spiritual growth

It Changed the Way I Saw Hardship

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I heard someone say recently,

“The devil doesn’t need to make life harder
for those who are already his.”

And while I don’t think life is always that simple,
the statement stayed with me.

Because for a long time,
I think part of me believed
that following God closely
would eventually lead to an easier life.

More peace.
More clarity.
Less resistance.

But that’s not actually what Scripture promises.

If anything,
some of the people closest to God in the Bible
walked through tremendous suffering.

Not because God abandoned them.

But because hardship and holiness
have never been mutually exclusive.

And honestly,
that changed the way I started viewing difficult seasons.

Not as proof that God is absent.
Not as punishment.
Not as failure.

But as part of living in a broken world
while still trying to remain anchored to Him inside of it.

Because faith was never about avoiding hardship.

It was about knowing Who remains beside you through it.

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
— John 16:33 (NIV)

The Flowers I Didn’t Plant

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been thinking about the things that grow in us
that we never intentionally planted.

Not strength itself—
I’ve spent years trying to become stronger.

Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.

But there are other things
I didn’t realize were growing too.

Discernment.
Resilience.
Perspective.

A deeper understanding of myself.
Of people.
Of God.

Somehow, they grew quietly in the background
while I was busy just trying to make it through certain seasons.

And that’s what surprises me sometimes—

How growth can happen
simultaneously with grief.

You don’t always notice it immediately.

You’re too close to it.
Too inside of it.

But one day you look at yourself
and realize something exists in you now
that didn’t before.

Not because you chased it.

But because God was still growing things
even in seasons that felt uncertain.

Maybe that’s the strange beauty of life.

That even painful seasons
can leave something beautifully meaningful behind.

Flowers we never meant to plant.

“We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
— Romans 5:3–4 (NIV)

Rest Isn’t Weakness

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

This has been a hard week for me.

And if I’m honest,
I don’t always know what to do with that.

Because I’ve spent a long time believing
that being tired meant I wasn’t handling things well enough.

That if I were stronger,
more disciplined,
more capable—

I wouldn’t feel so worn down sometimes.

So I push through it.

I try to stay productive.
Stay positive.
Stay okay.

And most of the time,
I don’t even talk about how tired I really am.

Because somewhere along the way,
I started associating rest with weakness.

But there comes a point
where your mind, your body, even your spirit
start asking for something different.

Not more effort.

Just rest.

And I’m starting to realize
that surrendering to rest
doesn’t mean I’m giving up.

It means I’m human.

It means I was never meant
to carry everything endlessly
without stopping to breathe.

And maybe resting isn’t weakness after all.

Maybe it’s trust.

Trust that the world won’t fall apart
if I stop striving for a moment.

Trust that God can hold things together
even when I finally let myself be still.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

He’s Been Good to Me

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been thinking about this lately.

How He’s been good to me.

Not in a loud, obvious way.
Not in a way that makes everything easy
or ties everything together the way I would choose—
because it hasn’t been easy.

But in the ways that matter.

In the way I’ve been carried
through things I couldn’t have carried alone.

In the way I’ve been steadied
when I didn’t feel steady on my own.

In the way I’ve been protected
in places I didn’t even realize I needed it.

And I don’t think I always noticed it at the time.

Because I was looking for something different.

Something clearer.
Something that made more sense.

But looking back, I can see it.

Not everything turned out the way I thought it would.

Not everything was restored the way I hoped.

But even in that—

He’s been good to me.

And I think that’s what I’m learning.

That His goodness isn’t always measured
by how things turn out.

Sometimes it’s measured
by how He holds you through it.

“Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life…”
— Psalm 23:6 (NIV)

I Said It Out Loud

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I said it out loud for the first time.

“I sometimes feel like I don’t fully trust God.”

I had never said those words before.

Not because I didn’t feel them.
But because I was afraid to.

Afraid that saying it out loud
would make it more real.
Afraid it would mean something about my faith
that I didn’t want to be true.

So I kept it quiet.

But when I finally said it—
just plainly, without trying to soften it—

something unexpected happened.

I felt relief.

Not because I suddenly had all the answers.
Not because everything shifted in that moment.

But because I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

And I started to understand something.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust God.

It was that I didn’t trust myself
to let go.

To release the things I’ve been holding so tightly—
the hurt,
the worry,
the fear,
the need to understand what will happen next.

Because letting go feels like losing control.

But the truth is,
I was never holding control to begin with.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning.

That honesty doesn’t weaken my faith.

It brings it into the light.

And when it’s there—
it doesn’t hold the same weight it did in the dark.

“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
— Mark 9:24 (NIV)

More Than Noise

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

“If I do not have love,
I am just a clanging cymbal.”

I’ve read that before.

I’ve heard it explained.
Heard it applied to how we treat people.
How we speak.
How we show up.

But I don’t think I’ve ever felt it
the way I do now.

Because it’s one thing to read about love
when life feels steady.

It’s another thing
to hold onto it
when it would be easier not to.

After everything I’ve walked through—
the moments that tested me,
the things that could have hardened me—

I understand it differently.

