money

When the Tool Ate the Manuscript (and Almost My Heart)

January 29, 2026Posted in cancer, cancer, chemotherapy, christmas, faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged bloganuary, christian, christianity, christmas, dailyprompt, empty, faith, Family, food, Friendship, God, woman, workLeave a comment

Let me tell you what almost took me out.

For weeks—WEEKS—I have been doing the holy, unglamorous work of editing and reorganizing a soon-to-be book.
Moving chapters.
Fixing commas that think they run things.
Re-threading stories.
Listening for where God was nudging—and where I was just rambling.

This was faithful work. Quiet work.
The kind nobody claps for.

And then…
The tool I use to assist and “catch mistakes” decided to eat my manuscript.

Not nibble.
Not misplace a paragraph.
Eat it.

I have survived cancer, grief, caregiving, deadlines, and ice storms—but watching weeks of careful labor vanish off a screen?
That will make your chest tighten and your salvation flicker for a hot second.

I sat there spiraling:
Did I just lose half a book?
Am I behind now?
Did I just waste weeks of my life arguing with chapter headings?

Cue the dramatic sigh.
Cue me talking to my laptop like it had personally betrayed the family.

And then—grace, wearing sneakers—slid in sideways and whispered:

Your work is not gone.
You are not behind.
We did not lose half a book.

Because real work doesn’t live only in files.
It lives in muscle memory, lived experience, and a heart that’s been steeped in the message.

And Scripture backs this up.

“So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten…”
— Joel 2:25

God restores years, not just results.
Restoration doesn’t always look like retrieval.
What God restores often comes back stronger.

So breathe.
Roll your shoulders.
Open a new document.

The words still know how to find you.
And the story is very much alive.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

The Woman At The Table

January 27, 2026Posted in cancer, cancer, chemotherapy, christmas, faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged Black History Month, bloganuary, Breast cancer, celebration, childhood, christian, christianity, dailyprompt, faith, Family, food, God, grow seasonLeave a comment

Sometimes I miss the house in the middle of the corn fields with no indoor plumbing.
The pot-belly stove that decided when we were warm enough.
The way night fell heavy and close, and everyone settled where they could—sharing rooms, beds, blankets, breath.

I say my room, but that’s a loose word.
Privacy was a luxury we didn’t own.
Still, there was one place that felt like mine:
the narrow view through the keyhole.

Almost every night, after the fires were dampened and the house full of children finally stilled, I would watch my grandmother at her writing table. Her hands folded. Her Bible open. A pen moving slowly, deliberately.

Women of the Bible were her favorite.
Deborah. Ruth. Esther. Mary.
Women who listened closely and lived bravely.

She wrote sermons—real ones. Thoughtful. Scripturally sound. Insightful in ways people did not expect from a woman in those days. Especially a woman who cleaned other people’s houses for a living.

But it was her prayer ritual that marked me.

She prayed in whispers—not because God was quiet, but because love was.
She didn’t want to wake a house full of children.
Except, apparently, the little girl at the keyhole.

I couldn’t hear the words.
But I could see her face.

Sometimes she smiled.
Sometimes she laughed—like she and God shared a private joke.
Sometimes she cried. The kind of crying that doesn’t fall apart, just falls down.

And as I watched—hidden, still, unnoticed—I was learning.
Learning how faith looks when no one is applauding.
Learning that prayer does not need volume to have weight.
Learning that God listens closely to whispers.

When she finished praying, she always reached for the same thing.

A small plastic bread loaf.
One of those coin banks from organizations that fed “poor kids in Africa.”

She would slip a coin inside.
Sometimes a dollar.
Hard-earned. Scrubbed-for. Long-hours-standing money.

Money from a woman the world might have called poor—
but who never believed she was exempt from generosity.

I didn’t understand it then.
But I do now.

That table was a pulpit.
That whispering was power.
That plastic loaf was faith that refused to shrink.
And that keyhole?
It was my first seminary.

And that little girl at the keyhole?
She’s still watching.
Still learning how to pray without performing.
Still believing a few faithful offerings can touch a wide world.

