Category: faith

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Step Off Now!

Posted in faith, God, health, inspiration, love, relationships, selfhelp, Uncategorized, women's history monthTagged , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I walked out of the hospital holding back tears.

Not the kind that fall freely…
the kind that sit right behind your eyes
because your heart is full and heavy at the same time.

I had poured in. Tears. Prayers. Words of life. And I meant every bit of it.

Before I even made it off the elevator,
my mind had already started moving ahead of me…Who can I call?
What resources can I connect?
What can I put in place to help carry this?

By the time those automatic doors opened,
I had a plan forming. I was ready to do more.
Be more. Help more.

And right there,  as I stepped outside… I heard it in my spirit:

“Step off now.”

Not later.
Not after one more call.
Not after I “just check on one thing.”

Now.

And it didn’t match what I felt. Because everything in me wanted to stay involved.
To keep my hands in it. To make sure it would be okay.

But I’ve learned something… both in the garden and in life:

There are moments when the worst thing you can do is touch it.

When the soil is too wet even good hands make mud. You can have the best intentions.
The purest heart. The right tools. And still…do damage by stepping in too soon.


“In quietness and trust is your strength…” — Isaiah 30:15

Because sometimes strength doesn’t look like movement. Sometimes it looks like restraint.

In the garden, wet soil means wait.
Let it settle. Let the excess drain. Let the roots breathe again.

And here’s what took me time to learn…Not every plant needs constant tending.Some plants actually thrive when they are allowed to grow without being handled every day.

Too much touching…
too much adjusting…
too much checking… can stunt what was already trying to grow.

In life, in ministry… it’s the same.

I must trust God to show me which seeds I am assigned to plant… and which ones I am not meant to cultivate.

Because every seed I sow is not mine to steward long-term.

Some will be watered by others.
Some will be strengthened in places I will never see.
Some will grow best when I am no longer standing over them.

Doing nothing can feel like neglect. But sometimes it’s obedience.

That day, standing outside those hospital doors, I had to make a decision : Trust what I heard or trust what I felt.

And what I felt said: “Stay. Help. Fix it.”

But what I heard said:

“Step off.”

So I did.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I trusted that God was already working in ways I could not see… and without making it muddier.

Truth:

Everything that’s messy is not mine to fix.

Some soil needs to settle before anything can grow. And some seeds need space to become
what God intended without my constant touch.


Dear Lord, teach me the difference
between when to step in and when to step back. When my heart wants to help,
but Your Spirit says wait…give me the strength to listen.

Help me trust that You are working even when my hands are still. Show me which seeds are mine to plant… and which ones I must release into Your care and the care of others.


Help me with trusting You with what I have  planted, even when I am not the one called to stay.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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Before The Final Hour

Posted in faith, God, inspiration, love, relationships, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

There is a moment before everything becomes real.

Before the doors open.
Before the voices gather.
Before the weight of it settles in your chest.

A quiet hour. The kind where time pauses just long enough for memory to walk in unannounced and sit beside you.

I went to prepare myself to show up for someone else’s loss… and found myself standing in the doorway of my own.

Because grief does not stay in its lane.
It recognizes itself.
It echoes across years.
It gently taps your shoulder and whispers,
“You remember this.”

And in that quiet hour…before the final hour… when a casket tries to close a chapter in a well read life…. I remembered something sacred:

My mother never really left.

I see her… in the mirror when my face catches the light just right.

I hear her in my voice when I’m talking to my children and don’t even realize it at first.

And lately… I feel her in the way I beam at my grandchildren. That deep, undeniable joy
that doesn’t ask permission to show up on your face. The kind that says,
“This love didn’t start with me.”

She shows up in the kitchen. In the way I don’t reach for measuring cups…but trust a palm and a pinch of two fingers to decide what salt and sugar ought to do. Somewhere along the way, her tongue for spices became mine.

She shows up in the way I clean. Because a house is not clean unless there’s a cap of bleach poured into a small tub basin in the sink… and oh the smell of Pine-Sol rising up like proof. That sharp, honest scent that says,
“Now it’s done right.”

She shows up in my music. Because cleaning without music? That’s just work. But cleaning with Aretha Franklin? That turns into a whole moment.

