Category: health

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When “This” Doesn’t Look Like Increase

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Some seasons sneak in quietly.

Not with one catastrophic moment.
Not with one dramatic phone call or one giant storm.
Just a hundred little things.

One thing goes sideways.
Then another.
Then a few more.

Health hiccups.
Emotional exhaustion.
Too much on the plate.
Things changing faster than you can catch your breath.
Prayers that feel unanswered.
Dreams that feel delayed.
People you love walking through their own battles.
And the constant pressure to keep showing up like everything is fine.

Lately, I have felt the weight of that kind of season.

Not panic exactly.
Just heavy.

The kind of heavy that sits quietly on your shoulders while you continue answering emails, paying bills, checking on people, watering plants, going to church, making dinner, and trying to convince yourself you are not as tired as you really are.

You look around at your life and think:

“This doesn’t look like increase.”

But yesterday, a friend said something to me that has been sitting deep in my spirit ever since:

“What if God makes our decrease become our increase?”

I have been sitting with that.

Because maybe increase is not always louder.
Maybe sometimes it is lighter.

Maybe God is not only found in what grows bigger.
Maybe He is also found in what He lovingly cuts away.

Gardeners understand this better than most people. Sometimes a plant looks smaller after pruning while actually becoming healthier. Dead weight is removed. Energy gets redirected. Air and light finally reach hidden places.

The cutting is not cruelty.
It is care.

And maybe some of us are in seasons where God is lovingly removing things we were never meant to carry forever.

Old pressures.
False responsibilities.
Performance-based identities.
The need to rescue everyone.
The need to prove our worth by how much we can survive.

Some seasons don’t feel like increase at all.
They feel like God quietly taking His hands off things you were never supposed to hold forever.

I know that can feel frightening. Especially for those of us who have built entire lives around being dependable. Around holding things together. Around making sure everyone else is okay.

But what if releasing is not failure?

What if the decrease is making room for breath again?

What if God is teaching us that our value was never supposed to be measured only by how much weight we could carry?

John the Baptist once said of Jesus, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30)

Maybe decrease was never meant to destroy us.
Maybe sometimes it is the very thing that brings us closer to what matters most.

So if your life feels quieter right now…
smaller right now…
lighter in some places and emptier in others…

Do not assume God has abandoned you there.

Some decreases are not punishment.
Some are pruning.
Some are protection.
Some are mercy.

And some are the first sign that new growth is finally about to begin.

Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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$5 in My Pocket… Lemons at My Door

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I didn’t need a miracle with flashing lights. I didn’t need a breakthrough big enough for everybody else to recognize. Honestly, I just needed my mind to slow down. Because lately, it’s been doing that thing—running numbers, replaying conversations, trying to solve tomorrow before today even finishes. Not because anything is completely falling apart, but because enough has shifted that my spirit knows to pay attention. And if I’m honest, I was thinking a little too much.

So I tried to interrupt myself. Not with prayer this time. Not with a deep scripture study. Just something simple. I had seen a sermon about decluttering—move five things in five minutes. Nothing deep. Nothing dramatic. Just… move something. So I did. One thing, then another. By the time I got to the fifth thing, I reached into the pocket of a dress I hadn’t worn in at least a year—and there it was. Five dollars.

Now let’s be clear. Five dollars is not going to change anybody’s financial situation, but it changed my moment. Because it made me smile. And in a season where your mind is trying to run ahead of you, sometimes a smile is the interruption you didn’t know you needed. I didn’t think much more about it. I just tucked the moment away and kept moving.

On the way to church, I started going through my wallet. Receipts everywhere. Old ones, faded ones, the kind you keep just in case but never actually need. So I started sorting through them, one by one, making sure there wasn’t anything important I needed to hold on to. And that’s when I saw it—another five dollars. Then another. And then another. Three crisp five-dollar bills sitting where receipts should have been.

Now wait, because this is where my spirit leaned in—not my logic, my spirit. Because four five-dollar bills is still just twenty dollars, and twenty dollars, in the grand scheme of real-life responsibilities, is not fixing anything major. But something in me knew this wasn’t about fixing. This was about finding. God wasn’t solving my situation in that moment; He was steadying my heart in it. He was saying, without saying a word, “You don’t have to carry this the way you are carrying it.” And I sat there in that car, holding those little bills like they were something bigger than money, because they were. They were peace. All magnified by the number 5 being the number of grace denoting God’s unmerited favor

Church was good. I smiled through it—not because everything was handled, but because I felt handled. And when I got home, I thought the moment was over.

