Trust

Things I Don’t Have Language For Yet

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

There are things in my life right now that I don’t have words for.

Not because I’m avoiding them.
Not because I’m pretending they don’t exist.
But because they haven’t settled into language yet.

They live somewhere deeper than explanation.
Somewhere between what’s happened and what I understand about it.
Somewhere I’m still learning how to sit with.

I’ve noticed how quickly we’re expected to name things.
To define them.
To explain how we feel and why and what it all means.

But not everything arrives with clarity.
Some things take time before they can be spoken honestly.

So for now, I’m letting a few things remain unnamed.
Not hidden — just unfinished.

I trust that when the words come, they’ll come gently.
And until then, it’s okay to live with what I don’t yet know how to say.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”
— Romans 8:26 (NIV)

Still With Me

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a quiet reassurance woven through Scripture that I keep coming back to —
the reminder that God doesn’t leave when life feels unsettled.

Not when faith feels steady.
Not when it feels thin.
Not when the questions linger longer than the answers.

He stays.

Sometimes I think we expect God’s nearness to feel dramatic —
a sudden clarity, a strong emotion, a sense of certainty.
But more often, His presence feels like something quieter.

Like endurance.
Like steadiness.
Like the ability to keep showing up even when the path isn’t clear.

This kind of faith doesn’t always announce itself.
It simply remains.

And maybe that’s what Sunday is for —
not to arrive with everything resolved,
but to remember that we’re not walking alone into the week ahead.

God is still with us.
Still faithful.
Still holding what we can’t.

That truth doesn’t remove the weight of life,
but it does make it a little more bearable.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

“The Lord is near to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth.”
— Psalm 145:18 (NIV)

I’m Not Waiting for Closure

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

For a long time, I thought closure was something I needed in order to move forward.
A conversation.
An apology.
An explanation that made everything make sense.

But life doesn’t always offer that.

Some stories don’t wrap up neatly.
Some questions stay unanswered.
Some endings come without the clarity we hoped for.

And waiting for closure can quietly turn into waiting on life to begin again.

Lately, I’ve been realizing that I don’t have to wait for everything to make sense before I keep living.
I don’t need every loose end tied.
I don’t need a final chapter before I turn the page.

There’s a different kind of peace that comes from accepting what is —
from releasing the need to understand it all
and choosing to move forward anyway.

Not because it didn’t matter.
But because I matter too.

So I’m not waiting for closure.
I’m choosing presence.
I’m choosing the next right step.
I’m choosing to live fully in the middle — even if some things remain unfinished.

And that feels like freedom.

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!”
— Isaiah 43:18–19 (NIV)

Held by His Faithfulness

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Some weeks remind me just how fragile I am.
How easily shaken.
How much I want certainty, protection, assurance that nothing will slip through my fingers.

And then I remember this truth:

I am not held by my own strength.
I am held by His faithfulness.

Scripture doesn’t promise that life will be easy or predictable.
But it does promise something better — something steadier.

God is faithful.
Not occasionally.
Not when circumstances cooperate.
But always.

He strengthens us not just for what we can see,
but for what we can’t.
For fears we don’t yet have language for.
For discouragement that creeps in quietly.

There is comfort in knowing that even when I feel unsure,
even when my footing feels unsteady,
even when I don’t trust myself to hold it all together —

He does.

So this Sunday, I’m not asking for perfect peace or clear answers.
I’m resting in the kind of security that doesn’t depend on either.

The faithfulness of God is enough to stand on.
Enough to trust.
Enough to carry me through whatever comes next.

“But the Lord is faithful, and He will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.”
— 2 Thessalonians 3:3 (NIV)

The Quiet Test

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Every time I start to feel like God isn’t there,
I remember something simple:

The teacher is always quiet during the test.

Silence doesn’t mean absence.
Sometimes it means you’re being trusted to keep going
with what you already know —
the truth you’ve learned, the faith you’ve practiced,
the strength you didn’t know you were building.

Because tests aren’t meant to feel easy.
They’re meant to reveal who you’re becoming.

Not in moments of certainty,
but in the quiet ones —
where you choose to stay faithful without being reminded why.

And maybe that’s the real work of the silence:
not to break you,
but to form something steady that lasts.

“Let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.”
— James 1:4 (CSB)

Daily Bread

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Some seasons don’t feel like forward motion.
They feel like circles.
Like prayers prayed a hundred times over.
Like showing up, again and again, to the same hard place —
with nothing to show for it but faith.

It can feel like nothing is happening.
No breakthroughs. No answers. No big, sweeping change.
Just… more waiting.
More unknown.
More of the same.

But what if the change isn’t out there?
What if it’s in you?

What if the waiting is where you’re being refined —
gently, slowly, quietly —
into someone more surrendered, more rooted, more whole?

