Faith

I Keep Reaching for an Answer

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I keep reaching for an answer.

Not out loud.
Not in a way anyone would notice.

Just internally —
trying to line things up in a way that makes sense.

If I think about it long enough,
if I look at it from enough angles,
maybe I’ll find the piece that explains everything.

But I don’t.

And I’m starting to notice that I do this
almost automatically.

Something doesn’t make sense,
and my first instinct is to solve it.

To understand it.

To make it feel settled in my mind
so I can feel settled in myself.

But some things don’t give you that.

Some things stay unresolved
longer than you want them to.

Longer than feels comfortable.

And I think that’s the part I’ve been wrestling with.

Not the situation itself.

But the fact that I can’t make it make sense.

Because faith, for me, has always felt connected to understanding.

Like if I trust God,
things should eventually come together in a way I can follow.

But lately, it hasn’t looked like that.

It’s looked like continuing
without the explanation.

Letting things sit unfinished
without forcing them into something they’re not.

And trusting — not that I’ll figure it out —
but that I don’t have to.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.
— Isaiah 55:8–9 (NIV)

Something Is Alive

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

It’s been a year since I started writing here.

At the time, I wasn’t writing from clarity.
I wasn’t writing from the other side of anything.

I was writing from the middle.

And if I’m honest,
I still am.

I used to think Easter would feel like resolution.

Like the kind of moment
where everything makes sense
and everything is made right.

But I don’t think that’s what it is.

Because if I’m honest,
there are still things in my life that don’t feel resolved.

Things that didn’t turn out the way I thought they would.
Things that haven’t been restored.
Things I still don’t fully understand.

And yet…

something has changed.

Not everything.

But something.

There are parts of me that are still healing.
Still learning.
Still walking through things I never expected to carry.

But there are also parts of me
that are no longer where they used to be.

Quieter.
Stronger.
More grounded than I was before.

Not because everything got easier.

But because something in me
didn’t stay where it was.

And I think that’s what Easter is.

Not the erasing of what happened.
Not a return to what was.

But life
where there wasn’t life before.

Not loud.
Not immediate.

But real.

And maybe that’s what I’m holding onto today.

Not that everything is finished.

But that something is alive in me
that wasn’t before.

And maybe that’s what this past year has been teaching me.

Not that everything changes overnight —
but that life can begin again,
even in the middle of it.

“Just as Christ was raised from the dead… we too may live a new life.”
— Romans 6:4 (NIV)

Before Sunday Comes

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a part of the story we don’t rush through.

The part where everything looks like it’s over.

Where what was hoped for
what was prayed for
what was believed in

is now… gone.

Good Friday isn’t a hopeful day.

It’s not a day of answers.
It’s not a day where things make sense.

It’s the day everything falls quiet
after the worst has already happened.

And if I’m honest,
I think that’s the part I recognize the most.

Not the resurrection.
Not yet.

This part.

The part where you’re left standing
in the reality of what is
with no clear picture of what comes next.

Where faith doesn’t feel strong
it just feels… present.

Still there.
But quieter.

Not fixing anything.
Not explaining anything.

Just staying.

Good Friday doesn’t rush to meaning.

It doesn’t try to redeem anything yet.

It simply holds the weight of what has happened.

And maybe there are moments in life
that look more like this day than we want them to.

Moments where nothing feels good
and nothing feels resolved
and nothing is being put back together yet.

But the story doesn’t end here.

Even if it feels like it does.

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
— Luke 23:46 (NIV)

Not Everything Gets Given Back

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I read something today about Job.

That God didn’t give him his old life back —
He gave him a new one.

That some pain isn’t explained,
it’s redeemed.

And I’ve been sitting with that.

Because if I’m honest,
I think part of me still expects life to circle back.

To return what was lost.
To restore things the way they were.
To make it all make sense in a way I recognize.

But that’s not always how it works.

Sometimes what’s gone
doesn’t come back the same way.

Sometimes there isn’t a clear explanation.
No moment where everything is tied together neatly.

And that’s the part that’s hard to sit with.

Because redemption doesn’t always look like replacement.

It doesn’t always feel like more.
It doesn’t always come in a way you can immediately recognize as good.

Sometimes it’s quieter than that.

Sometimes it looks like continuing.
Like rebuilding without having all the pieces.
Like learning to hold both what was
and what is now
at the same time.

I don’t know that I fully understand redemption yet.

But I’m starting to see
that it isn’t always about getting something back.

Sometimes it’s about becoming someone
who can keep moving forward
even without it.

“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…”
— Joel 2:25 (NIV)

Holding On by a Thread

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I read something today that caught me off guard.

“I might be hanging on by a thread,
but it’s the thread of His garment.”

I don’t think I’ve ever thought about faith like that before.

We talk about strong faith.
Confident faith.
Faith that doesn’t waver.

But that’s not always what it looks like in real life.

Sometimes it looks thin.

Like you’re not holding everything together —
you’re just holding on.

And not even tightly.

Just enough to stay connected.

That’s what stood out to me.

Not the strength of it.
The smallness of it.

Because the woman who reached for Jesus’ garment
wasn’t making a statement.

She wasn’t trying to prove anything.

She was just trying to reach Him
in the only way she could.

And somehow, that was enough.

Not because her faith was impressive.
But because it was directed at the right place.

I think that’s what I forget.

That it doesn’t have to feel big.
Or strong.
Or even steady.