And somehow… the dance is not right unless it happens in the living room.  Not the kitchen. Not the hallway. The living room. Like joy has a location memory.

She shows up in my mornings. In a cup that’s more cream than coffee.


In quiet writing hours before any rooster thinks about waking up. Discipline that looks like devotion. Routine that feels like inheritance.

And every now and then… when something stirs my spirit the wrong way, I catch myself standing with my hand on my hip, leaning just a little to one side, squinting my eyes like I can hold the tears back if I narrow the view.

It was intimidating on her six-foot frame.
Not quite the same on my five-foot-three one… But I try. Oh, I still try

And now I realize  what I thought was loss…
started to look a lot like continuation.

“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.” — Isaiah 66:13

Because God, in His mercy, doesn’t just take people home…
He lets them leave themselves behind in us.
In our habits. In our preferences. In our voice. In our love for the next generation.

So yes… there is a final earthly hour. A moment where everything becomes real.

But there is also this quiet, sacred truth:
She is still here.
In the mirror.
In the movement.
In the memory that turned into muscle.


In the love that keeps reaching forward.

Dear Lord, meet us in that quiet hour before everything becomes real. When memory rises and grief feels close enough to touch, let it carry comfort with it. Remind us that love does not end… it continues in us. In what we do without thinking. In what we carry without trying.


Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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The Things I Didn’t Throw Away

Posted in cancer, faith, God, inspiration, love, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

All my life, I’ve collected broken things.

Toys missing pieces.
Tools that didn’t quite work right anymore.
People… especially people.

Not because I didn’t notice what was wrong.
But because I could still see what was there.

I think my favorite rescue was a Christmas ornament—
a little elf on skis… missing one leg.

He couldn’t glide like he was made to.
Couldn’t balance like the others on the tree.
But I kept him anyway.

Hung him where he could still be seen.

Then there was that little robot suncatcher.
The one that doesn’t dance anymore
because his color panel is worn down.

He just… stands there now.
Still catching light, just differently.

And just this week, I stood in a nursery
while someone said, “Don’t buy those.
They’ll only last a week.”

Tulips on the clearance rack.
Already on their way out.
And I thought, a week of beauty is still beauty.


So I bought what I could afford.
Not to save them forever…
just to enjoy them while they’re here.

I’ve never been drawn to perfect things.
Perfect things don’t need you.

But worn things? They need a little time.
A little patience. A little belief that they’re not finished yet.

And somewhere along the way, I decided this:
Just because something doesn’t work the way it used to… doesn’t mean it has no use at all.

Sometimes it just needs a different kind of care.
A slower hand.
A softer place to land.
Someone willing to stay a little longer than is convenient.

Because even the smallest things,
a crooked ornament,
a quiet presence,
a short-lived bloom,
can still add something to the world.

I’ve always believed there is a kind of invisible ledger… a quiet tally being kept.
Not of perfection. Not of productivity.

But of smiles.

And if something—anything—can still add to the smile quota of the world… then it still has value.

I’ve seen what happens when you don’t give up too quickly. I’ve ve seen people who were overlooked become the very ones who light up a room.

I’ve seen what love can do when it doesn’t rush off at the first sign of difficulty.

So if you’re feeling worn today…
set aside…
like maybe people have decided you’re too much or not enough,

Hear me:

You are not something to be discarded.
You are still capable of adding something good to this world. Even if it looks different than it used to. Even if it’s quieter than before.

Even if it’s just one smile.

And that counts more than you think.

Matthew 5:7
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.”

I see you — still adding to the world in quiet ways that matter more than you know.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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Sister Rosetta Tharpe — Godmother of Rock And Roll

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, inspiration, women's history monthTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