Maybe this is what He’s teaching you:
You don’t need to see the whole map to keep walking.
You don’t need tomorrow’s provision to trust Him today.
You just need the daily bread He promised.

Not clarity for the next year.
Just courage for the next step.

You’re learning to walk by faith —
not by sight.

And that’s no small thing.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”
— Psalm 119:105 (ESV)

Not Yet, But Still

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s something sacred about waiting for a promise you may never fully see.

Something holy in trusting even when the outcome is far off — not because you’ve stopped hoping, but because you’ve learned that hope is deeper than outcome.

Hebrews 11 is full of stories like that.
People who waited, who believed, who trusted the voice of God… even when they didn’t hold the fulfillment in their hands.

It doesn’t say they gave up.
It says they welcomed it — from a distance.

And that part stays with me.
Because some seasons are full of waiting.
Of glimpses. Of aching faith.
Of trusting that the work is still worth it —
even when the results are invisible.

Maybe you’re in one of those seasons, too.

You’ve prayed.
You’ve stayed.
You’ve done the hard, holy work of believing.

And still, the promise feels far.

But that doesn’t mean you’ve missed it.
It just means you’re walking by faith —
the kind that doesn’t need proof to keep going.

So keep building.
Keep walking.
Keep holding onto the hope that lives deeper than outcome.

Because not yet doesn’t mean not ever.

And faith?
Real faith lives well in the waiting.

“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.”
Hebrews 11:13 (NIV)

When Obedience Doesn’t Feel Rewarded

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

There are days when obedience doesn’t feel like a victory.
When you show up. Do the right thing. Keep your heart soft.
And still feel like you’re walking away with empty hands.

Maybe you stayed kind when someone else wasn’t.
Maybe you prayed with your whole heart — and nothing changed.
Maybe you trusted God’s “not yet” even when you wanted to run.

And still, it feels like you’re falling behind.

But Scripture doesn’t say, “If you do the right thing, everything will go your way.”
It says,

“Let us not grow weary in doing good,
for at the proper time we will reap a harvest,
if we do not give up.”
— Galatians 6:9

Obedience is not about outcomes.
It’s not a guarantee of comfort, or applause, or clarity.

Obedience is about love.
It’s how we say,
“God, I trust You more than I trust what I see.”

So if you’re walking through a season that feels unrewarded —
if your faith feels invisible to the world but costly to you —
you’re not doing it wrong.

You’re walking by faith.
And that matters more than you know.

When I Leave My Heart Behind

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a kind of quiet that follows certain goodbyes.

Not the kind that signals rest —
but the kind that hangs in the space where presence used to be.
Where laughter echoed just an hour ago.
Where tiny feet ran from room to room.
Where arms wrapped around my neck like they never wanted to let go.

And then, in an instant, it’s quiet again.

When I leave my heart behind,
I hold my breath until I get it back.

Not because I don’t trust.
Not because I’m falling apart.
But because love this deep —
the kind you carry in your bones —
doesn’t know how to exhale when part of you is missing.

Still, I’m learning…

How to breathe in the waiting.
How to find peace in the pause.
How to let the ache be evidence of love — not lack.
How to trust that what God holds, He holds well.

Some days feel heavier than others.
Some goodbyes stretch a little longer.
Some quiets echo a little louder.

But even here,
in this space between letting go and holding on again —
there is grace.

Anchor Verse:
“The Lord watches over you—the Lord is your shade at your right hand.”
Psalm 121:5 (NIV)

What Draws Me Closer

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a quote I came across recently:

“Sadness that brings you closer to God is better than happiness that pulls you further away.”

It stung my heart in the best kind of way.

Because if I’m being honest — my life doesn’t look like what I thought it would two years ago.
It doesn’t even look like what I thought it would one year ago.
There’s a version of life I imagined, prayed for, maybe even tried to build myself.

But here I am… not at the end of the storm, but squarely in the middle of it.
And still — I’m more at peace than I’ve ever been.

Because this kind of peace?
It isn’t circumstantial.
It isn’t surface-deep.
It’s the kind that settles in when you’ve finally stopped chasing the kind of “happiness” that always leaves you empty.

I can look back now at moments that felt happy on the outside —
And realize that my heart still ached underneath it all.
I called it joy, but it was just distraction.
I called it peace, but it was just quiet tension.
I called it fulfillment, but I was starving inside for something real.

Something deeper.
Something truer.
Something eternal.

And so while there are things I still grieve —
Plans that changed.
People who left.
Parts of myself I had to let go of…

I celebrate what I’ve found in the aftermath:
A God who never walked away.
A presence that met me in my lowest moments.
A love that doesn’t depend on how happy I feel, but on how deeply I’m held.

So no — my life doesn’t look like what I pictured.
But it looks more like Jesus.
And that, I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Anchor Verse

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
John 14:27 (NIV)