DEAR GOD… WHEN CAREGIVING HURTS, HEALS, AND LEANS HEAVY ON MY SHOULDERS
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9
Today, I told myself I would wait until the temperature climbed to at least forty degrees before heading out to decorate my sister’s room at the nursing home for Christmas. I’m bringing her a case of pudding and picking up the dirty laundry — the usual “big sister doing what needs to be done” routine.
But before I even put my coat on, a familiar companion showed up… guilt.
Not guilt because I don’t want to help — I do, with all my heart.
But guilt because sometimes… Lord, I am just tired.
Tired from my own responsibilities.
Tired from my job, my husband’s appointments, my grandchildren, my writing, my own body acting up on me.
Tired from being pulled in ten different directions while trying to stay whole myself.
And there’s a special kind of guilt that comes with caregiving when you are exhausted.
A guilt that whispers, “You should be doing more.”
A guilt that berates you for needing a break.
A guilt that makes you feel like resting means failing.
Especially when the person you’re caring for is your younger sister.
Only 48.
Bed bound.
Multiple strokes.
Speech limited.
Taken down by a condition we didn’t even know existed until it barged into our family like a thief in the night.
Sometimes I walk into her room and see her lying there, and my heart squeezes because I remember who she used to be — strong, funny, quick-witted, full of that younger-sister attitude that kept me on my toes.
And then another wave hits:
How dare I complain about being tired when she would give anything to switch places with me for one day?
But Lord… that is not the truth You want me to carry.
Because even with her limitations, she and I still do what sisters do:
trash talk, laugh, joke, roll our eyes, and make the nurses wonder what on earth is going on in Room Whatever-It-Is-This-Week.
She’s still her, and I’m still me, and our sisterhood refuses to die.
And yet, the guilt still shows up when I catch myself sighing too hard, or wishing for one quiet weekend, or resenting the cold weather because caregiving is already heavy enough.
But today, Father, You whispered something to my heart:
“Guilt is not your assignment. Grace is.”
Caregiving is not a competition of strength.
It is not a performance for heaven.
It is not a test You are grading me on.
It is love lived out loud.
It is compassion with skin on it.
It is the ministry nobody sees but You.
Decorating her room today…
It’s not just Christmas décor.
It’s dignity.
It’s joy.
It’s a reminder that she is still here and still loved.
And it is a reminder that I am still allowed to be human.
So Lord, when the guilt rises because life is heavy,
when responsibilities pile up faster than I can carry them,
when I feel torn between caring for her and caring for myself,
remind me:
You never asked me to do this perfectly.
You only asked me to do it with love.
And love, even tired love, is still holy.
With Love,
Chelle
Category: christmas
ME TOO HONESTY
For we have not a high priest which can not be touched with the feeling of our infirmities…
— Hebrews 4:15 KJV
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
— Psalm 34:18 NIV
I always joke that I’d never make a good politician because I tell everything about myself—there’d be no dirt left to dig up… unless you checked under the carpet. I’ve always believed wearing my heart on my sleeve comes from having a testimony I can’t keep quiet. God has been too good to me. So yes, I live like an open book… or so I thought.
My ministry has often been wrapped in neat and tidy encouragement:
• Be joyful in troubled times.
• Trust God no matter what.
• He will restore everything.
Beautiful words. True words. But they were missing one major detail: my honesty about the moments that weren’t neat. Maybe it was pride. Maybe fear. Maybe I didn’t want to hear myself say the things I still hadn’t fully dealt with.
But then came three people—a trio God hand‑picked to “out” me.
One was fighting to hold onto faith when medicine said “no way.”
One wondered how God could ever love her after the mistakes she’d made.
One had lost her home under the weight of medical and legal battles.
And each of them assumed their fear, hurt, or shame made them “less faithful.”
That’s when God nudged me—actually, shoved me—to pull out what I kept hidden under my own rug. The thing I didn’t think qualified as a testimony. The thing I didn’t want to admit even to myself. And when I finally said it, each of them responded the same way:
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You hid that well.”
“I needed that… I’m normal.”
My secret?
“Me too.”
For nearly 14 years, my son battled severe illness — sudden deafness, countless surgeries, relentless pain, and thrice‑weekly dialysis. Many of you know those parts. What I never shared was the day I got mad at God.
After years of waiting, a perfect donor match was found. We went into preparation mode: cleaning the house for infection control, saving every dime, canceling vacations, even turning down a huge career opportunity. We tip‑toed around loved ones because we wanted to surprise everyone after the transplant.
Then, one morning during devotion, God whispered something odd:
“Forget the Back‑Up Plan.”
I didn’t know what it meant. I assumed it was about finances or job security. Anything except what came next.
Just days before hospital check‑in, a nurse called—cold, flat‑voiced, emotionless.
“No go.”
