Trusting God

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.