Reflections

We Were Never Meant to Stay Here Forever

/ Baylee Snelling / 5 Comments

Lately, I’ve found myself thinking more about heaven.

Strangely enough, it’s made me think differently about death.

We spend much of our lives trying to preserve the life we’ve been given.

We exercise.

We take our medicine.

We buckle our seatbelts.

We eat a little healthier.

We do everything we can to care for these fragile bodies God has entrusted to us.

And rightly so.

Life is a gift.

But the older I get, the more heaven feels less like an idea… and more like a promise.

There comes a point when you begin to realize that every goodbye carries a different kind of weight.

You understand why people cry.

Why they linger.

Why they hold hands a little longer.

Because love has a way of making us wish time would slow down.

And yet, as followers of Christ, we grieve differently.

Not because death doesn’t hurt.

It does.

Not because we’ll stop missing the people we love.

We won’t.

But because death was never meant to have the final word.

Sometimes I wonder if we’ve become so attached to this world that we forget it was never meant to be our forever home.

Scripture describes a place where sorrow ends.

Where tears are wiped away.

Where pain no longer has a home.

Where everything broken is finally made whole.

That’s not wishful thinking.

That’s hope.

The kind of hope that allows us to grieve deeply… and still look forward with expectation.

So while my heart still aches at the thought of saying goodbye…

another part of me quietly rejoices.

Because for those who belong to Christ,

death is not the end of the story.

It’s the moment faith becomes sight.

Maybe that’s why heaven has always been called our true home.

Not because this life isn’t beautiful.

It is.

It holds sunsets and laughter.

Children’s voices.

The people we love.

The ordinary moments we’ll one day realize were extraordinary.

Perhaps those moments were never meant to satisfy us completely.

Perhaps they were always meant to awaken a longing for something even greater.

Because even at its very best…

we’re just passing through.

“But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Philippians 3:20 (NIV)

The Weight of Words

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Our preacher spoke from James 3 this morning, and I’ve found myself thinking about it ever since.

James compares the tongue to a bit in a horse’s mouth.

A rudder on a ship.

A tiny spark that can set an entire forest ablaze.

It’s remarkable that something so small can carry so much power.

And yet…

I think most of us know that’s true long before we ever read it in Scripture.

We’ve all experienced words that stayed with us.

Some became a source of courage.

Others became wounds.

Sometimes a sentence spoken in just a few seconds can echo in someone’s heart for years.

I’ve also realized something.

The words spoken to us have a way of becoming the words we speak to ourselves.

If we’re told we’re not enough often enough,
we begin to believe it.

If we’re constantly criticized,
our inner voice slowly learns the same language.

That’s why James isn’t simply warning us to be careful with our words.

He’s reminding us that our words have the power to give life.

Or to leave wounds that linger long after they’ve been spoken.

Not only in the lives of the people around us,
but sometimes in our own hearts as well.

And maybe that’s why I’ve been asking God to do something deeper than helping me choose kinder words.

I’ve been asking Him to reshape my heart.

Because I want the words that leave my mouth—and the words that stay in my mind—to reflect the One who gave me both.

After all, words don’t just reveal what’s in our hearts.

Given enough time…

they begin to shape them, too.

Anchor Verse

“Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark.”

— James 3:5 (NIV)

I Used to Think Contentment Meant Settling

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

For a long time, I thought contentment meant settling.

Like if I became too content with where I was,
I’d stop growing.

I’d stop dreaming.

I’d stop reaching for more.

But I’ve started to think I misunderstood contentment.

Maybe contentment isn’t deciding there’s nothing left to pursue.

Maybe it’s refusing to believe that joy only exists somewhere else.

Somewhere after the next accomplishment.

The next opportunity.

The next season.

The next answered prayer.

I think we spend a lot of our lives looking toward the horizon.

And there’s nothing wrong with having hope for what’s ahead.

But I wonder how much beauty we miss because we’re always looking past today.

Contentment doesn’t erase ambition.

It gives it a healthy foundation.

It quietly says,

“I’m grateful for what God has placed in my hands today, while remaining open to whatever He places there tomorrow.”

Those two things can exist together.

Maybe they were always meant to.

Maybe contentment isn’t the end of becoming.

Maybe it’s the place from which we become.

“I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”
— Philippians 4:11 (NIV)

I Don’t Think God Is in a Hurry

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been thinking about how often I find myself in a hurry.

A hurry to understand.

A hurry to heal.

A hurry to know what’s next.

