Grace

I Know Better Now

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are things I used to believe with absolute certainty.

Things I defended.

Things I thought I understood.

Opinions I would have argued for.

Choices I was convinced were right.

And now?

I see some of them differently.

I used to think changing my mind meant admitting I had been wrong.

And technically, sometimes it does.

But I don’t think that’s something to be embarrassed by anymore.

Because what is the alternative?

To learn something new and refuse to let it change me?

To experience more of life and insist on seeing it exactly as I did before?

To ask God for wisdom and then cling to the person I was before He gave me any?

I don’t want to do that.

I want to reserve the right to know better now.

To say,

I understand that differently than I used to.

I wouldn’t make that choice today.

I was wrong about that.

Not with shame.

With gratitude.

Because there should be things I see differently at this point in my life.

There should be beliefs that have softened.

Assumptions I’ve questioned.

Convictions that have deepened.

Things I’ve had to unlearn.

If I believe God is still shaping me, then I can’t also expect every version of me to think exactly the same way.

Growth should leave some old opinions behind.

Wisdom should change something.

Grace should, too.

So I’m becoming less interested in defending who I used to be.

She knew what she knew.

She did what she could with it.

And now I know more.

I hope ten years from now I can say the same thing about the person I am today.

Because maybe one of the clearest signs that we’re still growing is being able to look back occasionally and say,

I know better now.

And then live like we do.

“Let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance.”

– Proverbs 1:5

Evidence in the Waiting

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I think I’ve spent a lot of time looking for evidence of God’s faithfulness in endings.

The answered prayer.

The open door.

The moment everything finally makes sense.

The part of the story where I can look back and say,

There. That’s what God was doing.

But what about before that?

What about the middle?

What about when the prayer is still a prayer?

When the door hasn’t opened.

When the answer hasn’t come.

When you’re still waiting.

I’ve started wondering if maybe I’ve been looking for the wrong kind of evidence.

Because even in the waiting, there is evidence.

The strength that showed up when mine ran out.

The peace I couldn’t explain.

The person who called at exactly the right time.

The provision that wasn’t enough for the entire journey, but was enough for today.

The courage to take one more step without knowing where the next one would lead.

Maybe I’ve been treating those things like small mercies along the way to the answer.

But what if they are the answer, too?

Not the answer to when.

Or why.

Or how this ends.

But the answer to something perhaps even more important:

Are You still here?

Yes.

There is evidence everywhere.

Not always evidence of where God is taking me.

But evidence that He hasn’t left me while I get there.

Maybe that’s what waiting has been teaching me.

I don’t have to reach the other side before I can testify to God’s faithfulness.

I can find evidence of it here.

Right in the middle.

While I’m still waiting.

“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 3:22–23 (NIV)

God Has Been Patient With Me

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

The more life I experience,
the more I notice how patient God has been with me.

Patient in my waiting.
Patient in my overthinking.
Patient in the ways I’ve circled the same fears more than once.

And honestly,
I don’t think I always extend that same patience to myself.

I expect myself to heal faster.
Trust quicker.
Understand things immediately.

I get frustrated when I feel like I’m still struggling with something
I thought I should’ve moved past already.

But God doesn’t seem to respond to us that way.

Over and over throughout scripture,
He remains steady with people while they learn.

While they doubt.
While they wander.
While they ask the same questions again and again.

And maybe that’s part of grace too.

Not just that we’re loved.

But that we’re loved patiently.

Not rushed.
Not discarded when growth takes time.

Just gently led forward,
again and again.

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed…”
— Psalm 103:13–14 (NIV)

The Cart in Front of Me

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

We were at the store today.

The kind with oversized carts and bulk everything.
Long lines.
Bright lights.
People moving in every direction.

It was ordinary.
Unremarkable.

And yet I found myself noticing the carts in front of me.

An older couple walking slowly together.
A dad with his child perched up front, one small hand gripping the handle.
Moms with theirs tucked close, little feet kicking against the metal bar.

Everyone pushing something.

And it struck me —
we never really know what someone is carrying.

Not just what’s stacked in their cart.
But what’s stacked in their life.

We see the cereal boxes.
The paper towels.
The cases of water.

We don’t see the schedules.
The grief.
The exhaustion.
The quiet prayers whispered in parking lots.

We move around each other.
Offer small smiles.
Shift our carts to make room.

But every person in that building was holding something invisible.

And so was I.

There’s something steadying about remembering that.

It makes me softer.
Slower to assume.
Quicker to extend grace.

Because the world is full of people carrying more than we can see.

And sometimes,
all we can do
is push what’s in front of us
and trust that God sees the weight of it all.

