contentment

The Race I Thought I Was Running

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

For a long time, I lived as though life was a race.

A race to accomplish more.

To become more.

To get there first.

To catch up.

To stay ahead.

To prove something.

And if I’m honest, I didn’t even realize I was running.

I just assumed that’s what everyone was doing.

Then I started paying closer attention to Scripture.

Paul tells us to run the race.

But he never tells us to race each other.

Somewhere along the way, I confused the two.

I measured my life against other people’s timelines.

Their opportunities.

Their marriages.

Their highlights.

No wonder I was tired.

I wasn’t just running.

I was competing.

You can’t faithfully run your race while constantly looking sideways at someone else’s.

Hebrews tells us to:

“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us…”

That phrase stopped me.

The race marked out for us.

Not the race I wish I had.

Not the race someone else is running.

Not the race culture says I should be winning.

The one God marked out for me.

Maybe faithfulness has never been about finishing first.

Maybe it has always been about staying the course.

About keeping my eyes on Christ instead of constantly looking over my shoulder.

I’ve started wondering how much peace we would find if we stopped asking,

“Am I keeping up?”

and started asking,

“Am I being faithful?”

Because one question breeds comparison.

The other invites contentment.

The race was never about beating the person beside us.

It has always been about following the One in front of us.

Maybe the finish line was never the goal.

Faithfulness was.

“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”

— Hebrews 12:1–2 (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)

Hungry for More

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Lately, I’ve felt hungry for more.

Not more stuff.

Not more achievement.

Not even more time.

Just more.

More stillness.

More patience.

More energy.

More confidence.

More purpose in the work I do.

More awareness of the opportunities God places in front of me.

And for a while, I wondered if that made me ungrateful.

Because I have so much to be thankful for.

But I don’t think gratitude and hunger are opposites.

I think sometimes they exist together.

I can be grateful for where I am
while still believing God isn’t finished growing me.

I can appreciate this season
while still feeling drawn toward something deeper.

Maybe that’s what hunger is.

Not dissatisfaction.

Invitation.

“You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you…”
— Psalm 63:1 (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)