reflection

The Weight of Words

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Our preacher spoke from James 3 this morning, and I’ve found myself thinking about it ever since.

James compares the tongue to a bit in a horse’s mouth.

A rudder on a ship.

A tiny spark that can set an entire forest ablaze.

It’s remarkable that something so small can carry so much power.

And yet…

I think most of us know that’s true long before we ever read it in Scripture.

We’ve all experienced words that stayed with us.

Some became a source of courage.

Others became wounds.

Sometimes a sentence spoken in just a few seconds can echo in someone’s heart for years.

I’ve also realized something.

The words spoken to us have a way of becoming the words we speak to ourselves.

If we’re told we’re not enough often enough,
we begin to believe it.

If we’re constantly criticized,
our inner voice slowly learns the same language.

That’s why James isn’t simply warning us to be careful with our words.

He’s reminding us that our words have the power to give life.

Or to leave wounds that linger long after they’ve been spoken.

Not only in the lives of the people around us,
but sometimes in our own hearts as well.

And maybe that’s why I’ve been asking God to do something deeper than helping me choose kinder words.

I’ve been asking Him to reshape my heart.

Because I want the words that leave my mouth—and the words that stay in my mind—to reflect the One who gave me both.

After all, words don’t just reveal what’s in our hearts.

Given enough time…

they begin to shape them, too.

Anchor Verse

“Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark.”

— James 3:5 (NIV)

I Don’t Think God Is in a Hurry

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been thinking about how often I find myself in a hurry.

A hurry to understand.

A hurry to heal.

A hurry to know what’s next.

A hurry to become the person I hope I’ll be.

And then I read through Scripture.

God doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.

He spends years preparing people for the very thing He promised them.

He works through seasons that look quiet.

He allows waiting that feels uncomfortable.

Not because He’s absent.

But because He’s never rushed what He intends to make lasting.

I wonder how much of my frustration comes from expecting God to work on my timeline instead of trusting His.

Because if I’m honest, I usually want answers more quickly than I want wisdom.

I want outcomes more quickly than I want transformation.

But God seems far more interested in forming hearts than shortening timelines.

And strangely…

there’s peace in that.

Not because I suddenly understand everything.

But because I’m slowly learning that God’s pace has never been a reflection of His love.

Only His wisdom.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NIV)

I Hope I Never Rush Wonder

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I hope I never become so busy that I stop being impressed by ordinary things.

The way the sky changes just before sunrise.

The sound of a child laughing from another room.

The first deep breath after stepping outside.

The hush that settles over everything just before rain.

I wonder if one of the greatest losses in adulthood isn’t our sense of wonder.

It’s our willingness to slow down long enough to notice it.

We’re always moving toward the next thing.

The next appointment.

The next responsibility.

The next notification.

The next goal.

And somewhere along the way, we become so focused on what’s next that we rush past what’s right in front of us.

But wonder has never liked to be rushed.

It asks us to linger.

To look a little longer.

To listen a little more closely.

To let an ordinary moment become extraordinary simply because we gave it our attention.

Maybe that’s why Jesus so often pointed people toward the ordinary.

Seeds.

Birds.

Lilies.

Children.

He wasn’t just teaching lessons.

He was teaching people to notice.

And I think that’s a lesson I need just as much today.

I hope I never become so familiar with God’s creation that I stop seeing His fingerprints in it.

I hope I never rush wonder.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”
— Psalm 19:1 (NIV)

Feelings Make Terrible Historians

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve learned that feelings are excellent messengers.

But terrible historians.

They tell me what this moment feels like.

They tell me what hurts.

What excites me.

What overwhelms me.

What brings me joy.

But they don’t always tell the whole story.

Because a difficult day can convince me that everything is difficult.

A lonely moment can convince me that I’m alone.

A fearful thought can convince me that I’m unsafe.

And if I’m not careful, I start building conclusions from emotions that were only meant to deliver information.

I’ve had days where I felt forgotten.

And later remembered all the ways I wasn’t.

Days where I felt overwhelmed.

And later saw how much grace had been holding me up.

Days where I felt stuck.

And later realized I was moving forward the entire time.

That’s why I’m grateful that truth doesn’t shift with my emotions.

Because some days my feelings are accurate.

And some days they’re incomplete.

And on those days, I need something steadier than how I happen to feel.

I need truth.

And I’m learning that faith often looks like remembering what is true, even when my emotions are telling a smaller story.

“All your words are true; all your righteous laws are eternal.”
— Psalm 119:160 (NIV)

The Waves Don’t Ask Permission

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

One thing I’ve noticed about waves is that they never ask permission before they arrive.

They don’t check whether you’re ready.

They don’t wait until you’re rested.

They don’t pause because you’ve already had enough.

They just come.

Some barely reach your ankles.

Others knock you completely off balance.

