Trust

To Everything I’ve Ever Lost

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Not just what I’ve lost—but what I’ve found because of it.

We don’t always get to choose what’s taken from us. But we do get to choose what we do with the empty space that’s left behind.

And sometimes, if we’re honest, it’s not until we’re brought to our knees by loss that we look up and remember who’s been standing there all along.

That’s what this photo reminded me of:

“To everything I’ve ever lost, thank you for bringing me closer to Jesus.”

It stopped me in my tracks because it’s true. I wouldn’t wish some of the heartbreak I’ve walked through on anyone, but I also wouldn’t trade what it gave me—an intimacy with Jesus I might’ve never known otherwise.

Loss can strip us of our plans, our people, our sense of stability. But it can’t take the One who walks us through the fire.

So maybe the most unexpected gratitude we can offer is this: Thank You for the losses that led me here.

To trust. To surrender. To deeper healing. To Jesus.

Anchor Verse

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

But It Is

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a phrase I haven’t been able to shake today:
“It’s not supposed to be this way. But it is.”

It keeps circling in my mind — not in bitterness, but in truth.
There are things I’m walking through right now that feel out of place.
Unfair.
Heavy.

It’s not how I imagined this season would look.
Not what I thought I’d be carrying.
Not the way the story was supposed to go.

But it is.

And I’ve realized… this is the part of my life that feels like Lamentations.
A chapter full of grief and unanswered questions.
The kind of chapter you don’t post about — but you live in.
One breath at a time.

But even Lamentations has this reminder tucked inside it:

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.”
Lamentations 3:22–23 (ESV)

There will always be pain in this life.
But there will also always be mercy.
Even in the middle of the grief — not just after it ends —
God is still present.
Still steady.
Still love.

So no… it’s not supposed to be this way.
But it is.
And even here, He is.

Rooted

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

It’s not a loud kind of confidence.
Not the kind you have to announce.

It’s the kind that settles in
when you remember who made you…
and who holds you still.

I don’t feel the need to prove anything right now.
Not because I have it all together —
but because I know I’m already known.
Already loved.
Already His.

That changes how I carry myself.
Not with striving.
Just with peace.

“In Him we live and move and have our being.”
Acts 17:28 (NIV)

Stronger Than What’s Standing in Front of You

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There are days when the thing in front of you feels too big to move.
Too heavy to carry.
Too complicated to untangle.

The obstacle might be a person.
Or a wound.
Or a door that just won’t open no matter how hard you push.

And it’s easy to believe that this is the thing that will finally undo you.
That maybe this is the end of the road.
That prayer doesn’t work.
Or God’s not listening.
Or you’re just too tired to keep saying the same thing again and again.

But lately, I’ve been reminded of something:

Prayer is not powerless.
It’s not passive.
It’s not some backup plan we use when everything else fails.

Prayer is the most powerful thing we’ve been given.
Because prayer isn’t just words — it’s connection.
It’s alignment.
It’s surrender and authority woven together in the same breath.

It’s not always flashy.
It’s not always instant.
But it is always working.

Because prayer invites God into places we can’t reach on our own.
And there is no obstacle that outranks His presence.

So if what’s standing in front of you feels too big —
remember who’s standing beside you.

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.”
James 5:16 (NIV)

The Faith That Sits With You

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Some faith runs hard and fast.
Some faith simply stays.

It’s not always loud or sure or certain.
Sometimes, it just means showing up again today—
still aching, still praying, still hoping.

Maybe that’s you right now.
Holding on when nothing makes sense.
Trusting quietly in a God who hasn’t stopped being good.

That kind of faith matters.
God honors the staying.
He meets you in the waiting.

“Surely I am with you always…”
— Matthew 28:20

When Not Knowing Feels Like Too Much

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You know what’s kind of wild?
Some people love being surprised.

Ha!
To me, not knowing what’s coming ignites a kind of anxiety and fear that I’d really rather avoid.
Uncertainty makes my shoulders tense and my thoughts race —
not because I doubt God’s goodness,
but because I crave stability. I want to prepare. I want to protect myself.

And yet, here I am…
in a season where so much is unknown.

So much is unplanned.
So much is unfixed.
And still — God is asking me to trust Him.

I don’t know what’s coming.
I don’t know how it all works out.
I don’t even know what tomorrow holds.

