hope

Not Yet

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Someone told me today, “God is saying not yet.”

And it’s been sitting with me all day.

Not yet is a strange answer.
It’s not a no.
But it’s not the relief you’re begging for either.

It makes you ask hard questions.
Why now?
Why wait?
How much longer can I hold this?

When God says not yet, it doesn’t mean He’s absent.
But it does mean surrender looks different than we hoped.

It means trusting Him when you don’t get to see the work yet.
It means believing He’s still moving — even when all you feel is the ache of standing still.
It means learning how to breathe in the waiting.

I don’t have clarity tonight.
And I don’t feel peace.

But I do have a quiet resolve to keep showing up —
even when not yet feels heavier than I know how to carry.

So for now, I’m not rushing God.
I’m not pretending this doesn’t hurt.
I’m holding onto the belief that not yet doesn’t mean never.

And while I wait,
I will do what I can:
be strong,
take heart,
and trust the Lord with what I cannot yet see.

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”
— Psalm 27:14 (NIV)

Hope, Defined

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

The dictionary defines hope as
a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.

I’ve always found that definition a little fragile.

Because feelings change.
Expectations disappoint.
And desire doesn’t always mean fulfillment.

If hope is just wishful thinking — just wanting things to turn out a certain way — then it’s easy to lose when life doesn’t cooperate.

But Scripture speaks about hope differently.

Biblical hope isn’t rooted in circumstances or outcomes.
It isn’t dependent on how things look today, or whether prayers are answered quickly, or whether the story unfolds the way we imagined.

Biblical hope is confidence — not in what will happen, but in Who is holding it all.

It’s the kind of hope that remains when the waiting is long.
The kind that stays when answers don’t come right away.
The kind that doesn’t collapse when life feels uncertain.

This kind of hope isn’t passive or naïve.
It’s anchored.

It doesn’t say, “Everything will work out the way I want.”
It says, “God is still good, even here.”

And sometimes, that’s the difference between despair and endurance.

On days when hope feels thin, I’m learning to come back to this truth:
Hope isn’t pretending things are easy.
It’s choosing to trust that God is faithful — even when things are not.

That kind of hope doesn’t fade when circumstances change.
It deepens.

And that’s the kind of hope I want to hold onto.

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”
— Hebrews 6:19 (NIV)

I’m Learning to Leave the Light On

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I don’t always know what’s coming next.
Some days, I don’t even feel certain about what’s right in front of me.

There are moments when it would be easier to shut the door,
to turn the lights off,
to wait in the dark until something makes sense again.

But I’m learning not to do that.

I’m learning to leave the light on —
not because I’m fearless,
but because I don’t want uncertainty to harden me.

For myself.
For hope.
For the parts of me that are still becoming, still healing, still learning how to trust without a clear outline of what’s ahead.

Leaving the light on looks like staying open.
It looks like choosing presence over retreat.
Like believing that clarity isn’t the only sign of faith.

Some nights, faith doesn’t look like confidence at all.
It looks like keeping the room warm.
Like refusing to shut myself off.
Like making space for what might still arrive.

Tonight, I don’t have answers.
But I’m still here.
Still open.
Still trusting that light, even when it’s small, is worth keeping on.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.”
— Psalm 56:3 (NIV)

God Has a Plan for It All

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Oftentimes, we confuse the idea of “it’s all a part of God’s plan” with “God has a plan for it all.”

And that confusion matters.

Because when we tell ourselves that everything is part of His plan, it can make suffering feel unbearable to reconcile.
If God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving — why didn’t He step in?
Why didn’t He stop it?
Why did He allow me to live through this?

Those questions are deeply human. And they’re honest.

But reframing it this way changes something in me:

God has a plan for it all.

Not that He authored the pain.
Not that He desired the tragedy.
But that He is able to redeem it.

God has a plan to use our suffering.
A plan to use our brokenness.
A plan to take the scars we never asked for and turn them into places of compassion.

He meets us in our pain — and then, through it, gives us the ability to meet others in theirs.

Not because the suffering was good.
But because He is.

“For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver…
we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.”
— Psalm 66:10–12a (NIV)

Faith, Defined

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for,
the conviction of things not seen.”

I’ve read that verse so many times.
But lately, it feels less like a definition
and more like a description of how I’m living.

Faith isn’t certainty.
It’s not clarity.
It’s not having the outcome in hand.

It’s waking up and choosing hope anyway.
Trusting something is forming,
even when you can’t see it yet.
Standing on ground that feels steady
only because you believe it is.

Faith is quiet like that.
Unimpressive.
Unseen.
But strong enough to hold a life together.

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)

Held by His Faithfulness

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Some weeks remind me just how fragile I am.
How easily shaken.
How much I want certainty, protection, assurance that nothing will slip through my fingers.

