Reflections

When Not Knowing Feels Like Too Much

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

You know what’s kind of wild?
Some people love being surprised.

Ha!
To me, not knowing what’s coming ignites a kind of anxiety and fear that I’d really rather avoid.
Uncertainty makes my shoulders tense and my thoughts race —
not because I doubt God’s goodness,
but because I crave stability. I want to prepare. I want to protect myself.

And yet, here I am…
in a season where so much is unknown.

So much is unplanned.
So much is unfixed.
And still — God is asking me to trust Him.

I don’t know what’s coming.
I don’t know how it all works out.
I don’t even know what tomorrow holds.

But maybe — just maybe —
that’s part of the beauty.

Maybe not knowing is exactly what makes God’s love so powerful.
It’s not dependent on my plans or my preparedness.
It’s not built on certainty, but on surrender.

Because without any help from me —
without my strategy, without my grip,
without my constant attempts to predict the next plot twist —
God is still working.

And His plan?
It far surpasses anything I could write for myself.

So today, I’m loosening my grip.
I’m choosing trust over certainty.
And I’m reminding my anxious heart:

Not knowing doesn’t mean I’m unsafe.
Not knowing doesn’t mean it won’t be good.
It just means the story is still unfolding.

And I’m not the one writing it.

“Commit to the Lord whatever you do,
and He will establish your plans.”
Proverbs 16:3 (NIV)

The Mountain Where Trust Was Tested

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a story in Scripture that’s been close to my heart lately —
Abraham. Isaac. And a mountain no one wanted to climb.

God asked Abraham to lay down the very thing He had given him —
his long-awaited son.
And Abraham said yes.

Not because it made sense,
but because he trusted God’s heart,
even when the path didn’t look like provision.

Someone reminded me recently:
“I like to think the lamb was already on its way up the other side of the mountain.”

That stayed with me.

Because that’s what faith is, isn’t it?
Trusting that God is already providing —
even when all you can see is loss.

We may not understand the mountain,
but we can trust the One who meets us there.

He hasn’t forgotten.
He’s still writing the story.
And the thicket is never empty.

He’s Not Finished Yet

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are days when hope feels like a stranger.
When everything I thought would be — isn’t.
When the pain feels louder than the promise,
and I wonder if this is where the story ends.

I think of Mary.
Weeping at the foot of the cross.
Heart shattered.
Hope buried beneath the weight of what she couldn’t make sense of.

What she didn’t realize was…
Easter was coming.

The silence wasn’t the final word.
The grief wasn’t the whole story.
And the cross wasn’t the end.

Sometimes, I find myself standing in the same kind of ache —
facing heartbreak I didn’t ask for,
surrounded by questions without answers,
unsure of what’s ahead
or if anything good can come from here.

But then I remember…

God doesn’t leave things undone.
He doesn’t abandon stories halfway through.
He doesn’t hand us the pen and walk away.

Even when I can’t see how He’s moving,
He is still writing.
Still redeeming.
Still resurrecting.

The hope I need today might not be in a happy ending —
but in the quiet truth that this isn’t the end.

Because even when all hope seems lost,
my story isn’t over.
And the Author of my life
isn’t finished yet.

The Mountain in Front of Me

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I read something recently:
“You have been assigned this mountain to show others it can be moved.”

And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Because some days, the mountain looks impossible.
Too steep.
Too heavy.
Too unmovable.

And yet — here I am.
Still standing at its base.
Still taking steps toward the summit.

Maybe that’s the point.
Not that I have to move it all at once,
but that each small step is proof
that it can be moved.

That with God,
even the impossible shifts.

And maybe one day,
when I’m on the other side,
I’ll turn around and see
that the mountain was never just mine to climb —
it was my testimony.

When Restoration Looks Different

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Today my mom shared a verse with me:
“I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten.”
— Joel 2:25

I’ve been thinking about what restoration really means.

I used to imagine it as getting back exactly what was lost —
like God would hand me the same dream,
only without the heartbreak attached.

But the more I sit with this,
the more I realize restoration often looks different than we expect.

It doesn’t always come as a perfect rewind.
It comes as something new.
Something reshaped by the breaking,
stronger because of what it’s been through.

Sometimes, it’s quieter than I imagined.
Sometimes, it’s not even in the same form.
And sometimes, it comes so slowly
I don’t recognize it until I’m already standing in it.

God doesn’t restore by replacing.
He restores by redeeming.

