spiritual growth

What Cannot Be Crushed

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed… struck down, but not destroyed.”

I’ve read those words before and heard resilience.

Lately, I hear something else.

I hear preservation.

Paul doesn’t deny the pressing.
He doesn’t pretend the blows don’t land.
He simply draws a line between what touches the outside
and what reaches the inside.

Hard pressed — but not crushed.
Struck down — but not destroyed.

There is something in the believer that cannot be flattened.

Not because we are strong enough.
But because Christ in us is.

Life can press.
People can misunderstand.
Plans can shift.
Expectations can collapse.

But the Spirit of God within you?
Untouched.

That’s the miracle.

The world can affect your circumstances.
It cannot dismantle your identity.

It can exhaust your body.
It cannot erase your belonging.

It can knock you down.
It cannot take what God has planted.

Maybe that’s what this verse is really about —
not grit.
Not toughness.
Not proving how much you can endure.

But the quiet truth that there is something eternal in you.
Something anchored.
Something held.

You may feel pressed.
But what matters most in you
is not crushable.

“Christ in you, the hope of glory.”
— Colossians 1:27 (NIV)

Ready or Not

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

How do you prepare yourself for parts of your life you didn’t want or ask for?

Because, ready or not, life is happening.

There was a time when “fake it till you make it” felt motivating.
Now it just feels exhausting.

I don’t want to fake strength.
I don’t want to pretend I’m unbothered.
I don’t want to convince myself I’m fine if I’m not.

It’s okay to not be okay —
and still be okay.

Maybe preparation doesn’t look like bracing.
Maybe it looks like breathing.

Maybe it’s not about forcing courage —
but about letting trust take root in places we didn’t choose.

Some seasons aren’t something you gear up for.
They simply arrive.

And you either tighten up against them,
or you learn to stand quietly inside them.

I’m learning that strength doesn’t always look like certainty.
Sometimes it looks like surrender.
Like rest.
Like quiet trust in the middle of the unfamiliar.

“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says:
‘In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength.’”
— Isaiah 30:15 (NIV)

I Don’t Need to Know Yet

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

There’s a strange pressure to have clarity.

To know where this is going.
To understand what it means.
To be able to explain it in a way that feels tidy and complete.

But sometimes life isn’t ready to be explained.

Sometimes it’s just being lived.

And I’m learning that not knowing doesn’t mean I’m lost.
It doesn’t mean I’ve missed something.
It doesn’t mean God is withholding.

It just means I’m still inside the story.

There are chapters you can only understand once you’ve turned the page.
And if I try to summarize too soon, I’ll miss the depth of what’s still unfolding.

So tonight, I’m loosening my grip on the need to define everything.

I don’t need to know yet.

“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things revealed belong to us…”
— Deuteronomy 29:29 (NIV)

Hope, Defined

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

The dictionary defines hope as
a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.

I’ve always found that definition a little fragile.

Because feelings change.
Expectations disappoint.
And desire doesn’t always mean fulfillment.

If hope is just wishful thinking — just wanting things to turn out a certain way — then it’s easy to lose when life doesn’t cooperate.

But Scripture speaks about hope differently.

Biblical hope isn’t rooted in circumstances or outcomes.
It isn’t dependent on how things look today, or whether prayers are answered quickly, or whether the story unfolds the way we imagined.

Biblical hope is confidence — not in what will happen, but in Who is holding it all.

It’s the kind of hope that remains when the waiting is long.
The kind that stays when answers don’t come right away.
The kind that doesn’t collapse when life feels uncertain.

This kind of hope isn’t passive or naïve.
It’s anchored.

It doesn’t say, “Everything will work out the way I want.”
It says, “God is still good, even here.”

And sometimes, that’s the difference between despair and endurance.

On days when hope feels thin, I’m learning to come back to this truth:
Hope isn’t pretending things are easy.
It’s choosing to trust that God is faithful — even when things are not.

That kind of hope doesn’t fade when circumstances change.
It deepens.

And that’s the kind of hope I want to hold onto.

