From the Middle

If You’ve Found Yourself Here

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

It’s interesting,
how when we know about something in advance, we plan for it.
If I’d known I would someday be carrying so much heartache,
I would’ve done anything to avoid it.

We don’t ever knowingly walk straight into pain.

But somehow —
God has taken the wreckage of what tried to undo me,
and turned it into a place where others can rest.

Not because I have all the answers.
Not because everything is healed.
But because I know what it feels like to wonder if it ever will be.

I know the silence.
The shame.
The desperate searching for someone — anyone —
who’s been there too.

And now?
I get to be that voice.
That pause.
That reminder:
You’re not alone.
You’re not too broken.
You’re not behind.

This isn’t polished ministry.
It’s sacred survival.
It’s presence.
And somehow, it’s purpose.

So if you’ve found yourself here —
in this quiet corner of the internet —
I hope you know this:

You can rest for a moment.
I’ve made space for you here.
From the wreckage I never planned for… to your weary heart…
thank you, for allowing my voice to offer you comfort.
You are welcome here.

When Joy Comes Back Quietly

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

No one really talks about the part where joy returns —
softly.
Unexpectedly.
Almost like it’s knocking on a door you didn’t think would open again.

You’re still in the middle of it.
Still waiting on answers.
Still holding pieces of things that haven’t healed.

And yet…

You find yourself laughing — really laughing —
and it doesn’t feel forced.
You notice sunlight filtering through the trees,
and it actually stirs something in you.
You start to feel curious again —
about life, about yourself,
about what could still be possible.

It’s disorienting, isn’t it?
After so much survival,
you almost feel guilty for coming alive again.

But this —
this is what healing starts to look like.
Not a finish line.
But little signs of life
breaking through the cracks of everything that tried to bury you.

You don’t have to apologize for the joy.
You don’t have to explain the strength.
You don’t have to wait for perfect to begin living again.

This moment is holy.
This joy is allowed.
And this life — right here — is still yours.

Scripture

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
— John 10:10 (NIV)

The Kind of Noise That Calms the Heart

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Sometimes the quiet comes in unexpected forms

It wasn’t a quiet weekend.
Not in the way I thought I needed.
The air was full —
of movement,
of moments overlapping,
of little feet and loud laughter
and lives brushing against each other.

But there was something in that fullness
that eased the ache.

Not by fixing it.
Not by filling it.
Just… by being louder than the thoughts
that usually linger too long.

Sometimes healing doesn’t arrive
in hushed tones and solitude.
Sometimes it’s wrapped
in the noise of other people’s joy
and making it a part of your own —
and that’s enough to steady what feels undone.

And maybe that was the grace of it all —
not silence,
but presence.
Not stillness,
but the steady rhythm of life carrying on.

The Road I Didn’t Choose

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

This isn’t the ticket I purchased.
This isn’t the ride I signed up for.
And yet — here I am.

I cling to Isaiah 42:16 and feel steadied:

“I will lead the blind by a way they did not know;
I will guide them on paths they have not known.
I will turn darkness to light in front of them
And rough places into level ground.
This is what I will do for them,
And I will not abandon them.”

This road wasn’t part of my plan.
But maybe it was always part of His.

And now, I choose to believe:
This unfamiliar path is the one He is guiding.
I know He’s here.
I feel His nearness.

This new road —
unexpected, unchosen —
is the only one worth walking
because He walks it with me.

Nothing Wasted 

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I used to wonder if any of it mattered —
the long nights,
the unanswered prayers,
the pain I couldn’t explain.

I used to question
why I had to walk through certain things at all.
Why it hurt.
Why it was allowed.
Why it had to look like loss.

But slowly —
quietly —
I’ve learned this truth:

With God, nothing is wasted.

Not the tears no one saw.
Not the silent waiting.
Not the ache that made it hard to breathe.
Not even the seasons I thought had no purpose at all.

He gathers it all.
And somehow,
He brings beauty from it.

It might not look like I imagined.
It might not come quickly.
But His grace doesn’t leave things unfinished.

Even here —
in what felt like failure,
in what still feels tender —
He’s writing redemption into every line.

So I’ll keep going.
Trusting the One
who doesn’t waste a thing.

