But It Is

Featured / 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.

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)

Meet Me Where I Am

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Lately, I’ve been learning what it means to meet myself where I am.

Not where I wish I were.
Not where I think I should be by now.
Just… here.

It’s harder than it sounds.

I’m quick to extend grace outward, but slower to offer it inward.
Quick to trust that God meets me in my weakness —
but hesitant to sit honestly with that weakness myself.

So often, I rush past the present moment.
I tell myself to be stronger, more healed, more settled.
As if becoming requires skipping over where I actually stand.

But maybe growth doesn’t start with pushing forward.
Maybe it starts with staying.

Staying long enough to acknowledge the tiredness.
The questions.
The ache that hasn’t fully lifted yet.

Meeting myself where I am doesn’t mean giving up.
It means telling the truth.
And trusting that God is already there — not waiting for a better version of me to arrive.

When I slow down enough to be honest with myself,
I find that grace doesn’t feel so far away.
It feels close.
Gentle.
Steady.

And maybe that’s the work of this season —
learning to stand where I am, without shame,
and letting God meet me there too.

“For He knows how we are formed; He remembers that we are dust.”
— Psalm 103:14 (NIV)

The Space Between

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

This evening begins 6 days —
144 hours.
8,640 minutes
without my whole heart with me.

That number makes my chest tighten a little.

None of this timing was mine to choose.
The plans were made. The schedule laid out.
And I’ve been quietly dreading it ever since.

Time is strange, isn’t it?
We beg it to slow down —
then suddenly, we need it to fly.
To disappear.
To carry us somewhere that doesn’t ache quite so much.

I think these are the moments that shape us most.
The ones where everything feels stretched —
heart, soul, time.

And here I am, sitting in it.

I could resist it.
Run from it.
Let the ache name me.

Or I could do the harder thing:
lean in.
Not into the absence —
but into the One who meets me here.

I’m not sure what the next 8,640 minutes will hold.
But I know this:
I won’t walk through a single one of them alone.

“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”
— John 14:18 (KJV)

Where Greed Hides

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

We’ve been talking about the spiritual disciplines at church.
Last week, the conversation was about generosity.
This week, it was about greed.

And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how the two aren’t always as separate as we like to think.

Because greed doesn’t always look like hoarding money or climbing some corporate ladder.
Sometimes it looks like holding back in quieter ways —
the kind we justify.

Like struggling to give our time.
Or hesitating to offer encouragement.
Or keeping our prayers to ourselves because we don’t want to say the wrong thing.

We tell ourselves it’s not greed.
It’s busyness.
Or insecurity.
Or boundaries.

But what if it’s more than that?
What if greed is anything that keeps us from living open-handed —
with our time, our words, our presence, our resources?

I’m realizing that greed hides in the small things.
In the moments when I pull back instead of lean in.
When I protect my own comfort instead of offering someone else mine.
When I talk myself out of giving because I don’t have “enough” — time, energy, words, wisdom.

But the truth is, if God asked me to give it,
He’s already given me enough to do it.

So maybe the better question isn’t “Am I generous?”
Maybe it’s: Where am I still holding back?
And why?

“Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”
— 2 Corinthians 9:7 (NIV)

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)

Behind the Box

/ Baylee Snelling / 2 Comments

I found this tucked behind a box I picked up at Costco the other day.

I was just moving through the motions of my day — nothing special, just errands and the usual rhythm. But then, there it was:

A handwritten verse in orange marker, outlined in cloud shapes:

I stood there for a second, just looking at it — like I had been smacked in the face with God’s love when I least expected it.

I looked around, wondering if someone was watching, hoping to see someone smile as they saw me find it.
I even thought about leaving it behind — maybe someone else needed the reminder more than I did.
Maybe someone who didn’t know God yet.

But then it hit me.

I was the one who needed to find it.
I was the one who needed to taste and see.
I was the one who needed that gentle reminder that God is still good… right here, in the middle of my everyday.

So I tucked it in my purse and continued on my way —
pushing the cart with little feet kicking along,
feeling the truth settle into my heart again:

Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord.

And oh, how blessed I am.

“O taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man that trusteth in Him.”
— Psalm 34:8 (KJV)

What I Hope He Remembers

/ Baylee Snelling / Leave a comment

I won’t be a perfect mother.
But I hope he remembers the kind of love that stayed.

I hope he remembers arms that held him close,
even when the world felt unsteady.
A voice that whispered comfort,
even when mine was tired.
A presence that didn’t walk away —
not in the chaos,
not in the quiet,
not in the mess.

And maybe, just maybe,
that kind of love will remind him of God’s.

Because if I’ve learned anything,
it’s that His love shows up the same way —
not waiting for the mess to be cleaned up,
not holding back until we’re stronger,
but entering in, again and again,
with kindness, patience, and grace.

That’s the kind of love I want to model.
Not flawless,
but faithful.
Not perfect,
but present.

So no, I won’t get it all right.
But I hope he sees the reflection —
of a God who stays.
Of a love that never leaves.
Of grace that shows up in the middle and calls it holy.

“God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.”
— 1 John 4:16 (NIV)

The Way He Sees Me

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

Sometimes I forget what a gift it is
to be seen by Jesus.

Not just noticed —
but known.

He doesn’t rush past my heartache.
He doesn’t misread my silence.
He looks right at me —
and He stays.

With compassion.
With clarity.
With that quiet strength that speaks love
even before I find the words to ask for it.

That kind of seeing changes things.

Because when I remember how gently He sees me,
I want to look at others that way too.

Not through the lens of frustration or judgment,
but through the eyes of Christ —
the One who offers endurance
and encouragement
and the kind of love that never runs out.

So that’s my prayer today:
to see people like He sees me.

With softness.
With truth.
With grace that goes first —
even when it’s hard.

Anchor Verse:
“May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had.”
— Romans 15:5 (NIV)

The Little Things

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

It’s in the little things.
The quiet things.
The things you don’t always think to write down.

Like playing chase around the house,
laughing so hard your sides ache.

Reading the same children’s book 15 times in a row
because that’s what love does.

Living in our jammies on cold days
with no real plans but each other.

These are the pieces I’ll miss one day.
The ordinary ones that don’t look like much —
until they’re gone.

So tonight, I’m not chasing more.
I’m just noticing what’s already here.

And giving thanks
for the beautiful, holy smallness of it all.

“Better is a little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble with it.”
Proverbs 15:16 (ESV)

The Boundary of Grace

/ Baylee Snelling / 1 Comment

We’re called to give.
To serve.
To love freely and fully.

But what happens when the giving leaves us empty?
When our “yes” becomes so stretched that it starts to break us?
When helping starts to feel more like being used than being useful?

Scripture tells us to give without expecting anything in return —
but it never says to give without wisdom.

Even Jesus — fully God, fully love — stepped away to rest.
He said no to the crowd, so He could say yes to the Father.
He gave, but He didn’t give Himself away recklessly.

There is a kind of giving that reflects God’s heart.
And there is a kind that forgets He gave you one, too.

So if you’re in a season where it feels like your love is being taken for granted,
where your kindness keeps getting confused with availability,
where your serving has started to hurt —

you’re allowed to pause.

Not from love.
Not from grace.
But from saying yes to what God never asked of you.

Protecting your peace doesn’t make you selfish.
It makes you a good steward of the one life He’s given you.

So give —
but don’t pour from an empty cup.
Love —
but not at the cost of losing yourself.
Serve —
but let it come from a place of overflow, not obligation.

Your worth isn’t proven by how much you can stretch.
It’s held — always — in the hands of the One who stretched Himself for you.

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
— Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)