Reflections

When You Show Up Anyway

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I wasn’t fully prepared.
I didn’t train the way I thought I should.
But I showed up anyway.
And somehow, I made it through.
Not just made it — I finished stronger than I expected.

This morning, I ran a half marathon.
And no, this isn’t a post about mileage or pace.
This is about something quieter —
something that happens when you keep going,
even when your mind tells you that you can’t.

It’s about showing up under-equipped,
under-prepared,
and still being met by a strength that wasn’t your own.

Because here’s the thing I’m still learning:
You don’t always need to feel ready to begin.
You don’t need the perfect plan, or the perfect mindset.
You just need willingness.
And God can work with that.

Sometimes the most sacred victories aren’t the loud ones —
they’re the ones that feel small at first.
They happen in a moment you could’ve tapped out,
but you didn’t.
When you kept going,
and something holy met you in the middle of your lack.

Anchor Verse

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)

Learning to See What’s Holy

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Discernment means spiritual understanding.
It’s the ability to sense or recognize what is true, right, or aligned with God —
even when things are confusing or painful.

It’s not just about decision-making.
It’s about seeing with wisdom instead of emotion alone.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if God is teaching me this.
Not by handing me answers,
but by letting me wrestle with what peace feels like.
By letting me feel the difference between what’s real and what just looks good.
By staying near while I learn how to tell the difference.

In this kind of season, discernment often doesn’t come all at once.
It’s something God shapes slowly —
in the quiet, in the questions, and in the in‑between places.

It looks like learning to tell the difference between peace and pressure.
To feel what’s rooted in Him, and what’s driven by fear or control.
It’s recognizing His presence even in hard places —
remembering that just because something hurts doesn’t mean He’s absent.
And it’s trusting His timing, even when waiting feels like a wilderness.
Because sometimes clarity grows best in the pause.

So when I asked, “Why would God allow this?”
Or, “What could He possibly be doing with this?”
Maybe part of the answer is:
He’s helping me see what’s holy in the middle of it.

Not just what’s happening,
but what He’s shaping in me as it happens.

And maybe that’s what discernment really is —
not just clarity, but closeness.

Anchor Verse
“Teach me good judgment and discernment, for I rely on your commands.”
Psalm 119:66 (CSB)

The Holes We Keep Digging

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

“You’re not good enough.”
Digs hole.

“You wouldn’t be anywhere without me.”
Digs hole deeper.

“You’ll never amount to anything.”
And deeper.

“You’re crazy.”
And deeper.

“You need help.”
And deeper still.

Until the voice that started as a whisper feels like it’s echoing off the walls of the pit you’re standing in.

And then…
that’s when Satan smiles.
Because that’s exactly where he wants you — buried beneath lies that sound a little too familiar to question.

But here’s the thing:
You don’t belong in that hole.
You were never meant to live underground.

The same voice that called Lazarus out of the tomb is calling you too.
And the ground that once held you captive?
It’s shaking.

Because truth is louder than lies.
And grace is stronger than guilt.
And even here —
even now —
you can stop digging.

Anchor Verse:

“He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”
Psalm 40:2 (NIV)

Scared Then, Brave Now

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Five years ago — almost to the day — I wrote these words in the notes app on my phone:

“Having faith doesn’t always mean God will change our situation, it may mean that He changes us. I prayed more fervently than ever before for the Lord to change my situation. He knew what He was doing, just like He always does, and changed me. Ultimately, my situation did change. I know now, for the better. God knows exactly where we need to be, at the exact time that we need to be there and He NEVER leaves us. I was terrified of what would come, but knew that God was in control. As Pete the Cat (and my nieces) say, ‘you have to be scared to be brave.’ I was scared, and now, now I am brave.”

Reading that now, five years later — in a season I never could’ve anticipated — I realize how true those words still are.

Life feels a little like a merry-go-round sometimes. We come back around to familiar places. We feel things we thought we’d already worked through. We revisit fears we thought we had outgrown.

And yet, God still meets us there. Every time.

I didn’t know back then that I’d need those words again now. That the prayers I whispered in that season would echo again in this one. But that’s what He does — He weaves grace through time. He anchors us with reminders from our own journey.

I was scared then.
And I’m not fearless now — not really.
But I am brave.
Because I know who’s standing beside me.

Anchor Verse:
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Deuteronomy 31:6 (NIV)

When I Leave My Heart Behind

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a kind of quiet that follows certain goodbyes.

Not the kind that signals rest —
but the kind that hangs in the space where presence used to be.
Where laughter echoed just an hour ago.
Where tiny feet ran from room to room.
Where arms wrapped around my neck like they never wanted to let go.

And then, in an instant, it’s quiet again.

When I leave my heart behind,
I hold my breath until I get it back.

Not because I don’t trust.
Not because I’m falling apart.
But because love this deep —
the kind you carry in your bones —
doesn’t know how to exhale when part of you is missing.

Still, I’m learning…

How to breathe in the waiting.
How to find peace in the pause.
How to let the ache be evidence of love — not lack.
How to trust that what God holds, He holds well.

Some days feel heavier than others.
Some goodbyes stretch a little longer.
Some quiets echo a little louder.

But even here,
in this space between letting go and holding on again —
there is grace.