I got home, and there it was—a simple bag at my door. Inside were lemons. Not one or two, but five bags—bright, yellow, beautiful lemons. Thirty of them. I stood there looking at them like, “Okay Lord… now this feels personal.” Because you’ve heard the saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade,” but this didn’t feel like life. Life gives lemons with pressure. Life gives lemons and expects you to figure it out. This felt like God.

And while I was trying to figure out what to do with so many lemons, I started giving them away. Nobody knew I had them. Nobody asked for them. I just… started gifting. If you showed up at the door, you left with some. LOL.  And somewhere in that simple act, it settled in my spirit that maybe everything God places in your hands isn’t meant to stay there. Some things show up not just as provision, but as permission—to bless, to share, to lighten someone else’s day without needing a reason or an announcement.

Because He didn’t wait until I had everything figured out. He met me while I was trying not to spiral, while I was moving five small things, while I was clearing out what I didn’t need, while I was doing the little bit I could control. He didn’t flood me with answers. He didn’t overwhelm me with provision. He didn’t drop a solution big enough to remove every question. He just… found me.

He found me in a dress pocket I forgot about, in a wallet I almost ignored, in a moment where I chose not to overthink. And then He made me laugh, because who sends somebody thirty lemons unless they are trying to say something?

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.” — Matthew 6:8

So no, it wasn’t about twenty dollars, and it wasn’t about lemons. It was about being reminded that I am not navigating this season by myself. That even when my thoughts start running ahead of me, God is already present where I’m trying to get to. And sometimes, He doesn’t calm your life all at once. He just leaves little confirmations along the way so your soul can rest while you walk it out.

So if your mind has been busy lately, if you’ve been trying not to worry but still feeling it creep in, if you’re doing the best you can with what’s in front of you—pay attention to the small things, the found things, the unexpected things, the things that make you smile before you can explain them. Because God doesn’t always show up loud. Sometimes, He shows up in fives.

Gently reminded that God meets you in the middle, not just at the outcome.

Love,
Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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Holding Space

Posted in cancer, faith, God, health, inspiration, love, relationshipsTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

There are days when I realize I have been talking to God the same way some people talk to me.

Long. Honest. Full of need. And still… one-sided.

I bring Him everything. My worries. My wants. My weariness. I hold nothing back. But I don’t always stay long enough to notice Him. To feel Him. To hear Him. To let Him respond.

I ask Him to hold space for me without making space for Him.

And if I’m honest…I know exactly what that feels like. Because it hurts when it happens to me. When I am present but not considered. Listening but not included. Holding space but somehow unseen.

It doesn’t make me love less. But it does make me feel… less.

And somewhere in the back of my mind,I hear a line from an old tv show: “When having conversations with God, make sure you are not the only one talking.”

Simple. Almost funny. But it sits heavy when I realize how often it’s true.

Because if it can touch me like that, a flawed, still-growing, learning-how-to-love human, I can only imagine how it grieves the heart of a God who shows up fully every single time for billions of us. 

Yet is still so often left unheard in return. Not ignored on purpose…just… overlooked in the urgency of our own voices.

But God is not just a place to pour into. He is a presence to sit with. Not just a listener. A Father. A responder. A revealer.

Maybe prayer is not just what I say but how long I stay after I’m done talking. Maybe peace doesn’t come when I finish speaking… but when I finally get quiet enough to realize He has been there the whole time.  Waiting… not to interrupt but to be included.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

Stillness is not silence for silence’s sake. It is space for God to be seen.

Forgive us Lord and thank you for still seeing us.

Love, Chelle

defygravitywithoutwings.com

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Even Though

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


So I was listening to Scripture, already sitting in the middle of a situation that felt heavy, when that line from Psalm 23:4 came through: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” And it stopped me. Because what I’m in right now doesn’t feel like a shadow of death… but it sure does feel like a shadow of change.

And that part hit me sideways. “Yea, though…” but all I could hear was even though. Not churchy. Not polished. Just plain and honest.

Even though this is not how I thought this season would look.
Even though things are shifting whether I’m ready or not.
Even though what used to feel steady doesn’t feel as steady right now.
Even though I’m trying to hold it together and trust God at the same time.
Even though.

Because “even though” doesn’t mean I’m ignoring the valley. It means I see it real clear, and I’m still walking. Not skipping. Not shouting. Just walking… through a shadow of change I didn’t ask for.