Before rock & roll had a king… there was a woman with a guitar in church. Before They Called It Rock
Sister Rosetta Tharpe was born in 1915 in Cotton Plant, Arkansas. By 6 years old she was already traveling with her mother, performing in churches across the country. A little girl with a guitar and something on her life that didn’t wait for permission.
By the 1930s, she had moved to Chicago and New York, recording gospel music that didn’t sound like what people expected. Her 1938 recording of “Rock Me” carried gospel into spaces folks said it didn’t belong.
Sometimes God will let you sound different before the world catches up.
She played electric guitar. Loud. Joyful. Unapologetic. Too church for the world. Too worldly for the church. But she didn’t split herself to make others comfortable. She carried both.
By the 1940s she was touring, recording hits, and drawing crowds.
In 1951, she turned her wedding into a concert at a baseball stadium in Washington, D.C., with over 20,000 people in attendance.
She was not standing on the front lines of a march, but make no mistake, Sister Rosetta Tharpe was pushing against every line drawn around her. In a time when Black women were expected to be quiet, when stages were dominated by men, and when gospel music was supposed to stay inside church walls, she stepped forward with an electric guitar and refused to shrink. She played to integrated audiences, carried Black gospel into mainstream spaces, and stood fully in her calling without asking permission to belong. She didn’t organize protests, but every note she played disrupted something that said she should not be there.
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed…” — Romans 12:2
Her guitar style helped shape what became rock & roll. Artists like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, and Elvis Presley drew from that sound. But her name was not always given its place.
Because sometimes history doesn’t forget. Sometimes it just misplaces.
“For nothing is hidden that will not be revealed.” — Luke 8:17
She  later settled in Richmond, Virginia and lived in the  Barton Avenue area. No spotlight. Just legacy waiting. But Heaven Kept the Records. In March 2026, the city council of Richmond, Virginia voted to rename a portion of Barton Avenue in her honor, recognizing her contributions to music and culture.
She didn’t wait to be understood. She played anyway. And maybe what feels unseen in you is not buried — just early.
“In due season we shall reap, if we do not lose heart.” — Galatians 6:9
In her later years, Sister Rosetta Tharpe carried both the weight of her health and the quiet of a life that had already poured so much out. She passed in 1973 in Philadelphia after complications from a stroke, having lived a life that did not follow straight lines—married three times, with no children to carry her name forward in the traditional sense.
And yet, her legacy did not fade. It waited. Thirty-four years after her death, she was finally inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, a long-overdue recognition for a sound she helped birth. Even Johnny Cash once recalled hearing her records in shops, noting how her music left an imprint before many even understood what they were hearing.
What About You? Maybe what you’ve poured out feels unseen. Maybe it feels like it didn’t matter. But what if it’s not gone just waiting what heaven records earth will eventually recognize.
Breadcrumbs From Our Sisters Who Marched Before Us.
— Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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They Grow While You’re Gone

Posted in cancer, faith, God, inspiration, love, relationships, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment


It’s 5:30 a.m.
I’m sipping my coffee, staring out the window into the darkness… somehow convinced I can see trouble in my garden from 100 feet away.

Don’t judge me… but I really considered stepping out there in my robe in 35 degrees to go check on my plant babies.

And somewhere between that first sip and the silence… I caught myself.

This isn’t about seeds.

This is about how easily my mind will grab hold of something—anything—and worry it to death.

Work stress that doesn’t clock out when I do.
Money questions that don’t always have quick answers.
A newborn I just prayed over in the hospital,
with whispers of concern about her ability to thrive.
Friends walking through the slow, sacred heartbreak of losing their parents…
and me carrying pieces of that with them.

All real things. All things that matter. All things experienced before.
And yet…

Look how quickly my heart starts hovering over them, like it’s my job to make sure everything turns out alright. Like if I think about it enough, check it enough, replay it enough…

I can help God along.

But I can’t.

Because even when I am doing the work of God, it is still God who is working.
I am not the outcome.
I am not the fixer.
I am not the one holding it all together.

I am just… hands in the soil.
Faithful to plant.
Faithful to water.
Faithful to show up.

But the growing?
The healing?
The sustaining?

That was never mine.

And if I’m not careful, I will let the weight of what I care about pull me out of the very places God is calling me to be present.

Sitting here with my coffee, trying to manage what He already has in His hands…
while He’s already prepared a seat for me somewhere else today.

There is a time to plant.
A time to water.
And then… a time to trust.
Not anxious trust.
Not hovering trust.
Real trust.

The kind that finishes the coffee,
gets dressed, and walks into the day
without carrying what God never assigned me to hold.

So I’m going where I’m supposed to be.
And I’m leaving the garden…
and everything it represents…
right where it is.