And then I remember this truth:

I am not held by my own strength.
I am held by His faithfulness.

Scripture doesn’t promise that life will be easy or predictable.
But it does promise something better — something steadier.

God is faithful.
Not occasionally.
Not when circumstances cooperate.
But always.

He strengthens us not just for what we can see,
but for what we can’t.
For fears we don’t yet have language for.
For discouragement that creeps in quietly.

There is comfort in knowing that even when I feel unsure,
even when my footing feels unsteady,
even when I don’t trust myself to hold it all together —

He does.

So this Sunday, I’m not asking for perfect peace or clear answers.
I’m resting in the kind of security that doesn’t depend on either.

The faithfulness of God is enough to stand on.
Enough to trust.
Enough to carry me through whatever comes next.

“But the Lord is faithful, and He will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.”
— 2 Thessalonians 3:3 (NIV)

The Grace of Starting Small

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

There’s something sacred about small beginnings.
Not because they feel impressive.
But because they don’t.

They’re quiet.
Hidden.
Often unnoticed by anyone but God.

He rejoices just to see the first step.
Not the outcome.
Not the moment everything finally makes sense.

Sometimes, that beginning looks like showing up even when your heart is heavy.
Sometimes, it’s choosing to hope again after a season of survival.
Sometimes, it’s a whispered prayer when you’re not sure how to believe anymore.

It’s easy to overlook these moments.
To dismiss them as too small to matter.
But God doesn’t.

He sees the healing you’re walking toward.
The courage it took just to start.
The faith it takes to try again.

So don’t rush past this beginning.
Don’t despise the slow, quiet steps.
Don’t count yourself out just because it doesn’t look like much yet.

You’re never too far gone to begin again.

God is already in it.
Cheering you on.
Calling it good.

And that’s more than enough to keep going.

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”
— Zechariah 4:10 (NLT)

His Love Endures

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment


Sometimes I forget how much power lives in these simple lines.
Give thanks.
Because He is good.
Because His love doesn’t run out when mine does.
Because His faithfulness stretches further than my fear.

I don’t always feel like giving thanks — especially not in the waiting, or the weeping, or the parts of life that feel worn thin.
But even then, He’s still good.
Even then, His love still holds.

That’s what I’m remembering tonight.
Not because everything is perfect —
but because His love doesn’t depend on whether it is.

So I’ll whisper thanks into the quiet.
Not because I feel strong —
but because He stays steady.
And that’s enough for today.

Anchor Verse:
“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His love endures forever.”
Psalm 136:1 (NIV)

Not Yet, But Still

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s something sacred about waiting for a promise you may never fully see.

Something holy in trusting even when the outcome is far off — not because you’ve stopped hoping, but because you’ve learned that hope is deeper than outcome.

Hebrews 11 is full of stories like that.
People who waited, who believed, who trusted the voice of God… even when they didn’t hold the fulfillment in their hands.

It doesn’t say they gave up.
It says they welcomed it — from a distance.

And that part stays with me.
Because some seasons are full of waiting.
Of glimpses. Of aching faith.
Of trusting that the work is still worth it —
even when the results are invisible.

Maybe you’re in one of those seasons, too.

You’ve prayed.
You’ve stayed.
You’ve done the hard, holy work of believing.

And still, the promise feels far.

But that doesn’t mean you’ve missed it.
It just means you’re walking by faith —
the kind that doesn’t need proof to keep going.

So keep building.
Keep walking.
Keep holding onto the hope that lives deeper than outcome.

Because not yet doesn’t mean not ever.

And faith?
Real faith lives well in the waiting.

“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.”
Hebrews 11:13 (NIV)

It’s Okay to Feel It All

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

“There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”
(Ecclesiastes 3:4)

I think about that often — especially when my heart doesn’t seem to know which one it’s doing.

Because sometimes, healing feels like both.

Like crying in the car but smiling at the checkout line.
Like praying with gratitude while still aching with grief.
Like holding a hope so fragile, you don’t even have words for it yet.

I was talking recently with a group of young women, and we started sharing what we do when we’re afraid. Some said they speak truth over themselves. Others breathe deeply or write things down. I told them that sometimes, I just let myself feel it.

Because Scripture doesn’t tell us to pretend we’re fine.
It tells us there is a time for everything.
Even fear.
Even sorrow.

Even the kind of ache you thought you should’ve outgrown by now.

So if today you find yourself smiling through tears, or laughing with something heavy still in your chest — that’s okay.

You’re allowed to feel the joy and the sorrow.
The peace and the ache.
The hope and the hurt.

Both can be holy.
Both can be part of your becoming.

Anchor Verse:
“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”
Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NIV)