Isaiah 43:2 reminds me that when I pass through the waters, He will be with me. Through it, not around it. And if I’m being honest, I definitely asked for around it.

Then there’s Habakkuk 3:17–18, that grown-woman kind of faith. Though nothing is budding, though things aren’t producing like they should, yet I will rejoice. Not loud. Not for show. Just a quiet choice between me and God.

And 2 Corinthians 4:8–9—pressed, perplexed, struck down… yeah, that part. But not crushed. Not destroyed. Still here.

Somewhere between “Lord, help me” and “I trust You,” there’s this quiet sentence that keeps showing up: even though… I’m still going to trust You. Not because I’ve got answers, but because I’ve got Him.

And here’s something I’m holding onto… shadows shift when something is moving. So maybe this shadow of change means God is doing more than I can see right now.

God sees you. Not the put-together version, the real one. The one doing math in her head. The one holding her breath waiting on answers. The one choosing not to fall apart when it would make sense to. He sees your even though… and He hasn’t stepped out of it.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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The Place My Name Found Me

Posted in cancer, faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, relationships, selfhelp, workTagged , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I went forward like everyone else.

Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… carried.

I was visiting the early service at my son’s church,  when the  Pastor called us to come sign our names on the wooden cross that had been standing since last week’s Easter service. A simple act. A physical way to mark what God had already done.

But nothing about it felt simple.

Tears started before I ever stepped out.

I watched the seniors go first
Slow steps
Steady hands
Lives the world sometimes overlooks
But heaven still calls by name

I saw the former addict sign
Not as who they were
But as who God kept

I saw those once incarcerated
Writing their names like chains had finally agreed to let go

A blind man signed
A woman limping signed
And my own deaf son… signed

Lord… that alone almost took me out

Each name wasn’t just written
It was declared
Healing
Freedom
Promise
Still in progress, but already claimed

The children came excited
Unafraid of space running out
Because children always believe there’s room

And when space did get tight
The Pastor lifted the cross higher
So those who couldn’t bend could still reach

Even at the feet… there was still room

That part preached all by itself

But what stayed with me…
What lingered…
Was where my hand landed

A rough place
Scratched
Uneven
The kind of spot that, if you rubbed it the wrong way, could leave a splinter

And I paused

Because it felt like my life

Not smooth
Not polished
Not presentation-ready

But still part of the cross

And right there, in that imperfect place
I wrote my name

Careful
Intentional
Fully aware

That Jesus didn’t die for smooth stories

He died for splinters too

For the places that still catch
Still sting
Still remind you that healing isn’t always pretty

And yet…

That rough place held my name just fine

Didn’t reject me
Didn’t shift me to a better spot

It received me
As-is

And I heard it clear as day in my spirit

“You don’t need a polished place to belong here.”

So I signed

Not because I have it all together

But because the cross already made room for every part of me that doesn’t

“By His wounds we are healed.” — Isaiah 53:5

Signing your name in places that don’t feel smooth yet
Trusting God with the parts of your story that still feel rough
Believing that even here… you belong

**Love, Chelle**
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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When Praise Cost You A Toe ( and a Little Pride)

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This morning was supposed to be simple.

Just me, a broom, and some soft worship music. Nothing dramatic. Nothing deep. Just cleaning the house and minding my business.

But somewhere between sweeping one corner and turning toward the next…
that broom turned into a rhythm.

And that rhythm turned into a sway.
And that sway turned into a little two-step.

Now listen… I have not truly praise danced since my early 30s. And even then, let’s be honest, even then,I was in the back of the sanctuary respectfully copying the professionals 😌

But this morning?
Oh, I was feeling it.
Clumsy? Yes.
Anointed? Also yes.

And for a moment, it felt free.
Like I could just stay right there…
moving, praising, forgetting everything else.

And that’s where it shifted.

Because instead of staying in the praise,
my mind wandered into the problems I was trying to outdance.

Like Peter stepping out on the water in Matthew 14:29–30. As long as his eyes were on Jesus, he was good. But the moment he looked at the wind? He started sinking.

Well…The moment I stopped focusing on the praise and started focusing on everything else… I didn’t sink.

I stubbed my pinky toe.

And not just a polite little tap either. No ma’am. The kind that makes you see your whole life flash before your eyes.

Which then threw me off balance…
which then reminded my knee about that old meniscus injury from my 30s…

So now I’m in the middle of my living room,
half praising, half limping, trying to decide if I need prayer or an ice pack.

