anxiety

What Are You Letting Dwell?

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve read Philippians 4:7 more times than I can count.

I’ve memorized it.

Quoted it.

Clung to it.

But this week, one word stopped me.

Guard.

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
— Philippians 4:7

Why guard?

Why not comfort?

Why not calm?

Why not reassure?

Why guard?

That word assumes something.

It assumes our hearts and our minds are vulnerable.

That there are thoughts trying to make themselves at home.

So I looked up the definition of worry.

One definition described it as dwelling on potential difficulties.

That word caught my attention.

Dwell.

Isn’t that exactly what worry does?

It doesn’t simply knock on the door.

It moves in.

It pulls up a chair.

It rearranges the furniture.

Before long, it begins convincing us that it belongs there.

We replay conversations that haven’t happened.

We imagine outcomes that may never come.

We carry tomorrow’s burdens before tomorrow ever arrives.

Worry has a way of settling into places it was never invited.

But Paul paints an entirely different picture.

He says the peace of God will guard our hearts and our minds.

A guard doesn’t promise that trouble won’t come.

A guard doesn’t pretend there isn’t danger outside the gate.

A guard simply decides what gets through.

That changes everything.

Peace isn’t pretending life is easy.

Peace isn’t the absence of uncertainty.

Peace is the presence of Christ standing watch over the places where worry longs to dwell.

Maybe that’s why Paul says this peace surpasses all understanding.

Because it isn’t dependent on understanding.

It isn’t waiting for every question to be answered.

It’s trusting the One who already knows the answers.

I don’t know what you’re carrying today.

Maybe it’s a diagnosis.

A relationship.

Your children.

Your future.

Your finances.

Or simply a thousand “what ifs” that keep circling your mind.

Whatever it is…

remember this:

Worry wants to dwell.

But peace stands guard.

And I’d rather have a guard at the door than another answer to every question.

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 4:7 (NIV)

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 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.

A Quiet Turning

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

There are moments
when I feel it rising —
a quiet tug toward old thoughts,
familiar patterns that once promised safety
but only ever gave me silence and shame.

It doesn’t shout.
It whispers.
You’re too much.
You’re not enough.
You’ll never get it right.

And for a moment,
I believe it again.
Not because it’s true —
but because it’s been loud for so long.

I carry those echoes
into rooms where I smile.
Into the spaces where I show up,
even when I feel unsteady.

But lately, I’m learning
to pause before the story runs away with me.
To ask:
What am I feeling?
Where is this coming from?
And what’s the truth I know beneath the noise?

I remember:
I am loved.
I am not a burden.
I am not the sum of my worst days.

And from that place —
even if it’s just a small step forward —
I respond differently.
More gently.
More freely.

This is what healing sounds like sometimes.
Not loud or linear —
just a quiet turning toward peace
when the pull of the past returns.

And I carry this quiet work of healing into the way I love — gently, intentionally, even on the hardest days.