But maybe — just maybe —
that’s part of the beauty.

Maybe not knowing is exactly what makes God’s love so powerful.
It’s not dependent on my plans or my preparedness.
It’s not built on certainty, but on surrender.

Because without any help from me —
without my strategy, without my grip,
without my constant attempts to predict the next plot twist —
God is still working.

And His plan?
It far surpasses anything I could write for myself.

So today, I’m loosening my grip.
I’m choosing trust over certainty.
And I’m reminding my anxious heart:

Not knowing doesn’t mean I’m unsafe.
Not knowing doesn’t mean it won’t be good.
It just means the story is still unfolding.

And I’m not the one writing it.

“Commit to the Lord whatever you do,
and He will establish your plans.”
Proverbs 16:3 (NIV)

The Mountain Where Trust Was Tested

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a story in Scripture that’s been close to my heart lately —
Abraham. Isaac. And a mountain no one wanted to climb.

God asked Abraham to lay down the very thing He had given him —
his long-awaited son.
And Abraham said yes.

Not because it made sense,
but because he trusted God’s heart,
even when the path didn’t look like provision.

Someone reminded me recently:
“I like to think the lamb was already on its way up the other side of the mountain.”

That stayed with me.

Because that’s what faith is, isn’t it?
Trusting that God is already providing —
even when all you can see is loss.

We may not understand the mountain,
but we can trust the One who meets us there.

He hasn’t forgotten.
He’s still writing the story.
And the thicket is never empty.

The Strength Fear Tries to Steal

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I’ve wasted so many todays
worrying about tomorrow.

Not intentionally.
Not because I wanted to.
But because anxiety is sneaky like that —
convincing you that if you think it through just one more time,
you’ll feel better.

Spoiler: you don’t.

I read something recently that really stuck out to me:
“What does your anxiety do? It does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows; but, ah! it empties today of its strength.”
— Alexander McLaren

And I felt it.

Because fear doesn’t just whisper worst-case scenarios —
it drains the light from moments that were meant to hold joy.
It robs us of the strength we do have for right now,
by convincing us we need to hoard it for what might come later.

But we weren’t made to live that way.
Not crouched in fear.
Not rehearsing pain that hasn’t even happened.

Today is still here.
And it still matters.

God didn’t promise we’d be fearless.
But He did promise He’d be with us.
And that is more than enough.

Maybe peace isn’t the absence of what we fear —
but the presence of the One who knows how to carry us through it.

So for today —
not tomorrow, just today —
I’m choosing presence over panic.
Trust over spirals.
And strength over fear.

Nothing Is Wasted

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Even the broken pieces can grow something beautiful

I used to look back at the hard things and wonder what the point of it all was.
Why the pain, the waiting, the silence.
Why the breaking.

But slowly, in the quiet work of healing,
I’ve come to believe this —
that nothing is wasted in the hands of a God who sees the whole story.

Not the quiet tears I tried to hide.
Not the long, quiet stretches of uncertainty.
Not the prayers I barely had words for.
Not even the things I’d rather forget.

Because somehow,
the soil that held the most sorrow
is the same soil where something sacred began to grow.

No, I wouldn’t choose to walk through it again.
But I also wouldn’t trade what I’ve found on the other side:

A deeper strength.
A quieter kind of hope.
A faith that doesn’t need the full picture to trust the Painter.

So if you’re in the middle of it —
wondering if anything good could come from what’s been lost —
hold on.

What feels broken today
may one day bloom with beauty
you couldn’t imagine from here.

Nothing is wasted.
Not in His hands.

In the Stretch Between

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

There’s a certain kind of quiet
that lives in the in-between.
After what’s been planned —
before what makes sense.

It’s not quite peace.
Not quite panic.
Just… waiting.
A stretch of time
where clarity feels far away,
and trust becomes a choice
you keep making in the dark.

That’s where I am right now.

And I don’t have anything polished to say.
No deep revelation.
No strength to spare.
Just this: I’m here.

Still praying.
Still breathing.
Still trusting the One who sees what I can’t.

Because I don’t know what’s next —
but I know who’s holding me.
And sometimes that has to be enough.

So if you’re in the stretch too —
between the ache and the answer,
between the weight and the relief —
you’re not alone.

This space might not feel holy,
but I believe it is.

And even here,
you are still held.