But here’s the thing Even through the pain, my thoughts got corrected. Because I realized:

Praising your way through something will cost you if you stop mid-praise to pick your problems back up.

You can’t hold both.
Not well anyway.

And right there—in between the limp and the laughter— I had to laugh at myself. Because I know I looked like something.

Just me… off beat… off balance…
still trying to be faithful in the middle of it.
And while nobody else saw it…

God did. And I believe He smiled. Because it wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

And if you needed this today…

Go ahead and praise anyway.
Even if it’s off rhythm.
Even if it’s in your kitchen.
Even if it turns into a wobble instead of a dance. Just… keep your eyes in the right place.

And if you do happen to stumble? Laugh, reset, and keep moving. Because the goal was never perfection.

It was presence.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com 💛

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Not Chained. Positioned.

Posted in faith, God, health, inspiration, law, love, money, relationships, Uncategorized, workTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

It’s 1:15 a.m.
The house is quiet, but my mind isn’t.
My spirit is talking, but my thoughts keep trying to interrupt. And if I’m honest, I don’t even want to go where my mind keeps taking me.

Because yesterday… I got burned.
Not a misunderstanding.
Not a small thing I can laugh off later.
Burned.
And not the kind you can just pray off and keep it moving like nothing happened.

And the part that makes it sit heavy in my chest is this: I’m still expected to show up tomorrow like nothing happened.
Smiling. Producing. Performing.
Because apparently… healing is not on the job description.

Because responsibilities don’t pause for disappointment. Bills don’t care about betrayal. And sometimes… purpose doesn’t immediately pull you out of uncomfortable places.

So there I was… sitting in the quiet, feeling tired in a way sleep can’t fix and the thought slipped in:

“I’m chained to this situation.”


Gee… I didn’t even like how that sounded coming out of my own mouth. But just as quickly… something in my spirit pushed back.

Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just steady:

“You’re not chained… you’re positioned.”

Whew.

Because chained means stuck. No movement. No options. No end.
But positioned? Positioned means this is not permanent… no matter how long it’s been.
Positioned means there is purpose even here.
Positioned means you’re still on your way somewhere.

So I had to correct myself. I am not chained.
I am in transition with responsibilities.
And that changes how I stand in this space.

It means I don’t burn bridges out of frustration but I also don’t build my identity in a place that hurt me.

It means I pay attention. Because what hurt me also showed me something.
How people move.
What I can and cannot depend on.
Where I need boundaries.

What happened yesterday? That wasn’t just pain. That was data. And baby… I take notes.
And data helps you move wiser.

So instead of letting my mind replay the moment or fast-forward me into feeling stuck forever, I made a decision in the quiet:

I will deal with this tomorrow. Not at 1:15 a.m. Because I am not losing sleep over something God is already handling.

Because this hour isn’t for fixing. It’s for listening. And when I listened,I heard it clearly:
“I am not chained. I am collecting what I need before I move.”

So I’ll show up. I’ll do what needs to be done.
Not because they deserve my best… but because I do.

But I won’t shrink. I won’t forget who I am or whose child I am. And I won’t mistake a temporary season for a permanent assignment.

To be clear… just because I’m still here doesn’t mean I’m staying. Because even here,

God is still positioning me.

—

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord… “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29

—

Love,
Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com 💛

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Worship Beyond The Song

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Worship is easy when the music is right,
the lights are soft, and nobody has touched your wounds that day.

But real worship?
Real worship sounds different.
It sounds like forgiving while your heart is still tender to the touch. It looks like choosing God when people are still choosing to bruise you.

Because worship was never just a song…
it’s a decision. A decision to trust that God is still good even when people are not.

And we saw it—not in a sanctuary, but on a cross.

When Jesus looked at the very people who were crucifying Him and said, “Father, forgive them…” (Luke 23:34)

Not after it was over. Not when it stopped hurting. While it was happening.


Sometimes worship looks like the opposite of what we expected:
Forgiving when you’re still hurting.
Praying when you’re disappointed.
Trusting when nothing makes sense.
Giving when you feel empty.
Staying when it would be easier to walk away.
Walking away when it would be easier to stay.
Being kind to people who mishandled you.
Keeping your heart soft in a hard situation.
Choosing peace when chaos would feel justified.
Telling the truth when a lie would protect you.
Resting when pressure says perform.
Waiting when everything in you wants to rush.
Obeying when you don’t understand.
Loving without getting anything back.
Letting go of what you prayed would stay.
Thanking God before you see the outcome.
Showing up again after being let down.
Keeping your integrity when nobody is watching.
Not clapping back when you have the perfect comeback.
Blessing people who bruised you.
Believing God is still good on a bad day.
Choosing joy without evidence.
Honoring God privately, not just publicly.
Surrendering your version of how it should go.
Standing still when fear says run.
Moving forward when comfort says sit down.