“She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” — Proverbs 31:26
“Your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” — Matthew 6:6

Some of the strongest sermons are whispered after bedtime, preached without microphones, and learned by children watching through keyholes.

Love, Chelle

Porch Prayers & Weather-Wise Faith

January 25, 2026January 25, 2026Posted in cancer, cancer, faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, Uncategorized, workTagged bloganuary, Breast cancer, childhood, christian, christianity, empty, faith, God, Love, music, services, womanLeave a comment

On days like these, my mother would stand on the porch and ask for a Bermuda High to come down and turn the snow and ice away.

In the thick, sticky heat of summer, she’d pray for a Canadian Low to sweep through and cool the air.

She didn’t call it meteorology.
She called it faith.
And more often than not, the weather shifted.

When I got older, some of my friends picked up the same habit. We didn’t have robes or titles—just house shoes, coffee cups, and enough sense to know the porch was close enough to heaven for our prayers to travel. We called ourselves the Porch-Praying Sisters.

We prayed about the weather, yes—but also about children, marriages, money, bodies that wouldn’t cooperate, and news reports that made our stomachs knot. We spoke our requests into the open air like God might just be passing by and decide to stop and listen.

Today, we’re in the middle of a Virginia ice storm.
Freezing temperatures.
Sleet tapping the windows.
The quiet, low-grade anxiety of Will we lose power? humming beneath everything else.

And maybe that’s what storms still do best.
They set the altar.

They slow us down, pull us inward, strip away noise and options until all that’s left is warmth, breath, and the remembering that we are not in control—but we are not alone either.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you… when you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.” (Isaiah 43:2)

Over the years, we drifted. Life scattered us. Jobs, moves, losses, disagreements, silence. That happens.
But in this current environment—
with ice on the ground, tension in the air, and uncertainty pressing in—
I find myself praying again.
Not polished prayers.
Porch prayers.

The kind that believe faith doesn’t have to be loud to be effective. The kind that remember Jesus said even “faith as small as a mustard seed” can speak to what feels immovable and tell it to move. (Matthew 17:20)

Maybe the weather won’t always change.
Maybe the power will flicker.
Maybe the storm will linger longer than we’d like.
But when a storm sets the altar,
something always moves.
And sometimes…
that something is us.

— Love, Chelle

Numbers and Neighbors (and Why You May See Me Writing Quietly for a While)

January 24, 2026Posted in cancer, faith, God, health, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged beginner garden, bloganuary, celebration, childhood, faith, Family, hellLeave a comment

Numbers and neighbors matter.
I’ve spent most of my life thinking numbers were for accountants, engineers, and people who enjoy spreadsheets far more than I ever will. But lately—especially in this season of writing—I’m learning that numbers aren’t really about math.

They’re about order.

Numbers tell you where something belongs.
They tell you what comes before and what comes after.
They keep things from floating around unfinished and untethered.

And then there are neighbors.
Neighbors are what give numbers meaning.
Nothing meaningful stands alone—not stories, not seasons, not faith, and not writing. What sits beside something shapes how it’s understood. Context matters. Timing matters. Placement matters.

Right now, my writing life looks a little different. Instead of posting every thought as soon as it forms, I’m learning to sit with them. To ask where they belong. What needs to come before. What needs to follow.
It turns out this is how a book is being built.

Isaiah reminds us:
“The Lord will guide you always… You will be like a well-watered garden.” (Isaiah 58:11)
Gardens grow by placement.
By timing.
By knowing what belongs next to what.

So if my writing shows up a little differently for a while, know this:
Nothing is disappearing.
It’s being ordered.
Numbers and neighbors matter.

Love, Chelle

Snowmaggedon Has Entered the Chat

January 23, 2026Posted in cancer, faith, God, inspiration, love, money, relationships, workTagged beginner garden, bloganuary, Breast cancer, christian, christianity, christmas, dailyprompt, faith, Family, forgive tears, giving, Life, plant mommyLeave a comment

Well… here we are.