Sometimes it just has to be there.

A thread.

Not holding everything together —
just holding on to Him.

“If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.”
— Mark 5:28 (NIV)

This Is Where I Am Today

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Nothing feels especially clear today.

Not in a bad way.
Not in a heavy way.

Just… not defined.

There are things I could sit down and try to sort through.
Things I could probably put words to if I gave it enough time.

But I don’t feel the need to do that right now.

I think sometimes I rush to understand everything
because it makes me feel more in control.

Like if I can name it,
organize it,
make sense of it —

then I’m handling it well.

But today doesn’t feel like a day for that.

Today feels like a day to just exist in it.

To not rush to conclusions.
To not force clarity.
To not try to wrap everything up into something meaningful.

Just to be where I am
without needing it to become something else.

And maybe that’s enough for today.

“Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from him.”
— Psalm 62:1 (NIV)

The Way Time Feels Lately

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been noticing something I can’t quite explain.

Time doesn’t feel the same.

Some days move quickly —
full, busy, gone before I realize it.

And other days stretch in a way that feels almost unfamiliar.

Longer.
Quieter.
Heavier in a way that isn’t obvious, but still there.

Nothing about the clock has changed.

But the way I experience it has.

There are moments that pass without much thought.
And then there are moments that linger —
that I can feel while I’m inside them.

Not because anything big is happening.

Just because I’m more aware.

Of where I am.
Of what I’m carrying.
Of how different things feel than they used to.

I don’t know if time is actually moving differently
or if I’m just paying attention in a way I didn’t before.

But I can tell something has shifted.

I’m not rushing through everything the same way.
I’m not trying to get to the next thing as quickly.

I’m noticing more.

Even the in-between parts.

The parts of the day that don’t really have a name.

And maybe that’s what this is.

Not a change in time.

Just a change in how I’m living inside of it.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
— Psalm 90:12 (NIV)

The Part We Want to Rush Through

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I came across something today that made me pause.

For a season, David was a shepherd.
The next, he was king.

For a season, Ruth was working in the fields.
The next, she was part of something she never could have arranged on her own.

For a season, Mordecai sat outside the palace.
The next, he was brought inside.

It’s easy to read stories like that
and focus on how everything changed.

How quickly things turned.
How differently it all ended.

But that’s not how they lived it.

They lived it in the middle.

In the parts that didn’t feel significant yet.
In the waiting.
In the uncertainty.
In the seasons that probably felt uncomfortable and unclear.

And if I’m honest,
that’s the part I struggle with the most.

I don’t like sitting in seasons that don’t make sense.
I don’t like the feeling of not knowing what God is doing.
I don’t like the stretch, the tension, the waiting.

I want to move through it.
Get to the next thing.
Understand it already.

But when I read stories like these,
I’m reminded of something I don’t always want to remember.

God does some of His deepest work
in the seasons I’m most tempted to rush through.

Not after them.
Not once everything is resolved.

But right there —
in the discomfort.

In the parts that feel slow.
In the places that don’t look like anything is happening yet.

The shepherding.
The field work.
The sitting outside.

None of it was wasted.

And maybe the part I’m standing in right now
isn’t something to escape as quickly as possible.

Maybe it’s something to pay attention to.

Because it might be the very place
God is doing the work I’ll one day be grateful for.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work
— James 1:2–4 (NIV)

What I Reach for Without Thinking

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been noticing something I don’t think about very often.

Not what I choose —
but what I default to.

The things I reach for
before I’ve had time to decide who I want to be in the moment.

Because there’s a difference.

There’s the version of me that is thoughtful, grounded, intentional.

And then there’s the version of me
that shows up without asking permission.

The one that reacts before I reflect.
The one that fills the silence too quickly.
The one that tries to smooth things over, explain, or carry more than I need to.

And I’m starting to see that those moments matter more than I thought.

Not because they define me —
but because they reveal what’s still unlearning itself in me.

It’s easy to focus on the big changes.
The visible growth.
The things you can point to and say, I’m different now.

But the quieter work?

It shows up in the split second
between what happens
and what I instinctively reach for.

And lately, I’ve been asking myself —

What am I reaching for there?

Control?
Understanding?
Approval?
Silence?

Or something steadier?

Something truer?

I don’t think this is about getting it right every time.

I think it’s about becoming aware enough
to notice the pattern
before it runs the whole moment.

Because maybe growth doesn’t always look like a dramatic shift.

Maybe it looks like a pause.

A breath.

A different choice —
right in the space
where the old one used to live.

“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord.”
— Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)

Faith in the Unseen Work

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

One of the hardest parts of faith
is believing something is happening
when you can’t see it.

We’re used to progress that shows itself.
Plans that unfold clearly.
Answers that arrive in ways we recognize.

But God often works differently than that.

The most important work in our lives
rarely happens where we can watch it.

It happens quietly.

In the slow reshaping of our hearts.
In the patience we didn’t used to have.
In the wisdom that grows without announcing itself.

Sometimes we want visible movement —
a clear sign that things are changing.

But faith often asks something else from us.

It asks us to trust that God is working
in places we can’t measure yet.

Beneath the surface.
Behind the scenes.
Inside the parts of us still being formed.

And maybe the real evidence of His work
isn’t always what changes around us.

Sometimes it’s the quiet awareness
that we’re learning to trust Him
even without seeing the outcome yet.

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (NIV)