Because sometimes the most powerful worship isn’t what you sing in a moment of peace… it’s what you choose in the middle of pain.


It’s saying:
“God, I honor You… not because this feels good, but because You are good.”

So yes, worship Him even while the bruise is still fresh.

Not because they deserve it.But because He does.

“In quietness and trust shall be your strength.”
— Isaiah 30:15


God, teach me how to worship You beyond what is comfortable. When my heart is bruised, help me not to harden it.

When I don’t understand what You’re allowing, help me trust who You are.

Give me the strength to forgive even when the pain is still fresh, and the courage to release what is trying to take root in me that You never planted.

Let my life honor You not just in my songs,
but in my choices.

Even here. Even now.

Amen.

Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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When It Bolts

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It’s 4:23 a.m. on Easter Sunday and I’m standing in my little greenhouse, looking at spinach that decided overnight… it was done.

Tall stems where leaves used to be. Little flowers where nourishment used to grow.
Bolting.

Translation? “It’s too hot for what I used to do.”

And for a second, I felt disappointed. Like I did something wrong. Like I missed a window. Like I should’ve held on longer.
But spinach doesn’t argue with the season.
It doesn’t force itself to keep producing what the environment no longer supports. It shifts.

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

And standing there, I realized… Some of us are still trying to produce peace in places that have already gotten too hot.

Still trying to hold conversations that only grow bitterness. Still trying to get nourishment from situations that have already shifted into something else.

And we call it perseverance. But sometimes…
It’s just a season that’s ended. The spinach didn’t fail. The season changed.

And instead of forcing leaves that would turn bitter anyway… it moved on to producing something new.
Seeds.
Future.
What’s next.

And maybe that’s where I am too.
Not failing.
Not falling apart.
Not losing ground.
Just recognizing that I don’t have to keep forcing what no longer grows here.

Because the work of the  Cross didn’t just prove He could get up… it proved that endings don’t get the final say.

So I don’t have to panic when something stops producing. Idon’t have to force life out of what has already shifted. And I don’t have to sit in disappointment like something has gone wrong.

Nothing went wrong.

The season changed.

And the same God who allowed this one to close… is already making room for what comes next. And instead of holding on too tight… I’m learning how to release without fear.

“Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth…” — Isaiah 43:18–19

So I’m not mourning what bolted. I’m watching for what’s about to spring up.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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Paid For, Not Pending

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It’s Easter weekend and if I’m honest, everything in my life isn’t lining up all neat and peaceful like the Cross might suggest.

There are still things that don’t feel right.
Still emotions that keep trying to rise up and take over the room. Still situations I could easily let steal my focus.

But I had to sit with a truth that didn’t ask me how I felt about it.

“But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him…” — Isaiah 53:5

Not will be. Was.

Which means… peace isn’t something I have to wait on. It’s already been paid for.

And somewhere between trying to figure everything out and trying to hold everything together… I realized I’ve been treating peace like it’s pending approval.

Like it’s waiting on people to act right.
Waiting on situations to settle down.
Waiting on life to cooperate.

But the cross didn’t come with conditions. It came with a receipt. Paid in full.

And if I’m honest… I’ve been holding my breath. Carrying things. Bracing myself.
Living like I’m about to be swallowed whole by everything I haven’t figured out yet.

But He didn’t just die.He got up.

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” — 1 Corinthians 15:55

So I don’t have to live like I’m being swallowed anymore. I get to breathe the life He died to give me.
Not shallow.
Not rushed.
Not survival breathing.
Full, steady, grace-filled breath.

So today, I’m not fixing everything. I’m not forcing conversations. Not chasing resolution.

I’m receiving.
Peace in my mind.
Steadiness in my spirit.
Enough clarity for the next right step.

Because if Jesus already paid for it…
then I don’t have to earn it by exhausting myself. And maybe that’s the real freedom Easter offers. Not that everything around me changes overnight… but that I don’t have to be held hostage by it anymore.

So if you see me a little quieter today. A little less reactive… a little more settled than the situation calls for…just know I finally stopped holding my breath…

…and started living like the grave already lost.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com