Author: Baylee Snelling

I Am Chosen to Be His

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There are days when circumstances try to tell us who we are.

A difficult season says we’re forgotten.

A disappointment says we’re overlooked.

A failure says we’re not enough.

A closed door says we’re unwanted.

And if we’re not careful, we start listening.

We allow temporary circumstances
to become permanent conclusions.

But lately, I’ve been returning to a simple truth:

I am chosen to be His.

Not because everything is going according to plan.

Not because life feels easy.

Not because every prayer has been answered the way I hoped.

I am chosen to be His regardless.

Before the outcome.

Before the breakthrough.

Before the explanation.

Before the healing.

Before any of the things I keep waiting on.

And there is something incredibly freeing about that.

Because if my identity comes from Him,
then it doesn’t rise and fall with my circumstances.

A difficult season cannot take away what God has already declared.

An unanswered question cannot undo what He has already spoken.

A hard chapter cannot change whose I am.

The world may change.

My circumstances may change.

My emotions may change.

But this remains:

I am chosen to be His.

And that is enough.

“For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.”
— Ephesians 1:4 (NIV)

Why Are We So Afraid of Looking Foolish?

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When did we become so afraid of looking foolish?

Children don’t seem to worry about it.

They sing when they feel like singing.

Dance when they feel like dancing.

Ask questions without wondering if they’re the wrong ones.

They aren’t constantly calculating how they’ll be perceived.

But somewhere along the way, many of us start doing exactly that.

We become careful.

Measured.

Concerned with getting things right.

And while some of that comes with maturity,
I wonder if some of it comes from fear.

Fear of failing.

Fear of being misunderstood.

Fear of trying something and discovering we’re not immediately good at it.

The truth is,
most things worth doing require us to look a little foolish first.

The beginner looks foolish.

The learner looks foolish.

The person stepping into something new looks foolish.

But they also grow.

And sometimes I wonder how many opportunities we’ve missed
because we wanted certainty before we were willing to begin.

Maybe courage isn’t the absence of embarrassment.

Maybe courage is being willing to look a little foolish
in pursuit of something meaningful.

“For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.”
— 2 Timothy 1:7 (NIV)

Feelings Make Terrible Historians

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I’ve learned that feelings are excellent messengers.

But terrible historians.

They tell me what this moment feels like.

They tell me what hurts.

What excites me.

What overwhelms me.

What brings me joy.

But they don’t always tell the whole story.

Because a difficult day can convince me that everything is difficult.

A lonely moment can convince me that I’m alone.

A fearful thought can convince me that I’m unsafe.

And if I’m not careful, I start building conclusions from emotions that were only meant to deliver information.

I’ve had days where I felt forgotten.

And later remembered all the ways I wasn’t.

Days where I felt overwhelmed.

And later saw how much grace had been holding me up.

Days where I felt stuck.

And later realized I was moving forward the entire time.

That’s why I’m grateful that truth doesn’t shift with my emotions.

Because some days my feelings are accurate.

And some days they’re incomplete.

And on those days, I need something steadier than how I happen to feel.

I need truth.

And I’m learning that faith often looks like remembering what is true, even when my emotions are telling a smaller story.

“All your words are true; all your righteous laws are eternal.”
— Psalm 119:160 (NIV)

The Waves Don’t Ask Permission

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One thing I’ve noticed about waves is that they never ask permission before they arrive.

They don’t check whether you’re ready.

They don’t wait until you’re rested.

They don’t pause because you’ve already had enough.

They just come.

Some barely reach your ankles.

Others knock you completely off balance.

And standing there watching them, I couldn’t help but think about how much life works the same way.

So much of life arrives uninvited.

Responsibilities.

Changes.

Opportunities.

Disappointments.

The things we prayed for.

The things we never would have chosen.

Rarely on our timeline.

Rarely with a warning.

And for a long time, I thought strength meant learning how to stop the waves.

How to predict them.

How to prepare for every possibility.

But maybe strength is something simpler than that.

Maybe it’s learning that you can stand back up after one knocks you down.

Not because every wave is small.

But because you’ve learned they won’t carry you away.

And because God has never left you standing in them alone.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”
— Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)

Hungry for More

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Lately, I’ve felt hungry for more.

Not more stuff.

Not more achievement.

Not even more time.

Just more.

More stillness.

More patience.

More energy.

More confidence.

More purpose in the work I do.

More awareness of the opportunities God places in front of me.

And for a while, I wondered if that made me ungrateful.

Because I have so much to be thankful for.

But I don’t think gratitude and hunger are opposites.

I think sometimes they exist together.

I can be grateful for where I am
while still believing God isn’t finished growing me.

I can appreciate this season
while still feeling drawn toward something deeper.

Maybe that’s what hunger is.

Not dissatisfaction.

