Faithfulness

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)

Stewarding My Life

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

The older I get, the more I think about stewardship.

When I was younger, I thought stewardship was mostly about money.

Giving.

Managing.

Being responsible.

But I’m beginning to realize stewardship reaches so much further than that.

My life itself has been entrusted to me.

My words.

My time.

My relationships.

My gifts.

My opportunities.

Even the difficult seasons I never would have chosen.

None of them were ever truly mine to begin with.

They’re all things God has placed in my hands for a little while.

That changes the questions I ask.

Instead of asking,

“How much can I accomplish?”

I find myself asking,

“Am I being faithful with what’s already been entrusted to me?”

Because one day I won’t give an account for someone else’s life.

Only my own.

How I loved.

How I spoke.

How I forgave.

How I used the gifts God gave me.

How I cared for the people He placed in my path.

How I responded to both joy and suffering.

I’ve realized stewardship isn’t about perfection.

It’s about faithfulness.

It’s waking up each morning and quietly praying,

“Lord, help me care well for everything You’ve placed in my hands today.”

Not because I’m trying to earn His approval.

But because everything I have has always been His.

Maybe living faithfully isn’t about chasing a bigger life.

Maybe it’s about stewarding this one well.

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.”

— 1 Peter 4:10 (NIV)

What I Hope He Remembers

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I won’t be a perfect mother.
But I hope he remembers the kind of love that stayed.

I hope he remembers arms that held him close,
even when the world felt unsteady.
A voice that whispered comfort,
even when mine was tired.
A presence that didn’t walk away —
not in the chaos,
not in the quiet,
not in the mess.

And maybe, just maybe,
that kind of love will remind him of God’s.

Because if I’ve learned anything,
it’s that His love shows up the same way —
not waiting for the mess to be cleaned up,
not holding back until we’re stronger,
but entering in, again and again,
with kindness, patience, and grace.

That’s the kind of love I want to model.
Not flawless,
but faithful.
Not perfect,
but present.

So no, I won’t get it all right.
But I hope he sees the reflection —
of a God who stays.
Of a love that never leaves.
Of grace that shows up in the middle and calls it holy.

“God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.”
— 1 John 4:16 (NIV)

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.

The Turn I Almost Missed

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I thought about writing today —
about joy in the storm.
But I hesitated.
It felt like something I’d written too many times before.
Like maybe I should find a new angle,
a different message.

So I got up.
Did some laundry.
Checked a few boxes off the list.
And opened my devotional —
Watching for the Morning by Vaneetha Rendall Risner.
A liferaft of a book in this season.

The title for today?
“The Greatest Turn in Scripture.”

And beneath it, these words:

“Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.”
—Lamentations 3:21–23

I stopped.
Because I knew.
God was speaking to me — again.
Through a verse I’ve read a hundred times.
Through a theme I thought I’d already written to death.

But maybe that’s the point.

Even Jeremiah —
mid-anguish, breathless and undone —
stopped.

He didn’t forget the pain.
He didn’t pretend it didn’t exist.
But he remembered something deeper.
“Yet this I call to mind…”
That even when everything felt lost,
God’s mercies were not.

And suddenly, hope entered the story.

I almost didn’t write this.
I almost brushed past the very word I needed.
Because I thought I’d already said it.

But today reminded me —
some truths are worth repeating.
Some mercies are new, even in familiar form.

I’ll never forget the storms.
But I’ll also never stop looking for the joy
that rises in the middle of them.

“I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for Him.’”
—Lamentations 3:24