Trust

Faith in the Unseen Work

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

One of the hardest parts of faith
is believing something is happening
when you can’t see it.

We’re used to progress that shows itself.
Plans that unfold clearly.
Answers that arrive in ways we recognize.

But God often works differently than that.

The most important work in our lives
rarely happens where we can watch it.

It happens quietly.

In the slow reshaping of our hearts.
In the patience we didn’t used to have.
In the wisdom that grows without announcing itself.

Sometimes we want visible movement —
a clear sign that things are changing.

But faith often asks something else from us.

It asks us to trust that God is working
in places we can’t measure yet.

Beneath the surface.
Behind the scenes.
Inside the parts of us still being formed.

And maybe the real evidence of His work
isn’t always what changes around us.

Sometimes it’s the quiet awareness
that we’re learning to trust Him
even without seeing the outcome yet.

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (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)

Holding Two Truths

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

There are moments when my heart doesn’t know how to choose just one feeling.

Gratitude and grief.
Peace and resistance.
Trust and ache.

They show up together, uninvited, and sit side by side.

I’ve learned that faith doesn’t always resolve the tension.
Sometimes it simply gives you permission to hold it.

To admit that something can be right and hard.
That obedience doesn’t always feel peaceful.
That surrender can still hurt.

I think we’re often tempted to rush ourselves out of conflicted spaces —
to label one feeling as faithful and the other as wrong.

But Scripture is full of people who loved God deeply
and still wrestled with what obedience cost them.

So maybe this isn’t confusion.
Maybe it’s complexity.

Maybe it’s the holy work of learning how to trust God
while your heart is still catching up.

Tonight, I’m not asking for clarity.
I’m asking for steadiness.

The kind that holds both truths at once.
The kind that doesn’t force resolution too quickly.
The kind that believes God is near —
even when the feelings don’t agree.

“Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.”
— Psalm 62:8 (NIV)

Not Yet

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Someone told me today, “God is saying not yet.”

And it’s been sitting with me all day.

Not yet is a strange answer.
It’s not a no.
But it’s not the relief you’re begging for either.

It makes you ask hard questions.
Why now?
Why wait?
How much longer can I hold this?

When God says not yet, it doesn’t mean He’s absent.
But it does mean surrender looks different than we hoped.

It means trusting Him when you don’t get to see the work yet.
It means believing He’s still moving — even when all you feel is the ache of standing still.
It means learning how to breathe in the waiting.

I don’t have clarity tonight.
And I don’t feel peace.

But I do have a quiet resolve to keep showing up —
even when not yet feels heavier than I know how to carry.

So for now, I’m not rushing God.
I’m not pretending this doesn’t hurt.
I’m holding onto the belief that not yet doesn’t mean never.

And while I wait,
I will do what I can:
be strong,
take heart,
and trust the Lord with what I cannot yet see.

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”
— Psalm 27:14 (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)

I’m Learning to Leave the Light On

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I don’t always know what’s coming next.
Some days, I don’t even feel certain about what’s right in front of me.

There are moments when it would be easier to shut the door,
to turn the lights off,
to wait in the dark until something makes sense again.

But I’m learning not to do that.

I’m learning to leave the light on —
not because I’m fearless,
but because I don’t want uncertainty to harden me.

For myself.
For hope.
For the parts of me that are still becoming, still healing, still learning how to trust without a clear outline of what’s ahead.

Leaving the light on looks like staying open.
It looks like choosing presence over retreat.
Like believing that clarity isn’t the only sign of faith.

Some nights, faith doesn’t look like confidence at all.
It looks like keeping the room warm.
Like refusing to shut myself off.
Like making space for what might still arrive.

Tonight, I don’t have answers.
But I’m still here.
Still open.
Still trusting that light, even when it’s small, is worth keeping on.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.”
— Psalm 56:3 (NIV)

Beautiful, Quiet, and Not Yet Safe

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

It’s snowing here.

Everything outside is white and quiet and beautiful —
the kind of beauty that makes you want to stop and stare.

But the conditions are hazardous.
The roads are slick.
The kind of beauty you admire from the window,
not the kind you rush out into.

So we stay inside.
Warm.
Still.
Watching.

And it strikes me how often life looks like this.

How something can appear peaceful,
gentle,
even inviting —
while underneath, it isn’t safe to move yet.

Not everything beautiful is meant to be touched.
Not every open door is meant to be walked through.
Not every season that looks calm is ready for forward motion.

Sometimes wisdom looks like staying put.
Like waiting.
Like trusting that stillness isn’t wasted time.

The snow will melt when it’s time.
The roads will clear.
Movement will come.

But for now, there is grace in staying inside.
In paying attention.
In letting beauty exist without demanding more from it.

Tonight, I’m not rushing the thaw.
I’m letting this be what it is.

Beautiful.
Quiet.
And not yet safe.

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength.”
— Isaiah 30:15 (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)