My favorite weather man is forecasting the first official Snowmaggedon of the season: six to twelve inches of snow, up to an inch of ice layered on top, and—because chaos loves company—the delightful possibility of losing power. Naturally planned for a post-work weekend, because rest is apparently negotiable.
I’ve done my preps.
Grandma’s provision list? Checked.
Every extra blanket in the house washed, folded, and staged like we’re auditioning for Little House on the Prairie: Dominion Energy Edition.
Candles. Tea lights. Batteries. Flashlights. The full “we will survive this living room” starter kit.
I’ve been digging through storage bins to find the reflective cover for my greenhouse, determined to protect my plant babies outside. Because if the lights flicker and the world goes quiet, somebody still needs to be covered. We will endure together—warm-ish, faithful, and protected.
This isn’t panic prepping.
This is inheritance.
This is what happens when you’re raised by women who trusted God and kept extra blankets. Women who understood that peace doesn’t come from pretending storms don’t happen—it comes from knowing you’re sheltered when they do.
“He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge.” — Psalm 91:4
That verse feels different when you’re pulling covers over tender things.
When you’re choosing care over chaos.
When you’re preparing not out of fear, but out of love.
And when the work is done—when the candles are set and the covers are pulled tight—there’s permission to rest.
“In peace I will lie down and sleep, for You alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” — Psalm 4:8
Now, the only thing I’m not prepared for is being snowed in with young people who have never experienced boredom—or a power outage—as a character-building event. Back in my day we stared at walls and survived…
But even then… provision has already been made.
And that, right there, is peace—with a little sass and a lot of covering.
Love,
Chelle

On The Subject Of Pink Polka-Dotted Elephants

January 22, 2026January 22, 2026Posted in cancer, chemotherapy, faith, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelpTagged bloganuary, Breast cancer, celebration, christian, christianity, God, healing, hell, HopeLeave a comment

Pink polka‑dotted elephants.
That’s what I call the thoughts that show up uninvited — loud, ridiculous, and determined to distract you from what is right, true, and good.
Scripture tells us to think on things that are lovely.
Pure.
Worthy.
Aligned with God’s Word.
It reminds us that God has a plan for our good and our welfare — not our harm.
But tonight, after my usual bedtime routine of potions, pills, injections, and all the other expensive stuff designed to keep me breathing…
along came that stupid elephant in the room.
No — I wasn’t high off anything. 😂
That elephant showed up because someone had casually asked earlier, “Are you afraid of dying young?”
I didn’t answer them.
Apparently, however, some inquiring devils wanted a response.
I tried.
I really did.
I quoted scripture after scripture in my head:
“Jesus bore my sickness and carried my diseases.
By His stripes I am healed.
I shall live and not die and declare the works of the Lord.”
But the little imp was determined.
Sleep was cancelled.
So I finally answered — not the human who asked, but the thought itself.
No.
I am not afraid of dying young.
What I am afraid of…
are people who will watch me grow old,
yet insist I live like I’m dying.
They mean well. I know that.
But do they really need to remind me how bad I look every time they see me?
Yes, I know what the doctors said.
But I also know what Jesus died for.
My symptoms are just that — symptoms.
Not verdicts.
Not identity.
Not destiny.
They are lying vanities compared to what I already know to be true.
Whether healing manifests in a way that satisfies you is not my responsibility — or God’s.
Could you please just rejoice in the hope and testimony I am aiming for?
And no — I am not putting down my microphone.
I’m pretty sure my head won’t explode while hitting a high note.
And yes, I laugh because it’s funny you don’t know me well enough to realize I have zero intention of laying myself away and quietly accepting anything.
So listen up, pink polka‑dotted elephants in the room —
beware.
The Overcomer has arrived.
You may not always be able to ignore the silly thoughts the enemy sends.
But remember this: he already knows he has lost.
(Big dummy.)
All he can do now is try to trick you into focusing on lies and nonsense.
The only way he wins
is if you let your imagination run in his direction.
So address those contradicting thoughts with what you know to be true about God’s Word.
Think thoughts of healing.
Prosperity.
Love.
Dreams.
And the good things God desires for you — a life more abundant.
And as for the elephants?
Enough already.
Back to hell’s zoo they go.
For good this time.

