Trusting God

The Turning Point I Can’t Yet See

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Some days I feel stuck in the middle.
Between what I prayed for and what is.
Between the heartbreak and the healing.
Between the promise and the “But God…” moment.

I read stories in Scripture where everything shifts in a single verse.
Like Joseph — who was betrayed, abandoned, forgotten.
And yet one day, he looks back on it all and says:
“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good…” (Genesis 50:20)

I long for that clarity.
That redemptive hindsight.
That moment when the pain finally makes sense.

But I’m not there yet.
I’m still standing in the stretch.
Still aching for the shift.
Still wondering when the turn will come.

And still —
I’m choosing to believe in a God who works behind the scenes,
who writes stories that take time,
who brings beauty even from broken things.

The turning point may not have come yet.
But it’s not gone.
And my story isn’t finished.

He’s still writing.

Faith in the Flicker

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Faith in the Flicker

Some days, my faith isn’t loud.

It doesn’t rise with bold declarations or feel steady and unshakable.

It flickers —
like a candle near an open window,
trembling just to stay lit.

But I’m learning that God doesn’t measure my faith in volume.

He sees the quiet yes.
The whispered prayers.
The breath I take before I try again.
The tears I cry while still choosing to believe.

He doesn’t shame me when I’m unsure.
He doesn’t back away when I’m tired.
He doesn’t need me to be brave to stay close.

Even the smallest spark is enough for Him to work with.

Because He’s not waiting on my strength —
He’s offering me His.

And even when I feel like I’m barely holding on,
I’m still held.

Something is shifting.

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I don’t know how to explain it —
only that I’m not where I used to be.
And maybe I’m not yet where I’m going.
But I can feel it…
somewhere between the breaking and the becoming —
something is different.

It’s not loud.
Not sudden.
Not a big breakthrough I can wrap words around.

It’s just… a soft settling.
Like peace showing up in places that used to feel hollow.
Like trust being rebuilt quietly in the background.
Like I don’t flinch as hard at the old triggers.
Like maybe I’m becoming someone I can trust again.

And I don’t have answers.
I still cry.
I still wonder if I’m doing it right.

But I know this much:
God is moving in ways I can’t always name —
and healing is happening
even when I can’t measure it.

So I’ll stay here.
In the in-between.
With open hands.
And just enough hope to believe that what’s shifting
is sacred.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11

Still Working for My Good (Romans 8:28)

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

The other day, I asked God to speak to me.
I told Him I’d be paying attention. That I didn’t want to miss it.
I wasn’t asking for a burning bush — just a whisper. A moment. Something only He could orchestrate.

And then, He did.

My daily devotional that morning opened with a verse I’ve always loved — Romans 8:28.
And later that day, without knowing, my counselor brought up the same exact verse.
“It reminds me of Romans 8:28,” she said.
I smiled — not because it was new, but because it was confirmation.
God saw me listening. And He answered.

That verse has been anchoring me lately:
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
Not just in the easy things. Not just in the visible ones.
In all things.

This season hasn’t felt good.
It’s felt raw and heavy and filled with waiting.
But He keeps reminding me — He’s not wasting any of it.
He’s still writing the story.
And He’s still working for my good.

Today, I read something else that hit me straight in the chest.
It said:
“Don’t settle for Ishmael when God has Isaac for you.”
That’s what I’ve been trying to hold onto — that God’s timing,
His ways, His purposes — are always worth the wait.
Even when I don’t understand.
Even when I’m tempted to reach for something just to feel in control again.

I don’t want to rush what God is still preparing.
I don’t want to interrupt what He’s still unfolding.

Because what He has for me — for us —
isn’t second best.
It’s the very thing I’ve been trusting Him for.

The Road I Didn’t Choose

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

This isn’t the ticket I purchased.
This isn’t the ride I signed up for.
And yet — here I am.

I cling to Isaiah 42:16 and feel steadied:

“I will lead the blind by a way they did not know;
I will guide them on paths they have not known.
I will turn darkness to light in front of them
And rough places into level ground.
This is what I will do for them,
And I will not abandon them.”

