the sky. I used to think that was just some poetic nonsense. When you're standing in the ashes of what was, it doesn’t feel like a blessing—it feels like loss. But over time, I’ve learned that loss clears space. It forces us to rebuild, to reimagine, to see possibilities we never noticed before.

Every fall I’ve taken—every setback, every so-called failure—has shaped me in ways I never expected. They’ve pushed me toward growth, toward understanding, toward the work I do now. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. And maybe that’s the real lesson: falling isn’t the end. It’s just part of the process.

If you’re feeling like you’ve hit the ground hard, I won’t give you some false promise that everything will magically work out overnight. Getting up takes time. Sometimes it takes help. But I can tell you this—just because you’re down doesn’t mean you’re done.

So take a breath. Look around. And when you’re ready, start looking for the sky.