Seven years later, I can read these words with tears and gratitude.
I am a breast cancer survivor.
The elephants didn’t win.
Fear didn’t get the final word.
And God proved — again — that truth, when held onto long enough, becomes testimony.
Completion with scars turned sacred.

Love, Chelle

Catalog Note:
This post is archived for future inclusion in the book project Whistle While He Works.
Originally written years earlier and revisited at the seven‑year survivor mark.

GOD’S UP. I MIGHT AS WELL BE TOO.

January 18, 2026January 18, 2026Posted in cancer, faith, God, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged bloganuary, cancer, celebration, christian, christianity, church, dailyprompt, faith, Family, fight memories, grow season, healing, Jesus, Love, womanLeave a comment

Like some kind of finely tuned timepiece, my internal alarm goes off — clockwork faithful.
No snooze button negotiations. No grace period. Just “bing.”

And there it is… 3:00 a.m. glowing on my digital clock
(yes, I still have one — don’t judge).

I pull the comforter up like it might save me.
It does not.

My body says, up up up,
while my soul whispers, “Really, Lord? Again?”

There was a time I filled those early hours with “responsible things” —
finishing chores I ignored the night before,
paying bills that had been staring at me all day,
or letting the TV talk so I didn’t have to think.

Busy things.
Distracting things.
Things that looked productive but didn’t change me one bit.

But lately… I’m up writing.

Blog entries.
Poems.
Devotionals.

Words spilling out at a pace that tells me I’m not in charge of this schedule anymore.

And somewhere between the glow of that clock and the scratch of my pen, truth had my full attention.

I’ve moved from me cleaning house
to God housekeeping me.

Because once I’m fully awake, I go full steam —
fixing, managing, pushing, performing.
But at 3 a.m.?
I’m not impressive. I’m not polished. I’m barely caffeinated.

And that’s exactly when God starts pointing things out.

Things my soul was too tired to hear during the day,
my pen now faithfully records in the quiet.

Cleaning me.
Pruning me.
Digging around places I thought were “fine.”
Re-creating what I rushed past in daylight.

This isn’t insomnia.
This is divine interruption.

Early-morning housekeeping —
the kind where God gently rearranges what I’ve been tripping over inside
while I’m still wrapped in blankets and honesty.

And I’m reminded, softly, without accusation or demand:
“In quietness and trust is your strength.” (Isaiah 30:15)

Turns out, God doesn’t always wake us up to get more done.

Sometimes He wakes us up because He’s not finished with us yet.

Love, Chelle

Unmarked Seeds And Clearance Rack Faith

January 17, 2026January 17, 2026Posted in cancer, christmas, faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged beginner garden, bloganuary, Breast cancer, celebration, christian, christianity, church, dailyprompt, empty, faith, gift, giving, God, grow season, mental health, Ministry1 Comment

I was standing there with a handful of seeds and no idea what any of them were.
No labels. No instructions. No promises.
Just seeds.

Some were round. Some looked like dust. Some looked like… dirt pretending to be something important.

And full confession — I made the executive decision to buy them from a discount house online, which should have been my first clue that clarity was not included in the price.

Because planting unmarked seeds feels risky.
You don’t know what you’re committing to.
You don’t know how long it will take.
You don’t know what kind of care it will need — or if you just planted hope, oregano, and disappointment all in the same row.

And that is where I had to repent of my disgust with not being able to see the seeds’ vision.

God has planted a lot of unmarked seeds in me.
No timeline.
No instruction card.
No neat little packet that says “This will bloom in 90 days if watered weekly and protected from disappointment, other people’s opinions, and your own impatience.”

Just obedience.
Just trust.
Just dirt and hope.
Some seeds He plants look insignificant — almost invisible.
Some feel mislabeled by other people.
Some feel like they were handed to us without explanation at all.

And yet… seeds don’t need labels to know what they are.
They just need soil.
Light.
Time.

And a gardener who doesn’t dig them up every five minutes to check progress — which, for the record, I have learned is frowned upon in both gardening and faith.

I think that’s where I get tripped up.
I keep wanting proof before growth.
Confirmation before commitment.
Fruit before faith.