Because what God has already taken responsibility for does not need my worry added to it.

Even the good things don’t get to compete
with obedience.

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1

Love, Chelle

DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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Bishop Mariann Edgar BuddeShe Brought Mercy Into a Room Built for Power

Posted in cancer, faith, God, inspiration, law, love, relationships, war, women's history monthTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Some women do not raise their voices.
They raise the standard.

She was born in Summit, New Jersey, in 1959, and grew up in the Flanders section of Mount Olive Township, carrying both small-town roots and a wider view of the world.


After her parents’ divorce, she spent time living with her father in Colorado before returning to New Jersey and graduating from West Morris Mount Olive High School, a path that suggests early lessons in change, resilience, and finding your footing more than once.


Before she became known as an Episcopal bishop, she was shaped by an evangelical Christian upbringing, a background that helps explain the clear moral language and steady conviction people would one day hear from her in public life.

Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde became the first woman elected bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington in 2011 after serving 18 years as rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Minneapolis.

In January 2025, during a prayer service at Washington National Cathedral attended by President Donald Trump, she spoke directly about mercy for immigrants, LGBTQ people, and others living in fear. What made the moment powerful was not volume. It was clarity. She stood in a sacred place, looked power in the face, and made room for compassion anyway.

That kind of courage belongs in Women’s History Month.

Not only the courage of women who marched with signs or shattered ceilings with applause behind them, but also the courage of women who held their ground in rooms built to intimidate. Women who spoke with steadiness when spectacle would have been easier. Women who understood that conviction does not have to be cruel to be strong.

Mariann Edgar Budde reminded the country that mercy is not frail. Mercy is not timid. Mercy is not a soft substitute for truth. Real mercy has a backbone. It knows exactly what it is doing. It steps into hard places and refuses to surrender its humanity.

She did not need rage to make history.
She did not need performance to make her point.
She did not need to wound anyone to be unforgettable.

She stood there as a woman, a leader, and a witness. Calm, clear, and unwilling to let fear have the final word.

That is how some women leave footprints.
Not by shouting over the room.
But by changing the temperature in it.

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.”
Proverbs 31:8

May we remember Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde not simply as the woman who unsettled a president, but as a woman who stood before power and still chose mercy. In a world that too often mistakes cruelty for strength, that witness matters.

We see you.

Steps From Our Sisters
Honoring the Women Who Marched Before Us

Curated by
Michelle Gillison-Robinson
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com
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Hedy Lamarr – The Beauty Who Invented The Future

Posted in faith, God, inspiration, relationships, war, women's history monthTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

(November 9, 1914 – January 19, 2000)

Sometimes the world notices the wrong thing first.

Hedy Lamarr was known throughout Hollywood as one of the most beautiful actresses of the 1940s. Her face appeared on movie posters and magazine covers, and audiences admired her elegance and glamour.

But behind the fame lived a restless and brilliant mind.

During World War II, Lamarr watched the rise of Nazi power in Europe and wanted to help the Allied cause. Working with composer George Antheil, she developed a communication system designed to guide torpedoes without enemy interference.

Their invention used a method called frequency hopping, where radio signals constantly changed channels so they could not be jammed.

At the time, the military dismissed the idea.

Years later, however, the technology behind Lamarr’s invention became the foundation for modern wireless communication. Today the same principle supports Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, and GPS systems used around the world.

There is a verse in Proverbs that reminds us, “The Lord gives wisdom; from His mouth come knowledge and understanding.”

Hedy Lamarr reminds us that wisdom often lives quietly beneath the labels the world places on us.

Sometimes the person everyone admires for one gift is carrying another gift powerful enough to shape the future.

The world may decide who you are before it knows your whole story.

Hedy Lamarr was celebrated for beauty, but her mind helped build technology that connects billions of people today.

Sometimes the gifts God gives us are not immediately recognized. But that does not make them any less powerful.

We see you, Hedy. All of you.

Steps From Our Sisters

Honoring the Women Who Marched Before Us

Curated by

Michelle Gillison-Robinson

DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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The Woman Who Helped Crack the Enemy’s Code  – Joan Clarke

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(June 24, 1917 – September 4, 1996)

Sometimes the fate of nations depends on someone solving a puzzle.

