There’s something sacred about a new week and a new month — especially when it begins on a Sunday.

It feels like a quiet reset.

A gentle grounding.

A deep breath before the clouds roll in.

Even if the forecast says ten straight days of rain.

And the truth is — we need the moisture. We’re dry. The fields are thirsty. Not for flash floods. Not for tornados. Just steady rain. The kind that seeps deep and strengthens the roots.

Maybe that’s what this season is doing to us too.

February was short on the calendar… but it felt long in the bones.

Long nights in the barn helping heifers bring new life into this world.

Long prayers whispered into dark hospital rooms.

Long stretches of waiting — believing — hoping for another miracle.

And yet, here we are.

March is here.

And I’m welcoming it with open arms and an open heart.

This month, I’m releasing control over what I cannot carry.

Setting boundaries where I need rest.

Letting go of the noise that doesn’t refill my cup.

I’m leaning into the writing — because if you’ve noticed, it’s been pouring out of me lately. (And if you haven’t, the blog space at chroniclesofkayla.com has become my therapy.)

Rain days mean catch-up days.

Bills. Paperwork. Farm books.

Editing backlogged footage.

Cleaning corners I’ve ignored.

And opening my Bible wider than my planner.

March will be full — muddy paws, muck boots, green fields trying to push through, and another round of radiation starting this week.

The clouds are heavy.

But so is our faith.

And sometimes strength doesn’t look like having it all together.

Sometimes it looks like still showing up — even when the sky feels heavy.

Let’s not lose sight of what matters most this month. 🍀

Faith.

Family.

Farm. 

And the quiet grit it takes to keep walking forward.

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“The clouds may be heavy, but so is the promise that rain grows what drought cannot.”

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Lord,

As March begins, we release what we were never meant to control. Send the rain our fields need and the grace our hearts need. Strengthen our roots in You when the clouds feel heavy. Protect our families, guide our doctors, steady our hands in the barn and in the hospital rooms. Help us trust You in the mud, in the waiting, and in the healing. We believe You are still working,  even when the skies are gray.

Amen.