And standing there watching them, I couldn’t help but think about how much life works the same way.

So much of life arrives uninvited.

Responsibilities.

Changes.

Opportunities.

Disappointments.

The things we prayed for.

The things we never would have chosen.

Rarely on our timeline.

Rarely with a warning.

And for a long time, I thought strength meant learning how to stop the waves.

How to predict them.

How to prepare for every possibility.

But maybe strength is something simpler than that.

Maybe it’s learning that you can stand back up after one knocks you down.

Not because every wave is small.

But because you’ve learned they won’t carry you away.

And because God has never left you standing in them alone.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”
— Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)

Hungry for More

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Lately, I’ve felt hungry for more.

Not more stuff.

Not more achievement.

Not even more time.

Just more.

More stillness.

More patience.

More energy.

More confidence.

More purpose in the work I do.

More awareness of the opportunities God places in front of me.

And for a while, I wondered if that made me ungrateful.

Because I have so much to be thankful for.

But I don’t think gratitude and hunger are opposites.

I think sometimes they exist together.

I can be grateful for where I am
while still believing God isn’t finished growing me.

I can appreciate this season
while still feeling drawn toward something deeper.

Maybe that’s what hunger is.

Not dissatisfaction.

Invitation.

“You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you…”
— Psalm 63:1 (NIV)

I Missed This About Being Younger

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I think one of the strangest parts of getting older
is realizing how little it takes to make a day feel full when you’re young.

A late-night drive.
A gas station drink.
A random conversation that lasts too long.
Music playing too loud in the car for no reason.

And somehow, that was enough.

Now life feels so much more structured.

Schedules.
Responsibilities.
Appointments.
Trying to remember everything all the time.

And I don’t necessarily miss being younger.

But I do think I miss the lightness of it sometimes.

The ability to be fully present somewhere
without mentally standing in three other places at once.

And maybe adulthood is partly learning
how to find that again.

Not by going backwards.

But by remembering that life is still happening
inside the ordinary moments too.

Not just inside the stressful ones.

“However many years anyone may live, let them enjoy them all…”
— Ecclesiastes 11:8 (NIV)

The Version of Me I Used to Picture

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I used to picture adulthood differently.

Not in a big, dramatic way.

Just… more certain.

I thought by this point in my life,
I would feel more settled in my decisions.
More confident in where things were headed.
More sure of how everything would turn out.

And sometimes I think about that version of me—
the one I imagined years ago—
and wonder what she would think of the life I’m living now.

Not because it’s bad.

Just because it’s different.

There are parts of my life
I never would have predicted.

Parts that stretched me.
Parts that humbled me.
Parts that forced me to become someone stronger than I planned on needing to be.

And honestly?

I think the younger version of me
would be surprised by how much beauty can still exist
inside a life that didn’t go according to plan.

“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.”
— Proverbs 16:9 (NIV)

Motherhood Isn’t a Simple Thing

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Motherhood is defined as the state or experience of being a mother.

But that feels far too small for what it actually is.

Because motherhood isn’t just a role.

It’s nurturing.
Protecting.
Guiding.
Sacrificing.
Loving someone so deeply
that their needs begin to shape the rhythm of your entire life.

But real motherhood is also contradiction.

It’s joy and grief existing at the same time.

It’s being needed constantly
while sometimes feeling invisible.

It’s loving your child more than you thought possible
while quietly grieving the parts of motherhood
you thought would look different.

And I think that’s the part people don’t talk about enough.

That you can deeply love being a mother
and still mourn what motherhood was supposed to look like.

Those things can exist together.

Because motherhood changes everything.

Not just your schedule or your responsibilities—

you.

The way you think.
The way you carry stress.
The way you move through the world.
The way your heart exists outside of your own body now.

And good mothers carry so much of that quietly.

The mental weight.
The emotional weight.
The constant awareness of someone else’s needs.

Showing up over and over again,
even when they’re exhausted.

Even when they feel stretched thin.

Even when it doesn’t look the way they once imagined.

And maybe that’s why motherhood is so sacred.

Because at its core,
it’s love in its most selfless form.

Not perfect.

Not easy.

But steadfast.

Again and again.

“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you…”
— Isaiah 66:13 (NIV)

I Think I’m Learning to Slow Down

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I think I’m learning to slow down a little.

Not in a dramatic, life-changing way.

Just in the small moments.

Not rushing through every silence.
Not feeling like every second needs to be filled.
Not needing every day to feel productive to feel worthwhile.

And honestly, I didn’t realize how uncomfortable that was for me before.

How quickly I move from one thing to the next.
How easily I convince myself that resting has to be earned.

But lately, I’ve been noticing the difference.

How much calmer life feels
when I stop trying to outrun it.

Not everything needs my immediate attention.
Not every quiet moment needs to be interrupted.

Some things can just be still.

And maybe I can too.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10 (NIV)