honesty

Ready or Not

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

How do you prepare yourself for parts of your life you didn’t want or ask for?

Because, ready or not, life is happening.

There was a time when “fake it till you make it” felt motivating.
Now it just feels exhausting.

I don’t want to fake strength.
I don’t want to pretend I’m unbothered.
I don’t want to convince myself I’m fine if I’m not.

It’s okay to not be okay —
and still be okay.

Maybe preparation doesn’t look like bracing.
Maybe it looks like breathing.

Maybe it’s not about forcing courage —
but about letting trust take root in places we didn’t choose.

Some seasons aren’t something you gear up for.
They simply arrive.

And you either tighten up against them,
or you learn to stand quietly inside them.

I’m learning that strength doesn’t always look like certainty.
Sometimes it looks like surrender.
Like rest.
Like quiet trust in the middle of the unfamiliar.

“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says:
‘In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength.’”
— Isaiah 30:15 (NIV)

I’m Learning What I Can Carry

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are some things I’ve realized I carry without even noticing.

Other people’s expectations.
Their discomfort.
Their silence.
Their need for things to stay easy.

And in a lot of ways, it’s not accidental.

Sometimes, people do ask you to carry it.
Sometimes it’s implied.
Sometimes it’s expected.

Carry this so things don’t get harder.
Carry this so we don’t have to talk about it.
Carry this quietly — and preferably without complaint.

And for a long time, I did.

I told myself it was kindness.
That it was maturity.
That this was just what you do when you love people or want peace.

But there’s a difference between being generous
and being weighed down.

Lately, I’ve been asking myself a quieter, braver question:
Is this something I can carry without losing myself?

Because some burdens don’t just make you tired —
they slowly teach you to disappear.

I’m learning that it’s okay to name discomfort.
That it’s okay to acknowledge the weight.
That carrying something doesn’t mean I’m required to carry it forever.

I can still be compassionate without being silent.
Faithful without being compliant.
Present without absorbing what was never mine to hold alone.

That’s the work right now.

Not rejecting responsibility —
but choosing honesty.

Learning what I can carry.
And trusting God with the rest.

“For each one should carry their own load.”
— Galatians 6:5 (NIV)

Feeding My Soul

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are moments when I notice a quiet kind of hunger.

Not the kind that needs to be rushed past or immediately filled —
but the kind that asks me to slow down and pay attention.

I’m learning that not every ache needs a distraction.
Not every discomfort needs to be quieted.
Some of it is simply an invitation to listen more closely.

There’s something grounding about letting myself feel that space.
About choosing stillness instead of noise.
Presence instead of autopilot.

In those moments, I’m reminded that my soul needs nourishment too.
That there’s a kind of sustaining that doesn’t come from fullness,
but from dependence.

And when I make room for that —
when I stop rushing to fill every gap —
I find that God meets me there.

“Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
— Matthew 4:4 (NIV)

When I Come Back to Prayer

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Sometimes prayer doesn’t begin with words.
It begins with a pause.

A moment where I stop moving long enough to notice
what I’ve been carrying without saying.

Lately, prayer has felt less like asking
and more like returning.

Returning to honesty.
Returning to stillness.
Returning to the simple truth that I don’t have to hold everything on my own.

I don’t always know what to say when I come.
Some days it’s just a sentence.
Some days it’s just a breath.
Some days it’s nothing more than staying.

And maybe that counts.

Maybe prayer isn’t measured by how clear or confident we sound.
Maybe it’s measured by our willingness to show up
without rehearsing,
without fixing,
without pretending we’re fine.

I’m learning that prayer doesn’t always change the situation right away.
But it changes where I stand inside of it.

And sometimes, that’s the quiet grace of it —
not answers,
not certainty,
just presence.

God meeting me where I am.
And me learning to stay there a little longer.

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

Honesty, Lately

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I chose my word for the new year to be honesty —
and honestly, I’ve been seeing life through a more honest lens just by setting that intention.

I’ve been more honest with myself about how I’m actually feeling.
More honest with others, too.
Not forcing myself to push through when I know I need to be still.

That honesty has softened things.
It’s made room for rest instead of resistance.

And it’s shifted the way I see people.

I feel like I notice intentions more clearly now —
not in a suspicious way,
just with awareness.

Whether someone is being honest or not.

And instead of trying to correct it or carry it,
I’m learning to simply see it…
and respond accordingly.

“Yet you desired faithfulness even in the womb;
you taught me wisdom in that secret place.”
— Psalm 51:6 (NIV)

Things I Don’t Have Language For Yet

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

There are things in my life right now that I don’t have words for.

Not because I’m avoiding them.
Not because I’m pretending they don’t exist.
But because they haven’t settled into language yet.

They live somewhere deeper than explanation.
Somewhere between what’s happened and what I understand about it.
Somewhere I’m still learning how to sit with.

I’ve noticed how quickly we’re expected to name things.
To define them.
To explain how we feel and why and what it all means.

But not everything arrives with clarity.
Some things take time before they can be spoken honestly.

So for now, I’m letting a few things remain unnamed.
Not hidden — just unfinished.

I trust that when the words come, they’ll come gently.
And until then, it’s okay to live with what I don’t yet know how to say.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”
— Romans 8:26 (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)

Where Greed Hides

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

We’ve been talking about the spiritual disciplines at church.
Last week, the conversation was about generosity.
This week, it was about greed.

And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how the two aren’t always as separate as we like to think.

Because greed doesn’t always look like hoarding money or climbing some corporate ladder.
Sometimes it looks like holding back in quieter ways —
the kind we justify.

Like struggling to give our time.
Or hesitating to offer encouragement.
Or keeping our prayers to ourselves because we don’t want to say the wrong thing.

We tell ourselves it’s not greed.
It’s busyness.
Or insecurity.
Or boundaries.

But what if it’s more than that?
What if greed is anything that keeps us from living open-handed —
with our time, our words, our presence, our resources?

I’m realizing that greed hides in the small things.
In the moments when I pull back instead of lean in.
When I protect my own comfort instead of offering someone else mine.
When I talk myself out of giving because I don’t have “enough” — time, energy, words, wisdom.

But the truth is, if God asked me to give it,
He’s already given me enough to do it.

So maybe the better question isn’t “Am I generous?”
Maybe it’s: Where am I still holding back?
And why?

“Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”
— 2 Corinthians 9:7 (NIV)

Everybody Stop

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Do you ever want to find a really big hill,
take a deep breath in,
and scream out,

“EVERYBODY STOP!”

Like you’re constantly getting hit from all angles
and you’ve just had it?

I get it.
And if I’m honest,
I wish I didn’t.

But here I am.
On the top of my hill.
Screaming at the top of my lungs:
“Everybody stop!!”

Because I’m just so tired.
Aren’t you?

“From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
— Psalm 61:2 (NIV)