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”
— Hebrews 6:19 (NIV)

God Has a Plan for It All

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Oftentimes, we confuse the idea of “it’s all a part of God’s plan” with “God has a plan for it all.”

And that confusion matters.

Because when we tell ourselves that everything is part of His plan, it can make suffering feel unbearable to reconcile.
If God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving — why didn’t He step in?
Why didn’t He stop it?
Why did He allow me to live through this?

Those questions are deeply human. And they’re honest.

But reframing it this way changes something in me:

God has a plan for it all.

Not that He authored the pain.
Not that He desired the tragedy.
But that He is able to redeem it.

God has a plan to use our suffering.
A plan to use our brokenness.
A plan to take the scars we never asked for and turn them into places of compassion.

He meets us in our pain — and then, through it, gives us the ability to meet others in theirs.

Not because the suffering was good.
But because He is.

“For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver…
we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.”
— Psalm 66:10–12a (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)

Signs or Messages

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the difference between a sign
and a message from God.

A sign feels external.
Something you notice.
Something that makes you pause.

A message feels quieter.
More internal.
Something that settles instead of startles.

For a long time, I was searching for signs —
something obvious enough to remove doubt.

But I’m learning God doesn’t always speak that way.

Sometimes what He offers isn’t direction,
but discernment.

Not an answer —
but awareness.

A peace that doesn’t make logical sense.
A hesitation that asks you to slow down.
A nudge that doesn’t shout,
but doesn’t go away either.

Maybe signs point outward.
And messages draw us inward.

And maybe the work isn’t deciphering everything,
but learning to listen
to what quietly brings peace.

“After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire came a gentle whisper.”
— 1 Kings 19:12 (NIV)

Honesty, Lately

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I chose my word for the new year to be honesty —
and honestly, I’ve been seeing life through a more honest lens just by setting that intention.

I’ve been more honest with myself about how I’m actually feeling.
More honest with others, too.
Not forcing myself to push through when I know I need to be still.

That honesty has softened things.
It’s made room for rest instead of resistance.

And it’s shifted the way I see people.

I feel like I notice intentions more clearly now —
not in a suspicious way,
just with awareness.

Whether someone is being honest or not.

And instead of trying to correct it or carry it,
I’m learning to simply see it…
and respond accordingly.

“Yet you desired faithfulness even in the womb;
you taught me wisdom in that secret place.”
— Psalm 51:6 (NIV)

Eggshell Seasons

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are seasons of life where everything feels fragile.

Where you move carefully.
Speak softly.
Think twice before every step.

Not because you’re weak —
but because the ground beneath you doesn’t feel steady yet.

These are the eggshell seasons.
The ones where peace feels conditional,
where tension lingers in the air,
where even rest feels earned instead of given.

And they’re exhausting.

It’s hard to live constantly bracing yourself.
Hard to feel fully present when you’re always preparing for impact.
Hard to relax when you don’t know what might crack next.

But here’s what I’m learning:
God does not confuse fragility with failure.

He sees the careful steps.
The restraint.
The wisdom it takes to survive seasons like this without becoming hardened or bitter.

Eggshell seasons teach us something sacred —
how to listen more closely,
how to depend more deeply,
how to notice where our true safety comes from.

Because eventually, you realize:
The goal isn’t to learn how to walk better on eggshells.
The goal is to let God lead you off of them.

Until then, He walks with you.
Not rushing you.
Not shaming you for your caution.
Not demanding strength you don’t have yet.

Just steady presence.
Quiet protection.
Enough grace for today.

“You provide a broad path for my feet,
so that my ankles do not give way.”
— Psalm 18:36 (NIV)

Faith, Defined

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for,
the conviction of things not seen.”

I’ve read that verse so many times.
But lately, it feels less like a definition
and more like a description of how I’m living.

Faith isn’t certainty.
It’s not clarity.
It’s not having the outcome in hand.

It’s waking up and choosing hope anyway.
Trusting something is forming,
even when you can’t see it yet.
Standing on ground that feels steady
only because you believe it is.

Faith is quiet like that.
Unimpressive.
Unseen.
But strong enough to hold a life together.

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)