A hurry to become the person I hope I’ll be.

And then I read through Scripture.

God doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.

He spends years preparing people for the very thing He promised them.

He works through seasons that look quiet.

He allows waiting that feels uncomfortable.

Not because He’s absent.

But because He’s never rushed what He intends to make lasting.

I wonder how much of my frustration comes from expecting God to work on my timeline instead of trusting His.

Because if I’m honest, I usually want answers more quickly than I want wisdom.

I want outcomes more quickly than I want transformation.

But God seems far more interested in forming hearts than shortening timelines.

And strangely…

there’s peace in that.

Not because I suddenly understand everything.

But because I’m slowly learning that God’s pace has never been a reflection of His love.

Only His wisdom.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NIV)

If It Isn’t Good, Then It Isn’t Over

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

I’ll never forget a conversation I had with a family member at the beginning of one of the darkest seasons of my life.

She looked at me and said,

“One thing that has always helped me is remembering this: if it isn’t good, then it isn’t over.”

Those weren’t the exact words of Scripture.

But they pointed me back to the God of Scripture.

And they’ve stayed with me ever since.

At first, I held onto those words because I desperately wanted my circumstances to change.

I needed to believe that pain wasn’t the final chapter.

But over the years, they’ve come to mean something even deeper.

Sometimes life is wonderfully good.

So good that we silently wish it could stay exactly as it is.

A table full of people you love.

A child wrapped around your neck.

A sunset that makes you stop walking.

A day you wish you could live twice.

And yet, even those moments aren’t the end of the story.

Because as beautiful as this life can be…

it’s only a glimpse.

Scripture doesn’t promise us a perfect life here.

It promises something even greater.

A day when everything broken will finally be made whole.

A day when sorrow will have no place.

A day when death itself will be swallowed up forever.

So whether today feels heavy or beautiful, I find comfort in the same truth.

God isn’t finished.

And the best chapter has always been the one still to come.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain…”
— Revelation 21:4 (NIV)

Maybe You Haven’t Met All of Yourself Yet

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I used to think becoming meant adding something I didn’t already have.

More confidence.

More courage.

More ability.

But lately, I’ve started to wonder if becoming is less about adding…

…and more about uncovering.

About recognizing gifts that have been there all along.

Potential that was buried beneath self-doubt.

Strength that only revealed itself when life demanded it.

For a long time, I believed the voice that said,

“You’re not ready yet.”

“You’re not qualified.”

“Someone else could do it better.”

And maybe you’ve heard those voices too.

But what if they were never telling the whole truth?

What if there’s more in you than you’ve allowed yourself to see?

Not because you’re extraordinary.

Not because you’ve suddenly become someone different.

But because God has always seen something in you that you were slow to recognize in yourself.

He doesn’t call us because we’ve already become everything we’re capable of becoming.

He calls us knowing who we’re still growing into.

Maybe that’s why Scripture is filled with ordinary people who initially questioned themselves.

They saw their limitations.

God saw who they could become in His hands.

And I wonder how often we spend our lives arguing with the One who made us about what we’re capable of.

Maybe today is a good day to stop doing that.

Not with arrogance.

With gratitude.

Because seeing the potential God placed within you isn’t pride.

It’s stewardship.

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”
— Ephesians 2:10 (NIV)

I Hope I Never Rush Wonder

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I hope I never become so busy that I stop being impressed by ordinary things.

The way the sky changes just before sunrise.

The sound of a child laughing from another room.

The first deep breath after stepping outside.

The hush that settles over everything just before rain.

I wonder if one of the greatest losses in adulthood isn’t our sense of wonder.

It’s our willingness to slow down long enough to notice it.

We’re always moving toward the next thing.

The next appointment.

The next responsibility.

The next notification.

The next goal.

And somewhere along the way, we become so focused on what’s next that we rush past what’s right in front of us.

But wonder has never liked to be rushed.

It asks us to linger.

To look a little longer.

To listen a little more closely.

To let an ordinary moment become extraordinary simply because we gave it our attention.

Maybe that’s why Jesus so often pointed people toward the ordinary.

Seeds.

Birds.

Lilies.

Children.

He wasn’t just teaching lessons.

He was teaching people to notice.

And I think that’s a lesson I need just as much today.

I hope I never become so familiar with God’s creation that I stop seeing His fingerprints in it.

I hope I never rush wonder.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”
— Psalm 19:1 (NIV)

I Am Chosen to Be His

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

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?

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

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

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

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)