Moving Forward

The Long Drive

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s something about a long drive that changes your sense of distance.

You can drive for hours…

and still not be there.

You’ve crossed state lines.

Passed towns you’ll probably never see again.

Watched the landscape change outside your window.

You’ve traveled hundreds of miles.

And somehow, the only thing that seems to matter is how far you still have to go.

I’ve been thinking about how often I do that with life.

I look toward where I want to be.

Who I want to become.

What I’m still praying for.

What hasn’t happened yet.

And suddenly, all I can see is the distance remaining.

I forget to look in the rearview mirror.

Not to live there.

Just long enough to notice how far I’ve already come.

The prayers I don’t pray anymore because God already answered them.

The things that once terrified me that I now know I can survive.

The lessons that used to feel impossible and now feel like part of me.

The person I was when this road began.

Sometimes we’re so focused on arriving that we mistake not being there yet for not having gone anywhere.

Those aren’t the same thing.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons Scripture tells us to remember.

Remember what God has done.

Remember where He’s carried us.

Remember His faithfulness behind us when the road ahead still feels long.

Because sometimes you need to look backward for a moment…

just to find the courage to keep going forward.

I’m not there yet.

There are still miles ahead.

And that’s okay.

God has been faithful for every mile behind me.

I have every reason to trust Him with the road ahead.

“Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years…”
— Deuteronomy 8:2 (NIV)

Not Everything Gets Given Back

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I read something today about Job.

That God didn’t give him his old life back —
He gave him a new one.

That some pain isn’t explained,
it’s redeemed.

And I’ve been sitting with that.

Because if I’m honest,
I think part of me still expects life to circle back.

To return what was lost.
To restore things the way they were.
To make it all make sense in a way I recognize.

But that’s not always how it works.

Sometimes what’s gone
doesn’t come back the same way.

Sometimes there isn’t a clear explanation.
No moment where everything is tied together neatly.

And that’s the part that’s hard to sit with.

Because redemption doesn’t always look like replacement.

It doesn’t always feel like more.
It doesn’t always come in a way you can immediately recognize as good.

Sometimes it’s quieter than that.

Sometimes it looks like continuing.
Like rebuilding without having all the pieces.
Like learning to hold both what was
and what is now
at the same time.

I don’t know that I fully understand redemption yet.

But I’m starting to see
that it isn’t always about getting something back.

Sometimes it’s about becoming someone
who can keep moving forward
even without it.

“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…”
— Joel 2:25 (NIV)

I’m Not Waiting for Closure

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

For a long time, I thought closure was something I needed in order to move forward.
A conversation.
An apology.
An explanation that made everything make sense.

But life doesn’t always offer that.

Some stories don’t wrap up neatly.
Some questions stay unanswered.
Some endings come without the clarity we hoped for.

And waiting for closure can quietly turn into waiting on life to begin again.

Lately, I’ve been realizing that I don’t have to wait for everything to make sense before I keep living.
I don’t need every loose end tied.
I don’t need a final chapter before I turn the page.

There’s a different kind of peace that comes from accepting what is —
from releasing the need to understand it all
and choosing to move forward anyway.

Not because it didn’t matter.
But because I matter too.

So I’m not waiting for closure.
I’m choosing presence.
I’m choosing the next right step.
I’m choosing to live fully in the middle — even if some things remain unfinished.

And that feels like freedom.

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!”
— Isaiah 43:18–19 (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.