But the seed already knows what it carries — even when I don’t.

“So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.”
— 1 Corinthians 3:7

Maybe the confusion isn’t failure.
Maybe it’s faith in its earliest form.
Maybe God is saying:
Plant it anyway.
Water it anyway.
Stop interrogating the soil.
Because unmarked doesn’t mean unintentional.
And unseen doesn’t mean unimportant.
And dormant is not the same thing as dead.

Love, Chelle

Timing Is Everything (Apparently So Are Berries)

January 15, 2026Posted in cancer, faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged beginner garden, bloganuary, celebration, christian, christianity, empty, faith, Family, forgive tears, God, healingLeave a comment

I’ll admit it — I went into a little shock when I learned blueberries and strawberries operate on a two-to-three-year growth plan.
Years.
Plural.

I stood there staring at seeds like they had personally betrayed me.

Up until that moment, I genuinely thought I was being resourceful.
Frugal.
Garden-savvy.
A woman with a plan.

Turns out, I had signed up for a long-term relationship without reading the commitment clause.

That’s when I decided I’m not planting berries until I move into my forever home.
Because berries don’t do well with temporary addresses.
They want stability.
Consistency.
A place where nobody’s packing boxes just as the harvest shows up.

And honestly? I get it now.

I finally understand why blueberries and strawberries cost what they do at the store.
It’s not inflation — it’s time.
It’s patience.
It’s years of watering something that gives you nothing back except leaves and hope.

I really thought it was a good idea.
And it was — just not for this season.

Jesus talked a lot about seeds, soil, and timing.
He never rushed growth — He explained it.

“First the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear.” (Mark 4:28)

Nothing about that process is instant.
Nothing about it is wasted.

Even Jesus waited.
Thirty years before public ministry.
Hidden seasons.
Quiet obedience.
Roots forming where no one was applauding.

So I’ll wait too.
Not because I lack faith — but because I’ve learned that timing matters.

Some things are worth planting when you know you can stay long enough to enjoy the fruit.

Until then, I’ll pay store prices with a little more humility…
and a lot more respect for the journey those berries have been on.

Because growth was never the problem.
Timing was the lesson.

Love, Chelle

Jesus Took A Break (And So Can You)

January 14, 2026Posted in cancer, faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, workTagged bloganuary, celebration, christian, christianity, dailyprompt, faith, giving, God, grow season, healingLeave a comment

I noticed it, and it wouldn’t let me go.

Jesus took a break.

Not because He was lazy.
Not because the need was gone.
Not because the work was finished.

But because He knew when to pour Himself out —
and when to be filled again by the Father.

He stepped away while people still needed Him.
He withdrew while expectations still waited.
He rested even though the world would have gladly kept pulling.

“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”
— Luke 5:16

(Jesus withdrew to quiet places.
I withdraw to the couch and pretend I’m just “thinking.”)

Last night my body kept waking me up like it was tapping my shoulder saying,
Hey. We’re done pretending.

Every hour on the hour.
No deep rest. No drifting off.

Thoughts of what I needed to do today were keeping me awake, while those same thoughts were making me tired.

But, yet, there was a quiet insistence that something holy was being ignored.

(Jesus rested.
I call it a “strategic pause,” because the word nap feels too optimistic.)

Here is the truth tired women rarely hear out loud:

Rest is not quitting.
Pausing is not disobedience.
Taking a break is not a lack of faith.

Sometimes it is the most faithful thing you can do.

Jesus didn’t withdraw because He didn’t care.
He withdrew because He did — because love that lasts must return to its Source.

(Jesus took a break.
I took one too once — accidentally, in the driveway, with the car still running.)

Today I will not apologize for being tired.
I will not spiritualize exhaustion.
I will not confuse availability with holiness.

I will follow Jesus —
even if that means following Him somewhere quiet.

And if all I manage today is showing up gently,
that will be enough.

Because Jesus took a break.
And somehow… that sets me free.

So if you can’t find me today, I am on the couch with Jesus. Wake Him and ask permission to wake me.

Love, Chelle

Footstep Notes:
Luke 5:16; Mark 1:35; Matthew 14:23

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