Anchor Verse:
“The Lord watches over you—the Lord is your shade at your right hand.”
Psalm 121:5 (NIV)

What Draws Me Closer

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a quote I came across recently:

“Sadness that brings you closer to God is better than happiness that pulls you further away.”

It stung my heart in the best kind of way.

Because if I’m being honest — my life doesn’t look like what I thought it would two years ago.
It doesn’t even look like what I thought it would one year ago.
There’s a version of life I imagined, prayed for, maybe even tried to build myself.

But here I am… not at the end of the storm, but squarely in the middle of it.
And still — I’m more at peace than I’ve ever been.

Because this kind of peace?
It isn’t circumstantial.
It isn’t surface-deep.
It’s the kind that settles in when you’ve finally stopped chasing the kind of “happiness” that always leaves you empty.

I can look back now at moments that felt happy on the outside —
And realize that my heart still ached underneath it all.
I called it joy, but it was just distraction.
I called it peace, but it was just quiet tension.
I called it fulfillment, but I was starving inside for something real.

Something deeper.
Something truer.
Something eternal.

And so while there are things I still grieve —
Plans that changed.
People who left.
Parts of myself I had to let go of…

I celebrate what I’ve found in the aftermath:
A God who never walked away.
A presence that met me in my lowest moments.
A love that doesn’t depend on how happy I feel, but on how deeply I’m held.

So no — my life doesn’t look like what I pictured.
But it looks more like Jesus.
And that, I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Anchor Verse

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
John 14:27 (NIV)

When You’re Ready to Be Done

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Have you ever just… wanted to tap out?

Not in a dramatic way.

Not even in a crisis.

Just in that quiet, soul-deep sigh of

“I don’t think I can carry this anymore.”

Like you’re in a relay race, but your teammate is nowhere in sight.

Like you’ve been doing your part, and you keep looking back, hoping God’s about to step in and take the baton.

But He doesn’t.

Not yet.

And so you keep running.

But you’re not sure why.

We talk a lot about God’s timing.

But what about ours?

What happens when our timing says, “This season should be over by now”?

What do we do when our souls feel finished,

but the story hasn’t let us stop?

Maybe we wrestle.

Maybe we go silent.

Maybe we pray prayers we never thought we’d pray.

I don’t have a neat ending for this.

But I’m learning this:

Sometimes, what feels like a delay is actually a deepening.
And sometimes, the ache is what carves out room for something we weren’t ready for yet.

Anchor Verse:
“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”

Exodus 14:14 (NIV)

It’s Okay to Feel It All

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

“There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”
(Ecclesiastes 3:4)

I think about that often — especially when my heart doesn’t seem to know which one it’s doing.

Because sometimes, healing feels like both.

Like crying in the car but smiling at the checkout line.
Like praying with gratitude while still aching with grief.
Like holding a hope so fragile, you don’t even have words for it yet.

I was talking recently with a group of young women, and we started sharing what we do when we’re afraid. Some said they speak truth over themselves. Others breathe deeply or write things down. I told them that sometimes, I just let myself feel it.

Because Scripture doesn’t tell us to pretend we’re fine.
It tells us there is a time for everything.
Even fear.
Even sorrow.

Even the kind of ache you thought you should’ve outgrown by now.

So if today you find yourself smiling through tears, or laughing with something heavy still in your chest — that’s okay.

You’re allowed to feel the joy and the sorrow.
The peace and the ache.
The hope and the hurt.

Both can be holy.
Both can be part of your becoming.

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

To Everything I’ve Ever Lost

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Not just what I’ve lost—but what I’ve found because of it.

We don’t always get to choose what’s taken from us. But we do get to choose what we do with the empty space that’s left behind.

And sometimes, if we’re honest, it’s not until we’re brought to our knees by loss that we look up and remember who’s been standing there all along.

That’s what this photo reminded me of:

“To everything I’ve ever lost, thank you for bringing me closer to Jesus.”

It stopped me in my tracks because it’s true. I wouldn’t wish some of the heartbreak I’ve walked through on anyone, but I also wouldn’t trade what it gave me—an intimacy with Jesus I might’ve never known otherwise.

Loss can strip us of our plans, our people, our sense of stability. But it can’t take the One who walks us through the fire.

So maybe the most unexpected gratitude we can offer is this: Thank You for the losses that led me here.

To trust. To surrender. To deeper healing. To Jesus.

Anchor Verse

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

When It All Feels Like Too Much

/ Baylee Snelling / 3 Comments

You know when life feels like one giant snowball — rolling faster and heavier with every hit of bad news?

Like you barely catch your breath from one thing, and the next thing knocks you down again?

Yeah. Me too.

But I’m starting to believe that those seasons — the ones that feel like too much — might actually be the very ground God uses to prepare us for what’s coming.

Not because He’s punishing us.
But because He’s forming us.

Because without the hard, we don’t always know how to recognize the holy.
Without the ache, we don’t always appreciate the abundance.

And I think He really wants us to be able to appreciate what’s coming.

Not just survive it.
But savor it.

So if you’re in the middle of what feels like a relentless season —
where the good feels distant and the hits just keep coming —
don’t give up hope.

This isn’t the end of your story.

This might just be the stretch of road that softens your heart enough
to fully receive the beauty that’s ahead.

Hold on.
He’s not done.

Anchor Verse

“Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; therefore He will rise up to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for Him!”
Isaiah 30:18 (NIV)