Strength in the Tenderness

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

That ache in your chest?
It’s not weakness.
It’s your heart being honest.
It’s the weight of loving deeply
while walking through something impossibly unfair.

You’re not bitter —
you care.
You’ve carried so much,
stayed soft when life begged you to go hard.
You’ve loved well,
even when you weren’t loved back the same way.
You’re human —
and this hurts.

So if the tears fall tonight —
let them.
If the ache stirs —
let it speak.
It means your heart is still open.
Still tender.
Still beautifully alive.

That’s not a weakness.
That’s your strength —
whispering through the ache
that love still lives here.

Love Letters in Black-Edged Envelopes

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Finding grace in what once felt like grief

There are days I wonder how I ever make it through.
Not because I’m prideful —
but because I’m constantly reminded of how deeply I ache,
how lost I feel,
how certain I am, at times, that the pain will never ease.

But it does.
Slowly. Quietly.
And in ways I still have yet to fully see.

I came across this quote by Charles Spurgeon, and it stopped me:

“I bear my witness that the worst days I have ever had have turned out to be my best days.
And when God has seemed most cruel to me He has then been most kind…
Our Father’s wagons rumble most heavily when they are bringing us the richest freight of the bullion of His grace…
Love letters from heaven are often sent in black-edged envelopes.”

It’s a hard truth to hold —
that some of the most tender mercies arrive dressed as heartache.
That the pain that almost unravels me
is also what softens me,
what refines me,
what keeps making room for something deeper.

There were nights I cried out to God with no reply.
Moments I felt abandoned.
Parts of my story that felt unfair — even unredeemable.

But He is here.
In the silence.
In the stretch.
In the storm.

And the very things I begged to be taken away
are slowly becoming the places where I see Him most clearly.
Not always in answers —
but in presence.

I don’t say this lightly:
I wouldn’t have chosen this pain.
But I also wouldn’t trade what I’ve found in the wreckage.

Because it’s here —
in the rebuilding,
in the quiet grace of a still-standing soul —
that I’ve seen the truth of Spurgeon’s words:

This storm isn’t breaking me.
It’s bringing me home.

A Letter to the Present Moment

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I used to think healing meant moving forward —
quickly, cleanly, clearly.
But I’ve come to realize,
some of the most important parts of healing
happen when I’m not going anywhere at all.

Just here.
Still.
Sitting in the slow stretch of the present moment.

It’s not always comfortable.
I find myself reaching for distractions,
searching for answers,
wishing for resolution.

But I’m learning not to rush this season.
Not to escape it,
fix it,
or numb it.

Just…
to be in it.
To breathe through it.
To let it shape me
without stealing me.

There’s something sacred here —
in the pause,
in the waiting,
in the not-yet-knowing.

So tonight, I’m practicing presence.
Letting today be enough.
Letting now be holy.

They say, “the most beautiful skies come after the worst storms.”
Who they are, I’ll never know.
But I do know this —
it’s true.
And I can’t wait to see just how beautiful the sky is.

When Words Don’t Come Easily

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Some days, it’s harder to show up with open hands —
especially when you still have open wounds.

Some days, things happen that don’t make sense.
Some days, the ache gets a little louder —
and the silence that follows it feels heavier than usual.

But I’m here.
Still breathing in the hope and promises of God.
Still believing that healing isn’t undone by disappointment.

Maybe you’ve had a day like that too.

So I won’t pretend tonight.
I’ll just light this small candle in the window
and whisper —
you’re not alone… and neither am I.

In the Stretch Between

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a certain kind of quiet
that lives in the in-between.
After what’s been planned —
before what makes sense.

It’s not quite peace.
Not quite panic.
Just… waiting.
A stretch of time
where clarity feels far away,
and trust becomes a choice
you keep making in the dark.

That’s where I am right now.

And I don’t have anything polished to say.
No deep revelation.
No strength to spare.
Just this: I’m here.

Still praying.
Still breathing.
Still trusting the One who sees what I can’t.

Because I don’t know what’s next —
but I know who’s holding me.
And sometimes that has to be enough.

So if you’re in the stretch too —
between the ache and the answer,
between the weight and the relief —
you’re not alone.

This space might not feel holy,
but I believe it is.

And even here,
you are still held.