Presence

This Is Where I Am Today

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Nothing feels especially clear today.

Not in a bad way.
Not in a heavy way.

Just… not defined.

There are things I could sit down and try to sort through.
Things I could probably put words to if I gave it enough time.

But I don’t feel the need to do that right now.

I think sometimes I rush to understand everything
because it makes me feel more in control.

Like if I can name it,
organize it,
make sense of it —

then I’m handling it well.

But today doesn’t feel like a day for that.

Today feels like a day to just exist in it.

To not rush to conclusions.
To not force clarity.
To not try to wrap everything up into something meaningful.

Just to be where I am
without needing it to become something else.

And maybe that’s enough for today.

“Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from him.”
— Psalm 62:1 (NIV)

The Way Time Feels Lately

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been noticing something I can’t quite explain.

Time doesn’t feel the same.

Some days move quickly —
full, busy, gone before I realize it.

And other days stretch in a way that feels almost unfamiliar.

Longer.
Quieter.
Heavier in a way that isn’t obvious, but still there.

Nothing about the clock has changed.

But the way I experience it has.

There are moments that pass without much thought.
And then there are moments that linger —
that I can feel while I’m inside them.

Not because anything big is happening.

Just because I’m more aware.

Of where I am.
Of what I’m carrying.
Of how different things feel than they used to.

I don’t know if time is actually moving differently
or if I’m just paying attention in a way I didn’t before.

But I can tell something has shifted.

I’m not rushing through everything the same way.
I’m not trying to get to the next thing as quickly.

I’m noticing more.

Even the in-between parts.

The parts of the day that don’t really have a name.

And maybe that’s what this is.

Not a change in time.

Just a change in how I’m living inside of it.

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

Observing the Moments

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been noticing something lately.

How easy it is to move through a day without really seeing it.

We rush from one thing to the next —
the errands,
the conversations,
the small responsibilities that quietly fill our hours.

And before we know it, the day has passed
without us ever really pausing inside of it.

But every once in a while, something slows me down.

A laugh that lingers a little longer than expected.
A quiet room at the end of the day.
The feeling of the house settling into evening.

Small moments.

The kind that would be easy to overlook if I wasn’t paying attention.

I’m learning that life isn’t only made up of the big milestones we remember.

It’s built quietly out of these smaller pieces —
the ordinary minutes that pass without ceremony.

And maybe the beauty of it all
is simply taking the time to notice them.

Not trying to capture them.
Not trying to turn them into something bigger than they are.

Just observing them.

Letting them be enough.

Anchor Verse

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

Home

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Home is a strange word.

Sometimes it means a place.
Sometimes it means a feeling.
Sometimes it’s a person.

This week has reminded me that home isn’t always walls or routines or the familiar rhythm of noise in the background.

Sometimes home is absence.
Sometimes it’s waiting.
Sometimes it’s learning how to sit in a space that doesn’t feel like it fits quite right.

And then — sometimes — it’s return.

The way a room feels fuller without anything new added to it.
The way your chest softens without you telling it to.
The way something inside you settles quietly back into place.

There are seasons when we don’t get to define home the way we want to.
Seasons when the shape of it shifts.
When the rhythm changes.
When the quiet feels louder than it should.

But I’m learning something.

Home isn’t only where everything is easy.
Home is where love remains.

Home is where the door opens again.
Where laughter fills the air.
Where the pieces that felt scattered gather back together.

And maybe the deeper truth is this:

God is the constant home beneath all of it.
The steady foundation when the rhythm changes.
The One who holds what I can’t,
when the spaces feel too big.

Tonight feels like exhale.
Like warmth returning.
Like the kind of quiet that isn’t empty — but full.

Home.

“Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”
— Psalm 90:1 (NIV)

When I Come Back to Prayer

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Sometimes prayer doesn’t begin with words.
It begins with a pause.

A moment where I stop moving long enough to notice
what I’ve been carrying without saying.

Lately, prayer has felt less like asking
and more like returning.

Returning to honesty.
Returning to stillness.
Returning to the simple truth that I don’t have to hold everything on my own.

I don’t always know what to say when I come.
Some days it’s just a sentence.
Some days it’s just a breath.
Some days it’s nothing more than staying.

And maybe that counts.

Maybe prayer isn’t measured by how clear or confident we sound.
Maybe it’s measured by our willingness to show up
without rehearsing,
without fixing,
without pretending we’re fine.

I’m learning that prayer doesn’t always change the situation right away.
But it changes where I stand inside of it.

And sometimes, that’s the quiet grace of it —
not answers,
not certainty,
just presence.

God meeting me where I am.
And me learning to stay there a little longer.

“Truly my soul finds rest in God;
my salvation comes from him.”
— Psalm 62:1 (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 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)

Flowers in the Concrete

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I read something recently:
“You are allowing flowers to grow in between the concrete of your grief.”

What beautiful imagery.
And yet — why does it feel so hard to do?

It’s easy to get caught up in our circumstances.
To stay angry at the past.
To worry about what’s ahead.
So much so, we forget to notice the beauty that’s already blooming around us.
We forget to live here, in the now.

With Thanksgiving approaching, I’ve been thinking a lot about thankfulness.
It seems like such a simple thing.
“I’m so thankful I slept well last night.”
“I’m thankful I didn’t have to get out in the rain.”

Those are good things — small gifts worth noticing.
But I wanted to go deeper.

The root of the word thankfulness comes from Old English.
And it’s closely tied to the idea of thought and kindness.

Etymology:
“Thank” comes from Old English þanc (pronounced thah-nk),
which meant thought, gratitude, goodwill.
It’s related to the verb þencan, meaning to think.

So at its root, thankfulness literally means:
“A thoughtful awareness of goodness.”

Not a passing moment of gratitude,
but a deliberate choice to see what’s still good —
especially when life feels hard.

That’s what I want this season to hold.
Not just a long list of blessings.
But a heart that’s thoughtfully aware of the goodness around me,
even when grief is still growing in the cracks.

I want to see the flowers —
not in spite of the concrete,
but because of it.

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

The Beauty That Makes Us Shiver

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a word I stumbled across recently that hasn’t left me since:

Frisson.

It’s that sudden wave of emotion.
A shiver down your spine.
A rush of goosebumps when something beautiful or true or overwhelming brushes past you.

It often happens when we hear a piece of music that moves us. Or when a film scene captures something so human it aches. Or when someone speaks a truth so deep it silences the room.

It’s beauty. But it’s more than that.

And the more I thought about it, the more I wondered:

What if the frisson we feel isn’t just emotion?
What if it’s a glimpse of glory?
What if it’s the evidence of God, brushing up against our earthly edges?

I don’t think it’s an accident that our bodies respond physically to beauty and truth. The goosebumps. The tear that wells up unexpectedly. The breath that catches in our throat. The stillness that follows.

What if those aren’t just reactions?
What if they’re reminders?

That we were made to recognize wonder.
That we were designed to be moved.

Because God is beauty. God is truth. God is presence.
And maybe frisson is what happens when our spirit remembers Him.

Maybe that moment where your heart swells, your skin tingles, and everything in you says, “This matters” — maybe that’s holy ground.

Not because the music was perfect.
Not because the words were eloquent.
But because, for just a second, you were aware of the Divine.

So the next time it happens—
When you hear something that gives you chills.
When you see something that steals your breath.
When you feel something that you can’t quite explain…

Pause.

Pay attention.

Don’t rush past it.

Ask: “God, was that You?”

Because maybe it was.
Maybe it always has been.

Anchor Verse:
“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.”
Psalm 27:4 (NIV)