Motherhood

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)

What Will I Be Remembered For?

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s something I think about regularly —
not because I’m nearing the end, but because I want to live more intentionally in the middle of it all.

I think about the years ahead:
5, 10, 20, even 40 years from now.
What kind of life will I have built?
Will I look back with peace — knowing I gave my whole heart to the people who mattered most?
Will my child know how deeply he was loved?
Will my faith have shaped the way I showed up for others?

When I’m no longer here and I’ve returned to dust,
what will remain of me?

Will the people I loved still feel my love in how I made them feel?
Will the seeds I planted still be bearing fruit in someone else’s life?

I know that sounds heavy.
But maybe we all need to think about it sometimes.

Because legacy isn’t about fame or big moments.
It’s about presence.
Consistency.
Grace.

It’s in the quiet choices that no one sees.
The love we give freely, without condition.
The way we keep showing up — even when it’s hard.

So what do I hope I’m remembered for?

I hope I’m remembered as someone who gave her all
to the people who were entrusted to her care.
That when the sun sets and the moon rises,
you’ll still know that my love for Jesus was constant — not just in my words,
but in how I tried to love you, too.

Am I perfect? Certainly not.
But I want to live today — and every day I’m given —
with the kind of love that leaves something lasting behind.

Because in the end, that’s what I hope they remember:

That I knew Him.
And I tried to show you His love
in how I lived.

Anchor Verse:

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
Psalm 90:12 (NIV)

The Things I Want to Remember About Right Now

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are things I want to remember —
not just for the sake of memory,
but because this season is shaping me as much as it’s shaping you.

So I’m writing them down here —
quietly, softly,
like a whisper I can return to
when the house is quiet
and my arms feel too empty
or my eyes too tired
to recall the sacred weight of now.

I want to remember how small your fingers still feel in mine.
How you hand me books and sit in my lap without words.
How your whole body leans into love like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I want to remember your laugh —
the one that bubbles up from your belly when something truly delights you.
The way it catches me off guard and heals something in me every time.

I want to remember how we dance in the kitchen,
how you ask for music and raise your arms in the air
like you already know joy is meant to be embodied.

I want to remember the way your head rests on my shoulder,
not because you’re tired —
but because you’re home.

I want to remember this version of me too.
Not perfect.
Not polished.
But present.

The woman who is healing in real time.
Who cries at night and prays in whispers.
Who stretches herself thin to make sure you’re whole.

The one who is learning to slow down —
to soak in the mess, the noise, the ache and the awe of it all.

Because this isn’t just your childhood.
It’s my becoming.

Anchor Verse:

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.”
Psalm 91:4 (NIV)

Tracing the Face of God

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

There are moments I find myself crying out, not because I don’t believe God is near — but because I desperately want to feel Him.

It happened when I was driving home after something had upset me. I was talking to God the way I do when I’m worked up — no script, no filter, just honest. And I said out loud, “Even though I’m alone… I know I’m not alone. I know You’re sitting right here with me.”

But still — I wanted more.
Not more proof, just more presence.

I wanted to feel Him.
I wanted to see Him.
I wanted to hear something from Him — not metaphorically, not spiritually… but tangibly.

And then something struck me:
What I really wanted… was to be able to touch Him.
To smell Him.
To reach for Him like a child does their parent.

That’s when this image came to mind — one I’ve seen a hundred times in my own house.
Me, rocking my baby to sleep…
His tiny hands gently reaching for my face — tracing my lips, my eyelashes, my nose.
Not because he’s trying to calm me…
But because he’s learning me.
Because he wants to know the features of the one who loves him.

And I realized — maybe that’s what God wants from us too.

Maybe He wants us to be so hungry to know Him, so desperate to recognize Him, that we would reach for Him like a child in the dark.
Not to fix anything.
Not to perform anything.
But just to discover.

To trace the lines of His face.
To wonder where His hair falls at the nape of His neck.
To feel the curve of His jaw, the arch of His brow, the kindness in His eyes.
To know: this is my Father.

We often think of God as the one tracing us — counting the hairs on our head, holding our tears in a bottle, never sleeping as He watches over us.

But what if the invitation has always been two-way?

What if He’s not hiding — just waiting?
Waiting for us to draw closer.
Waiting for us to cup His face in our hands — not because we need something from Him… but because we want to know Him.

I want to know the God who knows me like that.

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”
1 Corinthians 13:12 (NIV)