The years that felt wasted,
the dreams that felt devoured —
they may not come back the way I pictured.
But they will come back.

Not because I know how,
but because He promised they would.

In the Meantime

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Some seasons feel like slow motion.
Like you’re doing all the right things —
but nothing is changing.

You’re loving the best you can.
Praying, hoping, planting seeds.
And still… waiting.

It’s easy to feel overlooked here.
To wonder if any of it is working.
If the small, faithful things really matter.

But then I come back to this:

“Let us not grow weary in doing good,
for at the proper time we will reap a harvest
if we do not give up.”
— Galatians 6:9

And I remember…

God honors what no one else sees.
The quiet consistency.
The choice to stay soft when it would be easier to shut down.
The everyday good that doesn’t make headlines,
but makes a life.

Maybe the harvest is coming.
Maybe it’s already unfolding —
slowly, silently, in ways I can’t yet see.

So I’ll keep tending what He’s given me.
Trusting that in the meantime…
He’s still growing something good.

If the Pages Could Talk

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

If the pages could talk,
they’d tell a story
not everyone saw.

Of nights where the only light
was the glow of the monitor
and the quiet hum of prayers
I never meant to say out loud.

They’d whisper of pages
tear-stained and half-written —
moments where I didn’t know what came next,
but still picked up the pen anyway.

They’d speak of healing that came slowly,
in margins and in pauses.
In prayers I scribbled sideways
when the ache was too heavy to carry upright.

They’d tell you about the girl
who kept writing,
even when the words were hard to find.
Who chose presence
over pretending.
Stillness
over striving.
Faith
over finality.

If the pages could talk,
they wouldn’t just tell you what happened —
they’d tell you what held me together
when everything else was falling apart.

When the Question Finds You

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

The other night,
I was talking with my mom —
words soft, the ache quieter than usual.
And without really planning to, I said it:

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

Not in anger. Not even in desperation.
Just honesty. Gentle, aching honesty.
Like something long held finally exhaled.

Later that evening,
I opened my Bible study,
not expecting anything —
just turning the page like always.

And there it was:

“Please, my Lord,” Gideon asked,
“if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us?”
— Judges 6:13

I sat still.
Because it felt like He’d answered me —
not with a solution,
but with solidarity.

The very thing I had whispered
was echoed in ancient words.
Like the question had been waiting
for someone else to ask it too.

I didn’t need an explanation in that moment.
I just needed to know
that someone had stood in this place before me —
and God met them there.

This is the mystery of mercy:
that even the rawest ache
does not scare Him away.
It draws Him closer.

The Strength Fear Tries to Steal

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I’ve wasted so many todays
worrying about tomorrow.

Not intentionally.
Not because I wanted to.
But because anxiety is sneaky like that —
convincing you that if you think it through just one more time,
you’ll feel better.

Spoiler: you don’t.

I read something recently that really stuck out to me:
“What does your anxiety do? It does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows; but, ah! it empties today of its strength.”
— Alexander McLaren

And I felt it.

Because fear doesn’t just whisper worst-case scenarios —
it drains the light from moments that were meant to hold joy.
It robs us of the strength we do have for right now,
by convincing us we need to hoard it for what might come later.

But we weren’t made to live that way.
Not crouched in fear.
Not rehearsing pain that hasn’t even happened.

Today is still here.
And it still matters.

God didn’t promise we’d be fearless.
But He did promise He’d be with us.
And that is more than enough.

Maybe peace isn’t the absence of what we fear —
but the presence of the One who knows how to carry us through it.

So for today —
not tomorrow, just today —
I’m choosing presence over panic.
Trust over spirals.
And strength over fear.

What I Want to Remember About Right Now

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

If you had asked me a few months ago,
I probably would’ve said I wanted amnesia for this season of my life.

But now?

I want to remember
the way Beckett and I can make each other belly laugh —
even when all we want to do is cry.

The way we snuggle when he first wakes up,
before greeting the rest of the world.

I want to remember the time I’m getting with my parents,
and the special bond they’re building with their grandson.

How I’ve grown comfortable with my thoughts
and where they lead me.

How I trust myself now —
to know who’s safe, and who isn’t.

I want to remember
the way I’ve learned to see God in the details.
To feel His presence in every room.
To look to Him to light even the darkest of days.

This isn’t a season to forget.
It’s a season that reminds me
just how much I have to be thankful for.

So, what do I want to remember about right now?

Everything.