Motherhood

The Version of Me I Don’t Show

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a version of me that moves through the day just fine.

She answers texts.
She smiles at the store.
She gets things done.
She sounds steady.

And then there’s the version of me that sits in the car for an extra minute before going inside.

The one who replays conversations.
The one who wonders if she said too much — or not enough.
The one who is tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix.

Both versions are real.

I think we underestimate how much energy it takes to carry yourself well when life feels heavier than usual.

Not because you’re pretending.
But because you’re choosing not to unravel in public.

And that’s not dishonesty.
That’s discernment.

Not everyone gets access to your processing.
Not everyone needs to witness the unraveling.
Some spaces are for composure.
Some are for collapse.
Some are just for you and God.

I’m learning that strength isn’t the absence of struggle.
It’s knowing where to lay it down.

Maybe that’s just what it looks like to keep going.

There’s nothing wrong with the version of you that keeps going.
And there’s nothing wrong with the version of you that needs a minute.

You’re allowed to hold both.

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.”
— Psalm 139:1–2 (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)

All Is Calm

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

All is calm.
All is right.

After days of holding my breath,
my heart settles back into its familiar rhythm.

Little hands back where they belong.
Laughter echoing through rooms that felt too quiet.
Christmas lights glowing a little warmer tonight.

Nothing extravagant.
Nothing loud.

Just presence.
Just peace returning to its place.

And as the house grows still,
I let myself rest in it—

grateful,
grounded,
home again.

“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy.”
— Psalm 16:11 (ESV)

The Space Between

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

This evening begins 6 days —
144 hours.
8,640 minutes
without my whole heart with me.

That number makes my chest tighten a little.

None of this timing was mine to choose.
The plans were made. The schedule laid out.
And I’ve been quietly dreading it ever since.

Time is strange, isn’t it?
We beg it to slow down —
then suddenly, we need it to fly.
To disappear.
To carry us somewhere that doesn’t ache quite so much.

I think these are the moments that shape us most.
The ones where everything feels stretched —
heart, soul, time.

And here I am, sitting in it.

I could resist it.
Run from it.
Let the ache name me.

Or I could do the harder thing:
lean in.
Not into the absence —
but into the One who meets me here.

I’m not sure what the next 8,640 minutes will hold.
But I know this:
I won’t walk through a single one of them alone.

“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”
— John 14:18 (KJV)

Behind the Box

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

I found this tucked behind a box I picked up at Costco the other day.

I was just moving through the motions of my day — nothing special, just errands and the usual rhythm. But then, there it was:

A handwritten verse in orange marker, outlined in cloud shapes:

I stood there for a second, just looking at it — like I had been smacked in the face with God’s love when I least expected it.

I looked around, wondering if someone was watching, hoping to see someone smile as they saw me find it.
I even thought about leaving it behind — maybe someone else needed the reminder more than I did.
Maybe someone who didn’t know God yet.

But then it hit me.

I was the one who needed to find it.
I was the one who needed to taste and see.
I was the one who needed that gentle reminder that God is still good… right here, in the middle of my everyday.

So I tucked it in my purse and continued on my way —
pushing the cart with little feet kicking along,
feeling the truth settle into my heart again:

Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord.

And oh, how blessed I am.

“O taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man that trusteth in Him.”
— Psalm 34:8 (KJV)

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 Little Things

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

It’s in the little things.
The quiet things.
The things you don’t always think to write down.

Like playing chase around the house,
laughing so hard your sides ache.

Reading the same children’s book 15 times in a row
because that’s what love does.

Living in our jammies on cold days
with no real plans but each other.

These are the pieces I’ll miss one day.
The ordinary ones that don’t look like much —
until they’re gone.

So tonight, I’m not chasing more.
I’m just noticing what’s already here.

And giving thanks
for the beautiful, holy smallness of it all.

“Better is a little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble with it.”
Proverbs 15:16 (ESV)

A Full Kind of Thankful

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Today wasn’t quiet.
But it was good.

Full of noise.
Full of kids.
Full of the kind of moments you don’t stop to write down
because you’re too busy living them.

And maybe that’s its own kind of gratitude —
not the kind you journal,
but the kind you carry in your bones.

Anchor Verse

“This is the day that the Lord has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
— Psalm 118:24 (ESV)

Through the Valley

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

“Even though I walk through the valley…”
There’s something sacred about those words.
Not because it promises an easy way out.
But because it promises presence.
“…I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”

Sometimes, you don’t get to go around the valley.
You have to walk through it.

And when you do, you start to see —
it’s not the absence of fear that marks your faith,
but the nearness of the One who walks with you through it.

I’m in one of those valley seasons now.
The kind where the air feels heavier.
Where I wake up with more questions than answers.
Where joy is still real, but so is the ache beneath it.

And yet, I keep walking.

Not because I’m strong.
Not because it’s easy.
But because I know He’s near.

That’s what keeps my feet moving —
not clarity, not certainty,
just His presence.

Maybe you’re here too.
Maybe your steps are slow and unsure.
Maybe the shadows feel a little closer than they used to.

But even here — especially here —
you are not alone.

He hasn’t left.
He hasn’t forgotten.
And He isn’t waiting for you to climb out of the valley
before He meets you in it.

He doesn’t always calm the storm first.
Sometimes, He just walks beside us while it rages.

And maybe that’s what faith is —
learning to take the next step
even when the valley still feels dark.

Anchor Verse

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”
— Psalm 23:4 (ESV)

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)