No explanation.
No compassion.
Just… no.
The ground shifted under me. How was I supposed to tell my son, who was finally hopeful again? I was furious. Was God playing with me like a cat with a string?
I slipped away from everyone. My spirit knew God had a plan, but my heart and my head were wrestling in opposite corners.
Angry, I reminded God of everything we had endured—the nights I stood by the door listening for his breathing, the extreme pain, the surgeries, the exhaustion, the faithfulness. And if my faith wasn’t enough, surely someone out of all the people who prayed for us had at least one mustard seed to spare!
All I heard back was:
“Forget the Back‑Up Plan.”
Later, we learned the donor had developed a condition that would’ve caused the kidney to fail quickly. If my son had received it, we would have ended up in a bigger storm.
God wasn’t teasing us—He was protecting us.
Just like Jeremiah 29 reminds us, His plans include a future, a hope, and a good end… even when the journey makes absolutely no sense.
And then, in God’s timing—not mine—my son received the kidney he needed.
That was seven years ago, and today, he is living proof that long journeys still have victorious endings.
I will be honest: I still jump a little when the phone rings at night. Healing from trauma doesn’t come on schedule. Writing this took years because every now and then, the tears still fall.
But I share this so you know:
Whatever you’re going through — you are normal.
Faith does not erase fear.
Belief does not cancel tears.
Even rejoicing takes reminders (Phil. 4:4 says it *twice*, so clearly God knows us well).
God is not distant. He feels your pain. He welcomes your honesty.
He will not strike you down for asking questions.
Just remember:
It is faith that moves mountains, not the absence of emotion.
Cry if you must.
Hurt if you must.
Question if you must.
But whatever you do…
Keep pushing. God isn’t finished.
With love, Chelle
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Bloom Baby Bloom A Christmas Cactus Sermon I Didn’t Ask For
So listen… this morning I’m minding my business, sipping my coffee, scrolling Facebook, and everyone and their Grandma is posting pictures of these big, full, show-off Christmas cactuses blooming like they’re auditioning for The Voice.
And then there’s mine.
Sitting in my living room.
Looking like it’s thinking about blooming, but hasn’t quite made a decision.
One tiny blush of color like, “Don’t rush me, sis. I’m processing.”
I’m looking at this plant like, “Ma’am… it is almost Christmas. I need you to get it together. Shine for the people.”
So I start Googling tips. Because I refuse to be the only one with a cactus that looks like it has low iron. And baby… what I found? A whole WORD. A sermon. A Bible study. A TED Talk.
Apparently, if you want a Christmas cactus to bloom, you have to do something called “darkening to bloom.”
Yes. You literally put that plant in the dark 12–16 hours a day like it’s grounded.
Then! You’re supposed to pluck off the long, lazy leaves (but don’t you dare use scissors).
Keep it a little colder.
Restrict its comfort.
Limit its light.
Disrupt its cozy routine.
And after all that?
…It blooms.
It blooms brighter because of the dark.
Not the light.
Not the pampering.
Not the perfect conditions.
THE DARK.
And I said, “Well God… if You wanted to speak to me directly, you didn’t have to drag my plant into this.”
Because sometimes life puts us into a “darkening to bloom” season.
Not because we’re failing.
Not because we did anything wrong.
Not because God forgot us.
But because the bloom requires it.
Sometimes He limits our distractions.
Sometimes He cuts off excess.
Sometimes He cools the room so we stop running and finally rest.
Sometimes He hides us away long enough to develop something deep, strong, and beautiful.
And just like that cactus, you won’t even notice the change happening…until a day, somebody walks past you and says: “Oh wow… look at you shining.”
And you’ll realize the dark didn’t break you —
It prepared you.
It strengthened you.
It sharpened you.
It positioned you.
It pushed your bloom right to the edge of the breakthrough.
So if you’re in a season that feels cold, quiet, hidden, or clipped…
Baby, don’t panic.
You’re not dying.
You’re developing.
And when the time comes?
Listen…
You’re gonna bloom so hard folks will swear you’re a Christmas cactus on the front page of Facebook.
Amen and amen.
With Love Chelle
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I know there are bigger things to worry about in this world, but every year since my grandma died, I have been her version of the Christmas Mother. With all that has been going on and recuperating, I had to scale way back this year. I feel like a lost puppy without being in the thick of it.What was irritating me most is having an assembled tree without a single ornament on it. I had decided that this year, the theme would be prayer, but I never got the ornaments made I intended. So I am looking at this unadorned evergreen and hearing the message loud and clear……..perpetual unpretentious prayer from the heart is the best Christmas gift.So as I order up some store bought ornaments to go with the one handmade one I’m attempting to finish by then, I will pray for family and friends with the lifting of each one. Send me your prayer requests so that I can put yours in place.
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Entertained By Angels
My God, My God.