During World War II, the British government gathered mathematicians, linguists, and puzzle solvers at a secret intelligence center called Bletchley Park. Their mission was to break the encrypted messages sent by Nazi Germany through the Enigma machine.

Among those brilliant minds was Joan Clarke.

Clarke had a remarkable talent for mathematics and logical reasoning. Despite her skill, she was initially placed in a clerical role because few people believed women belonged among the leading cryptanalysts.

But her brilliance soon became impossible to ignore.

Working alongside other codebreakers, including Alan Turing, Clarke helped decipher German military communications. The intelligence gathered from those messages allowed Allied forces to anticipate enemy movements and strategies.

Historians believe the success of the Bletchley Park team shortened World War II by several years and saved millions of lives.

There is a verse in Ecclesiastes that says, “Wisdom is better than weapons of war.”

Joan Clarke proved that truth in the quietest way possible.

Sometimes the mind that changes history
is sitting silently at a desk, pencil in hand.

Bread Crumbs

Not every hero stands on a battlefield.

Some sit in quiet rooms, solving problems others cannot see.

Joan Clarke reminds us that intelligence, patience, and perseverance can protect lives just as surely as strength or weapons.

Sometimes the wisdom God places in one mind
can help guide the safety of millions.

Steps From Our Sisters
Honoring the Women Who Marched Before Us

Curated by
Michelle Gillison-Robinson
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com




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Bessie Coleman – The Woman Who Refused to Stay Grounded

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, inspiration, love, women's history monthTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

(January 26, 1892 – April 30, 1926)

Sometimes the sky becomes the only place left to prove you belong.

Bessie Coleman grew up in Texas at a time when both race and gender limited opportunity. When she dreamed of becoming a pilot, every flight school in the United States refused to teach her.

She was Black.
She was a woman.

So Bessie Coleman did something extraordinary.

She learned French and traveled to France, where she earned her pilot’s license in 1921, becoming the first African American and Native American woman in the world to hold an international pilot’s license.

When she returned to the United States, crowds came to watch her fly. Coleman became a famous stunt pilot, performing breathtaking aerial tricks that left audiences amazed.

But she used her platform for something deeper.

She refused to perform at air shows that did not allow Black audiences to attend. To her, flight was not just entertainment.

It was dignity.

There is a verse in Isaiah that says, “They will soar on wings like eagles.”

Bessie Coleman lived that promise with courage and determination.

Sometimes the first person to break a barrier
must build the runway herself.


Breadcrumb
The world may close doors in front of you.

Bessie Coleman did not accept the doors that were closed.

She crossed an ocean instead.

Sometimes God places a dream in your heart that cannot grow where you started.

And sometimes the path forward begins
with the courage to leave the ground.

Steps From Our Sisters
Honoring the Women Who Marched Before Us

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Grace O’Malley – Pirate Queen

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(c.1530 – 1603)
Sometimes history remembers kings. But occasionally the sea belongs to a queen.
Grace O’Malley, known in Ireland as Gráinne Mhaol, was born into a powerful maritime clan along Ireland’s western coast. From a young age she refused the expectations placed upon women of her time.
She learned the sea instead. Grace commanded ships, led sailors, and controlled trade routes along the rugged Irish coastline. Her fleets became legendary, and her name was spoken with both admiration and caution.
When English forces threatened her family and territory, Grace O’Malley did something almost unheard of. She sailed to England and met Queen Elizabeth I face to face.
The two women spoke as equals, negotiating the freedom of O’Malley’s son and the restoration of her lands.
There is a verse in Psalm 93 that says, “The Lord reigns… the seas have lifted up their voice.”
Grace O’Malley’s life seemed to echo that image—strong, fearless, and unafraid of powerful waters.
Sometimes courage does not wait for permission.
Sometimes it sets sail.
Strength often begins with refusing the limits others place on you.
Grace O’Malley was expected to live quietly. Instead she commanded ships and negotiated with queens.
Her story reminds us that leadership can emerge from the most unexpected places.
Sometimes the waves that try to block your path are the very waters meant to carry you forward.
Steps From Our Sisters
Honoring the Women Who Marched Before Us