God’s presence

The Nearness We Need

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

There’s a verse that always finds its way back to me when I need it most:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18

It’s tucked in the middle of a psalm filled with struggle and deliverance, fear and faith.
Just a few verses before, we’re told that God’s eyes are on the righteous.
That His ears are attentive.
That He hears, and He rescues.

But it’s this part that stills me:

He’s near.

  • Not distant.
  • Not indifferent.
  • Not waiting for you to pull yourself together.

Near.

To the brokenhearted.
To the crushed in spirit.
To the ones who don’t know what to say, but feel the ache just the same.

Sometimes we don’t need answers.
We just need assurance.

  • That we’re not alone.
  • That He sees.
  • That He stays.

And this verse — this quiet promise — is exactly that.

Anchor Passage:

“The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are attentive to their cry…
The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles.
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:15,17–18 (NIV)

Stronger Than What’s Standing in Front of You

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are days when the thing in front of you feels too big to move.
Too heavy to carry.
Too complicated to untangle.

The obstacle might be a person.
Or a wound.
Or a door that just won’t open no matter how hard you push.

And it’s easy to believe that this is the thing that will finally undo you.
That maybe this is the end of the road.
That prayer doesn’t work.
Or God’s not listening.
Or you’re just too tired to keep saying the same thing again and again.

But lately, I’ve been reminded of something:

Prayer is not powerless.
It’s not passive.
It’s not some backup plan we use when everything else fails.

Prayer is the most powerful thing we’ve been given.
Because prayer isn’t just words — it’s connection.
It’s alignment.
It’s surrender and authority woven together in the same breath.

It’s not always flashy.
It’s not always instant.
But it is always working.

Because prayer invites God into places we can’t reach on our own.
And there is no obstacle that outranks His presence.

So if what’s standing in front of you feels too big —
remember who’s standing beside you.

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.”
James 5:16 (NIV)

Tracing the Face of God

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

There are moments I find myself crying out, not because I don’t believe God is near — but because I desperately want to feel Him.

It happened when I was driving home after something had upset me. I was talking to God the way I do when I’m worked up — no script, no filter, just honest. And I said out loud, “Even though I’m alone… I know I’m not alone. I know You’re sitting right here with me.”

But still — I wanted more.
Not more proof, just more presence.

I wanted to feel Him.
I wanted to see Him.
I wanted to hear something from Him — not metaphorically, not spiritually… but tangibly.

And then something struck me:
What I really wanted… was to be able to touch Him.
To smell Him.
To reach for Him like a child does their parent.

That’s when this image came to mind — one I’ve seen a hundred times in my own house.
Me, rocking my baby to sleep…
His tiny hands gently reaching for my face — tracing my lips, my eyelashes, my nose.
Not because he’s trying to calm me…
But because he’s learning me.
Because he wants to know the features of the one who loves him.

And I realized — maybe that’s what God wants from us too.

Maybe He wants us to be so hungry to know Him, so desperate to recognize Him, that we would reach for Him like a child in the dark.
Not to fix anything.
Not to perform anything.
But just to discover.

To trace the lines of His face.
To wonder where His hair falls at the nape of His neck.
To feel the curve of His jaw, the arch of His brow, the kindness in His eyes.
To know: this is my Father.

We often think of God as the one tracing us — counting the hairs on our head, holding our tears in a bottle, never sleeping as He watches over us.

But what if the invitation has always been two-way?

What if He’s not hiding — just waiting?
Waiting for us to draw closer.
Waiting for us to cup His face in our hands — not because we need something from Him… but because we want to know Him.

I want to know the God who knows me like that.

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”
1 Corinthians 13:12 (NIV)

The Faith That Sits With You

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Some faith runs hard and fast.
Some faith simply stays.

It’s not always loud or sure or certain.
Sometimes, it just means showing up again today—
still aching, still praying, still hoping.

Maybe that’s you right now.
Holding on when nothing makes sense.
Trusting quietly in a God who hasn’t stopped being good.

That kind of faith matters.
God honors the staying.
He meets you in the waiting.

“Surely I am with you always…”
— Matthew 28:20

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.

Maybe This Is the Post

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I didn’t plan a post tonight.
I didn’t come with a title or a theme or a tidy truth to wrap everything together.

I sat down to write —
and nothing came.
Just a tired kind of quiet,
the kind that doesn’t ask to be explained.

But maybe this is the post.
The one that doesn’t offer clarity or closure,
but simply shows up.

Maybe this is the kind of honesty we all need sometimes —
to admit we don’t always have the words,
or the answers,
or the strength to keep unpacking what still hurts.

Maybe the miracle isn’t always in what we say.
Maybe it’s in the showing up anyway.
In being present to the moment — even when the moment feels like not enough.
Even when you feel like not enough.

And maybe
this is the kind of space
where we quietly remember
that even when the words won’t come,
He still does.

That He doesn’t need eloquence
to meet us.

He just needs us.

So if you’ve arrived here —
empty-handed, weary, unsure of what you’re even looking for —
you’re not alone.

Let’s sit here for a while.
Not searching for the right thing to say.
Just resting in the comfort that we’re seen anyway.

“…for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.”
— Matthew 6:8

Motherhood Is the Mirror

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“The most profound thing we can offer our children is our own healing.”— Anne Lamott

They say motherhood changes you —
and it does.
But not always in the ways you expect.

It doesn’t just stretch your body.
It stretches your heart.
Your limits.
Your sense of self.
And some days, it stretches your faith.

Motherhood has become a mirror I didn’t know I was standing in front of.
It reflects everything back to me:
my tenderness,
my triggers,
my hope,
my hurt.

There are moments that undo me —
not because they’re hard,
but because they’re holy.
Because he looks at me with eyes full of trust,
and it makes me wonder if I’ve ever looked at myself that way.

He doesn’t care if I got everything done.
He doesn’t care if I cried in the shower.
He just wants my presence — not my perfection.

And somehow, that’s healing me.

Because in showing up for him,
I’ve had to learn how to show up for me, too.
To hold space for the version of myself I’ve tried to outrun.
To mother the child I used to be,
even as I mother the one God placed in my arms.

It’s not easy.
But it’s sacred.

Motherhood hasn’t made me flawless.
It’s made me honest.

It’s revealed the cracks —
and the grace that holds them together.

And maybe that’s the point.
Not to raise a perfect child…
but to love them so well
that they never question if they were worth it.

Just like God is doing with me.

“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you…”
— Isaiah 66:13 (NIV)