Because I can still speak well.
Still show up.
Still do the right things on the surface.

But if love isn’t there—
if it’s been replaced with bitterness,
guardedness,
or just going through the motions—

then it’s just noise.

And that’s the part that stays with me.

Not whether I get everything right.

But whether I let what I’ve been through
change the way I love.

Because that’s the real cost.

Not what happened.

But what it takes from you
if you let it.

So I’m learning to pay attention to that.

To protect it.

To choose it, even when it’s quieter
and harder to hold onto.

Because without it—

nothing else really matters.

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”
— 1 Corinthians 13:1 (NIV)

I Didn’t Sit Through the Sermon

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I was walking around the church with my son during service.

Our building is set up in a circle,
with the auditorium in the center.

So as I followed him around—
passing by the doors,
catching glimpses of everyone sitting inside—

I had a thought I didn’t expect.

This is hard right now.

Not being able to sit through a full sermon.
Not being in the room the whole time.
Not experiencing church the way I used to.

But it would be so much harder
if this looked different later.

If he were older
and I was trying to convince him to come.

Trying to get him to sit.
Trying to get him to care.

Because right now?

He loves it.

He loves going to church.
He loves going to Bible class.
He wants to be here.

And I realized something in that moment.

Even though I haven’t sat through a full sermon
in quite some time…

I’m still being taught.

Just not in the way I expected.

Not from a stage.
Not from a seat.

But in the middle of following him around,
in the middle of these small, shifting moments—

there’s still something to take in.

And maybe I’m learning just as much as he is.

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
— Matthew 19:14 (NIV)

Sitting in the Wilderness

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I’ve been thinking about something lately.

About solitude.

Not in a lonely way.
Not in a way that feels empty or disconnected.

But the kind of solitude Jesus stepped into
when He was led into the wilderness.

There’s something about that
that I don’t think I’ve fully understood before.

Because it wasn’t random.

He was led there.

And it was in that place—
quiet, alone, stripped of distraction—
that He was met with temptation.

And if I’m honest,
that’s the part that makes me hesitate.

Because I don’t find stillness easy.

Not physically.
And definitely not mentally.

When everything gets quiet,
my mind doesn’t always follow.

It wanders.
It replays things.
It reaches for thoughts that don’t lead anywhere good.

And it makes me want to avoid it.

To stay moving.
To keep filling the space.
To not sit still long enough
for those thoughts to surface.

But I can’t live that way forever.

I can’t stay in motion
just to avoid what might come up in the quiet.

Because Jesus didn’t avoid the wilderness.

He entered it.

And what I’m starting to realize
is that the discomfort of stillness
isn’t something to run from.

It’s something to learn how to sit in.

Not perfectly.
Not without resistance.

But long enough
to recognize that God is there too.

Not just the thoughts.
Not just the tension.

But Him.

And maybe that’s where the strength comes from.

Not from avoiding the quiet—
but from staying in it
long enough to know
you’re not alone there.

“Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness.”
— Luke 4:1 (NIV)

I Keep Reaching for an Answer

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I keep reaching for an answer.

Not out loud.
Not in a way anyone would notice.

Just internally —
trying to line things up in a way that makes sense.

If I think about it long enough,
if I look at it from enough angles,
maybe I’ll find the piece that explains everything.

But I don’t.

And I’m starting to notice that I do this
almost automatically.

Something doesn’t make sense,
and my first instinct is to solve it.

To understand it.

To make it feel settled in my mind
so I can feel settled in myself.

But some things don’t give you that.

Some things stay unresolved
longer than you want them to.

Longer than feels comfortable.

And I think that’s the part I’ve been wrestling with.

Not the situation itself.

But the fact that I can’t make it make sense.

Because faith, for me, has always felt connected to understanding.

Like if I trust God,
things should eventually come together in a way I can follow.

But lately, it hasn’t looked like that.

It’s looked like continuing
without the explanation.

Letting things sit unfinished
without forcing them into something they’re not.

And trusting — not that I’ll figure it out —
but that I don’t have to.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.
— Isaiah 55:8–9 (NIV)

Holding On by a Thread

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I read something today that caught me off guard.

“I might be hanging on by a thread,
but it’s the thread of His garment.”

I don’t think I’ve ever thought about faith like that before.

We talk about strong faith.
Confident faith.
Faith that doesn’t waver.

But that’s not always what it looks like in real life.

Sometimes it looks thin.

Like you’re not holding everything together —
you’re just holding on.

And not even tightly.

Just enough to stay connected.

That’s what stood out to me.

Not the strength of it.
The smallness of it.

Because the woman who reached for Jesus’ garment
wasn’t making a statement.

She wasn’t trying to prove anything.

She was just trying to reach Him
in the only way she could.

And somehow, that was enough.

Not because her faith was impressive.
But because it was directed at the right place.

I think that’s what I forget.

That it doesn’t have to feel big.
Or strong.
Or even steady.

Sometimes it just has to be there.

A thread.

Not holding everything together —
just holding on to Him.

“If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.”
— Mark 5:28 (NIV)