“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
— 1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)

Not a Resolution

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Every year around this time, we’re encouraged to dream big.
Pick a word.
Set a goal.
Decide who you’re going to be by December.

So we do.

And then, quietly, we find ourselves standing at the corner of
“This was too lofty”
and
“I’ve already let myself down”
by the time February rolls around.

I’m learning that maybe the problem isn’t our lack of discipline —
it’s the pressure to become someone overnight.

This year, I’ve gone back and forth between words like steadfast and courageous.
Both good. Both meaningful.

But the word that keeps returning —
the one that feels less like a goal and more like a posture —
is honesty.

Honesty about what I’m carrying.
About what I can give.
About where I actually am, not where I think I should be by now.

So instead of asking who I want to be by the end of the year,
I’m asking something smaller, quieter, and more livable:

How do I want to live today?

And right now, the answer looks like this:
with honesty — toward God, toward others, and toward myself.

That feels like enough to begin.

“Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.”
— Psalm 51:6 (NIV)

Meet Me Where I Am

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Lately, I’ve been learning what it means to meet myself where I am.

Not where I wish I were.
Not where I think I should be by now.
Just… here.

It’s harder than it sounds.

I’m quick to extend grace outward, but slower to offer it inward.
Quick to trust that God meets me in my weakness —
but hesitant to sit honestly with that weakness myself.

So often, I rush past the present moment.
I tell myself to be stronger, more healed, more settled.
As if becoming requires skipping over where I actually stand.

But maybe growth doesn’t start with pushing forward.
Maybe it starts with staying.

Staying long enough to acknowledge the tiredness.
The questions.
The ache that hasn’t fully lifted yet.

Meeting myself where I am doesn’t mean giving up.
It means telling the truth.
And trusting that God is already there — not waiting for a better version of me to arrive.

When I slow down enough to be honest with myself,
I find that grace doesn’t feel so far away.
It feels close.
Gentle.
Steady.

And maybe that’s the work of this season —
learning to stand where I am, without shame,
and letting God meet me there too.

“For He knows how we are formed; He remembers that we are dust.”
— Psalm 103:14 (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)

The Boundary of Grace

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

We’re called to give.
To serve.
To love freely and fully.

But what happens when the giving leaves us empty?
When our “yes” becomes so stretched that it starts to break us?
When helping starts to feel more like being used than being useful?

Scripture tells us to give without expecting anything in return —
but it never says to give without wisdom.

Even Jesus — fully God, fully love — stepped away to rest.
He said no to the crowd, so He could say yes to the Father.
He gave, but He didn’t give Himself away recklessly.

There is a kind of giving that reflects God’s heart.
And there is a kind that forgets He gave you one, too.

So if you’re in a season where it feels like your love is being taken for granted,
where your kindness keeps getting confused with availability,
where your serving has started to hurt —

you’re allowed to pause.

Not from love.
Not from grace.
But from saying yes to what God never asked of you.

Protecting your peace doesn’t make you selfish.
It makes you a good steward of the one life He’s given you.

So give —
but don’t pour from an empty cup.
Love —
but not at the cost of losing yourself.
Serve —
but let it come from a place of overflow, not obligation.

Your worth isn’t proven by how much you can stretch.
It’s held — always — in the hands of the One who stretched Himself for you.

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
— Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)

When You Show Up Anyway

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I wasn’t fully prepared.
I didn’t train the way I thought I should.
But I showed up anyway.
And somehow, I made it through.
Not just made it — I finished stronger than I expected.

This morning, I ran a half marathon.
And no, this isn’t a post about mileage or pace.
This is about something quieter —
something that happens when you keep going,
even when your mind tells you that you can’t.

It’s about showing up under-equipped,
under-prepared,
and still being met by a strength that wasn’t your own.

Because here’s the thing I’m still learning:
You don’t always need to feel ready to begin.
You don’t need the perfect plan, or the perfect mindset.
You just need willingness.
And God can work with that.

Sometimes the most sacred victories aren’t the loud ones —
they’re the ones that feel small at first.
They happen in a moment you could’ve tapped out,
but you didn’t.
When you kept going,
and something holy met you in the middle of your lack.

Anchor Verse

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)

Rooted

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

It’s not a loud kind of confidence.
Not the kind you have to announce.

It’s the kind that settles in
when you remember who made you…
and who holds you still.

I don’t feel the need to prove anything right now.
Not because I have it all together —
but because I know I’m already known.
Already loved.
Already His.

That changes how I carry myself.
Not with striving.
Just with peace.

“In Him we live and move and have our being.”
Acts 17:28 (NIV)