Invitation.

“You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you…”
— Psalm 63:1 (NIV)

Trusting or Analyzing?

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I’m starting to wonder if sometimes I’ve mistaken analyzing for trusting.

I tell myself I’m processing.

Thinking things through.
Trying to understand.
Trying to prepare for every possible outcome.
Trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense.

And to a point, that’s healthy.

But eventually there comes a moment when all the thinking stops producing clarity.

And starts producing exhaustion.

A moment when I’m no longer seeking understanding.

I’m seeking control.

Because if I can understand it,
I can predict it.

If I can predict it,
I can prepare for it.

And if I can prepare for it,
maybe it won’t hurt so much.

But that’s not trust.

Trust doesn’t require me to know every outcome.

Trust doesn’t demand an explanation for every uncertainty.

Trust says:

I don’t know exactly how this unfolds, but I know Who does.

And honestly?

I think that’s where I get stuck sometimes.

Not because I don’t trust God.

But because I trust my own analysis more than His ability to hold what I can’t understand.

And that’s a difficult thing to admit.

Because there are situations in life that simply refuse to fit neatly into a spreadsheet.

Questions that don’t get answered on my timeline.

Problems that can’t be solved by thinking about them one more time.

At some point, faith asks me to set down the calculator.

Not because understanding is bad.

But because understanding was never meant to replace trust.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
— Proverbs 3:5 (NIV)

God Has Been Patient With Me

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The more life I experience,
the more I notice how patient God has been with me.

Patient in my waiting.
Patient in my overthinking.
Patient in the ways I’ve circled the same fears more than once.

And honestly,
I don’t think I always extend that same patience to myself.

I expect myself to heal faster.
Trust quicker.
Understand things immediately.

I get frustrated when I feel like I’m still struggling with something
I thought I should’ve moved past already.

But God doesn’t seem to respond to us that way.

Over and over throughout scripture,
He remains steady with people while they learn.

While they doubt.
While they wander.
While they ask the same questions again and again.

And maybe that’s part of grace too.

Not just that we’re loved.

But that we’re loved patiently.

Not rushed.
Not discarded when growth takes time.

Just gently led forward,
again and again.

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed…”
— Psalm 103:13–14 (NIV)

I Missed This About Being Younger

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I think one of the strangest parts of getting older
is realizing how little it takes to make a day feel full when you’re young.

A late-night drive.
A gas station drink.
A random conversation that lasts too long.
Music playing too loud in the car for no reason.

And somehow, that was enough.

Now life feels so much more structured.

Schedules.
Responsibilities.
Appointments.
Trying to remember everything all the time.

And I don’t necessarily miss being younger.

But I do think I miss the lightness of it sometimes.

The ability to be fully present somewhere
without mentally standing in three other places at once.

And maybe adulthood is partly learning
how to find that again.

Not by going backwards.

But by remembering that life is still happening
inside the ordinary moments too.

Not just inside the stressful ones.

“However many years anyone may live, let them enjoy them all…”
— Ecclesiastes 11:8 (NIV)

It Changed the Way I Saw Hardship

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I heard someone say recently,

“The devil doesn’t need to make life harder
for those who are already his.”

And while I don’t think life is always that simple,
the statement stayed with me.

Because for a long time,
I think part of me believed
that following God closely
would eventually lead to an easier life.

More peace.
More clarity.
Less resistance.

But that’s not actually what Scripture promises.

If anything,
some of the people closest to God in the Bible
walked through tremendous suffering.

Not because God abandoned them.

But because hardship and holiness
have never been mutually exclusive.

And honestly,
that changed the way I started viewing difficult seasons.

Not as proof that God is absent.
Not as punishment.
Not as failure.

But as part of living in a broken world
while still trying to remain anchored to Him inside of it.

Because faith was never about avoiding hardship.

It was about knowing Who remains beside you through it.

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
— John 16:33 (NIV)

The Flowers I Didn’t Plant

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I’ve been thinking about the things that grow in us
that we never intentionally planted.

Not strength itself—
I’ve spent years trying to become stronger.

Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.

But there are other things
I didn’t realize were growing too.

Discernment.
Resilience.
Perspective.

A deeper understanding of myself.
Of people.
Of God.

Somehow, they grew quietly in the background
while I was busy just trying to make it through certain seasons.

And that’s what surprises me sometimes—

How growth can happen
simultaneously with grief.

You don’t always notice it immediately.

You’re too close to it.
Too inside of it.

But one day you look at yourself
and realize something exists in you now
that didn’t before.

Not because you chased it.

But because God was still growing things
even in seasons that felt uncertain.

Maybe that’s the strange beauty of life.

That even painful seasons
can leave something beautifully meaningful behind.

Flowers we never meant to plant.

“We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
— Romans 5:3–4 (NIV)