Letting Go

Burn the Ships

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a phrase I’ve come to love:
Burn the ships.

It’s a metaphor rooted in a historical moment — when explorers arrived on new land and burned their ships so there was no turning back. No retreat. No plan B.
Only forward.

It means full commitment.
It means letting go of what once carried you.
It means choosing not to return to the very thing God rescued you from.

Lately, I’ve felt this stirring in my spirit —
to stop entertaining the “what ifs” and “maybes” of going back.
To stop peeking over my shoulder at the comfort of the familiar, even if the familiar was broken.
To stop waiting for closure or validation or proof that I made the right call.

Sometimes, you don’t get that.

Sometimes, the most faithful thing you can do is move forward anyway.

Burning the ships doesn’t mean you hate where you came from.
It just means you’re not going to live there anymore.
You’re not going to worship a past version of your life
just because it’s what you knew.

You’re going to trust the God who calls you into the unknown.
You’re going to walk away, even with trembling legs,
because you finally believe He has something better ahead.

I don’t know what your “ship” is.
But I know what mine are.
And I know the quiet freedom that comes when I set them aflame —
not in bitterness,
but in boldness.

Because sometimes the fire that ends one thing
is the same fire that lights the way forward.

Anchor Verse:
“But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal…”
— Philippians 3:13–14 (NIV)

When I Leave My Heart Behind

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a kind of quiet that follows certain goodbyes.

Not the kind that signals rest —
but the kind that hangs in the space where presence used to be.
Where laughter echoed just an hour ago.
Where tiny feet ran from room to room.
Where arms wrapped around my neck like they never wanted to let go.

And then, in an instant, it’s quiet again.

When I leave my heart behind,
I hold my breath until I get it back.

Not because I don’t trust.
Not because I’m falling apart.
But because love this deep —
the kind you carry in your bones —
doesn’t know how to exhale when part of you is missing.

Still, I’m learning…

How to breathe in the waiting.
How to find peace in the pause.
How to let the ache be evidence of love — not lack.
How to trust that what God holds, He holds well.

Some days feel heavier than others.
Some goodbyes stretch a little longer.
Some quiets echo a little louder.

But even here,
in this space between letting go and holding on again —
there is grace.

Anchor Verse:
“The Lord watches over you—the Lord is your shade at your right hand.”
Psalm 121:5 (NIV)

When Not Knowing Feels Like Too Much

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

You know what’s kind of wild?
Some people love being surprised.

Ha!
To me, not knowing what’s coming ignites a kind of anxiety and fear that I’d really rather avoid.
Uncertainty makes my shoulders tense and my thoughts race —
not because I doubt God’s goodness,
but because I crave stability. I want to prepare. I want to protect myself.

And yet, here I am…
in a season where so much is unknown.

So much is unplanned.
So much is unfixed.
And still — God is asking me to trust Him.

I don’t know what’s coming.
I don’t know how it all works out.
I don’t even know what tomorrow holds.

But maybe — just maybe —
that’s part of the beauty.

Maybe not knowing is exactly what makes God’s love so powerful.
It’s not dependent on my plans or my preparedness.
It’s not built on certainty, but on surrender.

Because without any help from me —
without my strategy, without my grip,
without my constant attempts to predict the next plot twist —
God is still working.

And His plan?
It far surpasses anything I could write for myself.

So today, I’m loosening my grip.
I’m choosing trust over certainty.
And I’m reminding my anxious heart:

Not knowing doesn’t mean I’m unsafe.
Not knowing doesn’t mean it won’t be good.
It just means the story is still unfolding.

And I’m not the one writing it.

“Commit to the Lord whatever you do,
and He will establish your plans.”
Proverbs 16:3 (NIV)

The House Still Echoes

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been sorting through drawers and closets,
moving quietly from room to room —
making space.
Letting go.

There’s something holy about the quiet work of cleaning out a life.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just one decision at a time:
keep this, release that.

I keep picking up remnants —
things that once made sense in this space,
but now feel like they belonged to someone else’s story.

Things left behind —
as if they still believe they have a place here.

I realize,
I’ve been walking through the outline of a life
that was never fully mine.

And it hits me:
starting over and letting go aren’t the same thing.
You can do both at once —
but they don’t always move at the same pace.

Some moments feel freeing.
Others feel like loss in disguise.

But I keep going.
Because even if the room still echoes right now,
it won’t always.

Maybe what feels empty today
is just waiting to be filled with something new.
Something better.
Something mine.