After my very good doctor’s appt today, my husband & I went to a restaurant a bit out of our way, but I insisted because I wanted to see my fav waitress, Theresa Ann Hatch . Long story short, a couple from Columbus, Ohio were also drawn to detour and find Satterwhites. After they left, Theresa tells us that the gentleman said God told him to pay for our meal. When I ran out to find them in the parking lot he says she wasn’t supposed to tell me but since I was there……..he read all the mail in my heart from all the letters I have ever written to God. Had me crying in the parking lot. Talked my hearts desires and my need for rest and that God doesn’t expect a minster like me to try to rescue the whole world but do my part. He also said I need to get in my head how much God loves me and not just in a generic sense.
He never gave me a chance to say a word, so everything he said was 100% from God. They held on to me, and it brought a peace that I can not describe. Oddly my eyes were still dilated from my retina appt so I couldn’t get a grasp of what they looked like, just that they had a glow about them that wasn’t hurting my eyes like the sun does when your eyes are dilated. I don’t know if God will allow me to see them again in this life as they were just passing through, but My God, My God, I believe I entertained angels.
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Smiles And Tears Cake
When a situation births the twins of joy and pain, it makes me feel schizophrenic.
My go-to response is to clean the kitchen and bake something new. Mess up what I just fixed with goodies I will never eat. Provide delight to others while I’m screaming inside. Ministering sweets to others when I need a taste for myself.
My current loss is another’s gain. I feel quite selfish in wanting to hold on to someone who I am happy is finally free.
I know. I know. It is not the end of all things. We will meet again, at some junction, some highway, under some rainbow.
She liked to say I put my “foot in that!”.
Naw gurl! It’s smiles and tears.
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Reset
Today, I reset but will not rewind.
I will no longer take cuts with knives I sacrificed for and be hit with stones that I have the deed to. I must say so long to my “Job’s” friends (from the Bible, not work) who need to eclipse me in order to find shine. I will no longer fill voids and patch wounds while being left on battlefields alone. I can no longer be held hostage for my portion or my inheritance
I have never claimed to be perfect or to have all the answers. Life never gave me an easy button or a GPS. I never had the finer things but would give you the shirt off my back. Never had gold in my pocket but every penny you had access to. I did my best with the hand I was dealt. That’s all God requires of m, and in my matured year, I am learning that is a very good thing.
Lord, forgive me for hearing their voices over Yours. I return to the peace you purchased and the love you freely give. I am bruised but not broken. Cast down but not destroyed. Though I sometimes stumble, I will dance with the limp I got and to the song I write.
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I said I wasnt..but
I believe almost every member of my family has the giving bug that was gleefully transmitted by my grandma, Alice Gillison. Though only Goochland Christmas for one year in the early 80s, she continued to do the organizing and giving right up until 19 days before she died. She was better than Oprah with “every child gets a gift” campaign.
No matter how poor we were (and we were close to dirt), she believed that giving was living.
I first picked it up on a small scale in memory of her . Then again, because I wanted to adopt a little boy for Christmas after my beloved grandson, Emmanuel slipped away to heaven. My husband and I blessed a little boy with “Manny’s” share last week.
The collections get larger every year. For the past 5 years, I have said each year that I wasn’t going to do anymore. Each year, I Iie to myself.This year, I tackled doing this for two organizations. I have decided that I am nuts, but I love it. Lol.
Thanks for the “Gift” Grandma.
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No Fruit Cake, Please
Reflecting on yesterday’s Christmas blessings.
My husband’s latest scans came back clean. Whew just in time to put a little Christmas cheer back.
My “partner in crime” cousin’s suspected breast cancer turned out to be nothing. I think she is happy I bug folks about smash-a-grams.
The Lord put me in the path of a young man who needed a Christian stranger to look past color, gender and class to “read his mail”. He thought he had hit a psychic reading which gave an inroad to talk about WHO a word of knowledge really comes from.
Then an unexpected last minute dessert order that I really didn’t know how to charge for, helped pay for 6 new sets of thermals for donation to Blessing Warriors RVA Inc. .
All I need now is for no one to offer me fruit cake and this will be the best Christmas ever.
Merry Christmas Everyone
With Love and Penmanship – Michelle
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Bloom Again
YOUR LESSON FOR TODAY.
A few days ago I was going to toss it because the other early blooms had died and it was looking rough. But I choose to cut away the dead parts and sure up the soil for what looked like one last shoot. I tied her to a bamboo stick for support. And within days this happens!!!
So take note, no matter what life looks like you will bloom again. Just remember:
1. Let Go of the dead habits and toxic folks along for the ride.
2. Check your roots and use some self care to fertilize your path
3. Tie yourself to a good support system Faith – Family – Good Friends and pro counseling!
defygravitywithoutwings.com 