This road wasn’t part of my plan.
But maybe it was always part of His.

And now, I choose to believe:
This unfamiliar path is the one He is guiding.
I know He’s here.
I feel His nearness.

This new road —
unexpected, unchosen —
is the only one worth walking
because He walks it with me.

Nothing Wasted 

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

I used to wonder if any of it mattered —
the long nights,
the unanswered prayers,
the pain I couldn’t explain.

I used to question
why I had to walk through certain things at all.
Why it hurt.
Why it was allowed.
Why it had to look like loss.

But slowly —
quietly —
I’ve learned this truth:

With God, nothing is wasted.

Not the tears no one saw.
Not the silent waiting.
Not the ache that made it hard to breathe.
Not even the seasons I thought had no purpose at all.

He gathers it all.
And somehow,
He brings beauty from it.

It might not look like I imagined.
It might not come quickly.
But His grace doesn’t leave things unfinished.

Even here —
in what felt like failure,
in what still feels tender —
He’s writing redemption into every line.

So I’ll keep going.
Trusting the One
who doesn’t waste a thing.

Love Letters in Black-Edged Envelopes

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Finding grace in what once felt like grief

There are days I wonder how I ever make it through.
Not because I’m prideful —
but because I’m constantly reminded of how deeply I ache,
how lost I feel,
how certain I am, at times, that the pain will never ease.

But it does.
Slowly. Quietly.
And in ways I still have yet to fully see.

I came across this quote by Charles Spurgeon, and it stopped me:

“I bear my witness that the worst days I have ever had have turned out to be my best days.
And when God has seemed most cruel to me He has then been most kind…
Our Father’s wagons rumble most heavily when they are bringing us the richest freight of the bullion of His grace…
Love letters from heaven are often sent in black-edged envelopes.”

It’s a hard truth to hold —
that some of the most tender mercies arrive dressed as heartache.
That the pain that almost unravels me
is also what softens me,
what refines me,
what keeps making room for something deeper.

There were nights I cried out to God with no reply.
Moments I felt abandoned.
Parts of my story that felt unfair — even unredeemable.

But He is here.
In the silence.
In the stretch.
In the storm.

And the very things I begged to be taken away
are slowly becoming the places where I see Him most clearly.
Not always in answers —
but in presence.

I don’t say this lightly:
I wouldn’t have chosen this pain.
But I also wouldn’t trade what I’ve found in the wreckage.

Because it’s here —
in the rebuilding,
in the quiet grace of a still-standing soul —
that I’ve seen the truth of Spurgeon’s words:

This storm isn’t breaking me.
It’s bringing me home.

When You’ve Already Prayed for This

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

There’s a prayer I’ve whispered so many times,
I don’t even need the words anymore.
It lives in my breath —
in the pause between heartbeats,
in the tears that come without warning.

Sometimes, I feel embarrassed to bring it up again.
Like I should’ve moved on by now.
Like maybe God is tired of hearing the same request
from the same voice
with the same ache.

But then I remember:
God is not like us.
He doesn’t grow weary of repetition.
He doesn’t keep score.
He just keeps listening.

So I bring it again.
Not because I don’t trust —
but because I do.

Because when you keep praying for the same thing,
you’re not being weak.
You’re being brave.

You’re believing
that even silence can be holy
and that maybe, just maybe,
this prayer is forming something in you, too.

He still hears you.
Even now. Even again.

God, Are You Listening?

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

God,
are You listening?

I know You are.
But some days, I still ask the question.

Not because I think You’ve left —
but because I am both —
the steady believer
and the human heart that aches for response.

I still pray.
Still trust.
Still believe You are near.
But there are moments when I wonder
why it feels like I’m the only one speaking.

The silence is heavy when I’m carrying so much.

And then I remember:
sometimes,
it’s in the silence
that we hear You the loudest.

So I keep praying —
not to fill the quiet,
but to stay close to You inside it.

Because maybe faith isn’t always loud.
Maybe it’s this:
still believing You hear me —
even when You don’t say a word.

So yes, I’ll keep asking:
God, are You listening?

And I’ll keep trusting —
because something in me knows
You always are.