After navigating miles of narrow country roads, we finally located the small dirt lot and pulled to a stop, gazing around at the Scottish countryside. According to our map, there was supposed to be a castle nearby, but we couldn’t spot it. A marked path led over a creek and through a wooded area so we followed it, curious. Finally, around the bend, we spotted it in the distance, and stopped in awe. An enormous rock fortress stood before us, over five stories high.

Hermitage Castle has survived 800 years of history, warfare and intrigue. It is fascinating to imagine living in such a place so long ago. I would imagine that anyone tucked safely behind those stone walls, each rock fitted tightly between the others, would feel secure against the dangers outside.

Ireland, Scotland and England have an abundance of rocks. We were amazed to see the vast amounts of rock all over the countryside. Roads were lined with rock walls. Countless sheep grazed in fields that were crisscrossed with rock enclosures. Entire villages were built of stone, which we crossed stone bridges to reach. It is why their history is so well preserved, I suppose.

Most impressive to me, other than the castles great and small, were the beautiful stone churches. From small country chapels to magnificent cathedrals, churches of stone were in every village, town and city.

The more we explored that part of the world, the deeper my admiration grew for those long-ago people, pulling rock after rock after rock out of the ground in order to make room to grow their food, and then using those rocks to shelter their families and livestock, and to worship their God. The sheer, backbreaking labor involved humbles me to imagine.

Did they curse the stony ground? Bemoan the rocky soil? They could have heaved the stones into piles in disgust. But instead, they used them to create things both useful and beautiful.

Like those determined people from centuries past, we too have been born into a harsh and troubled world. The rocks in our way are now more figurative than literal, but the challenge they present is similar. I have struggled with life’s stony ground. We all have. I have run up against difficult people; stumbled over painful circumstances. I have watched some people shatter their faith while struggling with life’s troubles. But I have watched others build something beautiful out of their suffering.

We can break ourselves in frustration, trying to kick those stubborn rocks out of our way. Or we can gather them like life lessons, building homes and sanctuaries, places to welcome others in from the cold, or fortresses to rescue and protect the vulnerable.

By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.

Proverbs 24:3-4

I know a woman who used cancer’s suffering to share hope with an ever-increasing circle of medical professionals and fellow patients. Another woman leveraged the loss of her children into a ministry to comfort other grieving parents. Both were filled with passion and, yes, joy as they painstakingly crafted something worthwhile out of devastation.

Their examples humble and motivate me. They call me to focus not on the depth of my troubles, but on the potential contained in the rubble at my feet. I can build a storehouse for bitterness, or a home for other weary travelers; a prison for my poisoned soul, or a lighthouse for others in their storms.

Jesus is either the rock we stumble over or the cornerstone of our lives, the Bible says. The heavy stone that sealed His grave was moved at an angel’s touch on the morning of His resurrection. But people have been stumbling over it ever since: His claims are either something we kick against or build upon; either a boulder in our way, or the foundation stone for something of worth.

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

Psalm 91:1-2

Jesus used his suffering and grief to give us life. His devastation bought our freedom. And our calling is to follow in his footsteps, counting it joy to bring light and hope to bear on the suffering around us, using our own pain as the raw materials of beauty.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 53:5

Such words can sound trite. Dismissive of the pain that dogs our prayers. But I can easily bring to mind many names of people who have lived the truth of them; real people in deep suffering. I hope you can too. Their light leads us to hope. To courage. And, miraculously, to joy.

I also don’t know a single person who built alone. We are all building a holy house together, the Bible says, which means that we need each other to call out the possibilities in our circumstances, and then bend their backs to help hoist our burdens onto a solid foundation.

Jesus makes it possible for us to be an architect of beauty; a defiant voice of peace against despair; a home-builder who welcomes other wounded souls to their table. His love, always and ever, lending the strength to start stacking rocks as shelter against the night.

As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him— you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

1 Peter 2:4-5