Category: money

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KEEP BELIEVING

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

This morning I walked into my garden carrying more than Tomato-tone.

I carried worry.

Last week’s storms had been relentless. Then life happened. Family emergencies. Hospital visits. Exhaustion. The garden got the best I could give it, but not always everything I wanted to give it.

As I made my rounds, my fears seemed justified. Several of my biggest green tomatoes had blossom end rot. Months of watering, fertilizing, staking, and waiting… only to find them ruined before they ever ripened.

I picked them off one by one and tossed them across the yard to the squirrels, who had probably been waiting all season for me to make a mistake.

I was disappointed. Maybe even a little angry.
Not just because of the tomatoes. Sometimes one rotten tomato becomes the place where everything else finally shows up.

The financial pressures.


Watching people I admired and believed would make it…walk away from marriages I thought would last forever.


Family struggles I can’t fix.


Dreams that seem to take one step forward and two steps back.


Storm after storm.

The tomatoes just happened to be what broke my heart that morning.

Then I walked around to the other side of the my garden expecting more losses. More disappointments.

But, there she was. My very first zucchini. She hadn’t even been there the last time I looked. Then I remembered something.

The bees hadn’t been showing up because of all the rain. That little zucchini only existed because, one morning, I stepped in and hand-pollinated the flower. At the time it felt almost foolish. I wondered if it would even matter.

Today I held the answer in my hand.

Isn’t that just like God?

Sometimes we become so focused on what’s been damaged that we almost miss what He’s growing on the other side.

The rotten tomatoes were real. But so was the harvest.

Maybe that’s the lesson I needed today.

Not every fruit survives the storm. But neither does every promise die in it.

The storms didn’t stop the zucchini. The rain didn’t cancel the harvest.

The bees didn’t show up… but God still did.

If God asks us to keep planting, keep watering, keep believing, He also has a way of surprising us with fruit we weren’t expecting.

Today, my first zucchini wasn’t just dinner. It was a reminder that disappointment is never the whole story.

Sometimes the blessing you’ve been praying for isn’t gone. It’s simply growing on the other side.

So if today you find yourself throwing rotten tomatoes to the squirrels, don’t leave the garden just yet. Walk around to the other side.

You just might find that while you were grieving what didn’t make it… God was quietly growing something beautiful all along.

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” — Galatians 6:9

Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com ❤️

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The Weight I Was Never Meant To Carry

Posted in cancer, faith, God, inspiration, love, money, relationships, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , 2 Comments

My grandmother used to remind me that the devil is in the details.

Since I am not allowing the devil to win anything today, I’ll leave out the details of recent situations that wounded people I love and, in turn, wounded my heart. The specifics aren’t important anyway. Pain has a way of changing faces while telling the same story.

What surprised me wasn’t the offense itself. It was how quickly I found myself praying for the offenders before the offense had time to settle into my spirit.

Not because I am especially holy. Not because the hurt wasn’t real. Not because I suddenly understood everything.

But because I’ve lived long enough to know that bitterness is expensive. If you don’t deal with it quickly, it starts charging interest.

As I prayed, I was reminded of Job. We often focus on his suffering, his losses, and his endurance. Yet one of the most remarkable moments in his story comes when he prays for those who wounded him.

Job prayed for people who had misjudged him while he was still carrying his own wounds. He wasn’t pretending they hadn’t hurt him. He wasn’t saying they were right. He simply placed them in God’s hands instead of keeping them in his own.

I used to think release meant agreement. I thought if I stopped rehearsing the offense, I was pretending it never happened. If I stopped holding someone accountable in my heart, I was somehow declaring them innocent.

But God has been teaching me something different.

Release is not approval.

Release is trust.

It is placing people back into the hands of the One who sees everything I cannot see. The One who knows every wound, every motive, every hidden struggle, and every missed opportunity.

Sometimes the hardest people to release are not our enemies. They are the people we loved. The people who disappointed us. The people who hurt us while holding a place in our lives.

We want justice.
We want understanding.
We want healing.
We want the story to end differently.

Yet there comes a holy moment when we stop trying to manage the outcome and simply pray:

“Lord, have mercy on them.”

And in the same breath:

“Lord, have mercy on me.”

That prayer does not erase the past. It simply acknowledges that I was never meant to carry the final verdict.

Some burdens belong to God.

Some people belong to God.

And so do I.

Maybe forgiveness is not always a destination. Maybe sometimes it is a decision we make over and over again before resentment has a chance to take root. Maybe it is choosing prayer before bitterness, surrender before judgment, and trust before understanding.

Whatever it is, I know this:

The weight feels lighter when I stop carrying what was never mine to hold.

Love, Chelle

defygravitywithoutwings.com

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When “This” Doesn’t Look Like Increase

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

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

Posted in faith, food, God, health, inspiration, love, moneyTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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

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

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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Release While In Motion

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


It was one of those days that needed me to be focused.

Not halfway. Not distracted.
The kind of day where details matter, timing matters, and anything pulling at your attention feels like it’s trying to sabotage something important.

And yet… my mind would not sit still.

It kept circling the same place.
Big decisions. Career. Finances. Life.

The kind of decisions that don’t come with a clear map. The kind that make you pause long enough to ask God, “Am I supposed to stay… or am I free to go?”

So somewhere in the middle of moving, thinking, preparing, and trying to keep my day on track, I said it:

“Lord… I need You to tell me I’m released.”

Not emotional. Not panicked. Just honest.

Because I wasn’t trying to escape anything…
I just didn’t want to stay somewhere out of habit when You had already given permission to move.

And without missing a beat…God answered me in traffic.

A car passed by with the license plate:

GodHVUS

I paused.

Because… okay Lord. I hear You.

A few minutes later, another one rolled past:

DBLBLSD

Now I’m sitting there like… “Sir… are You serious right now?”

And then it settled in. Not just what passed me… but what I was already sitting in.

My own car. My own plate.

Renew2

“See, I am doing a new thing; now it springs up—do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:19

I asked God for release… and He answered with coverage, increase, and a reminder I had been carrying the whole time.

God has us. Double blessed. Renewed too.

And just like that, what felt heavy…
shifted.

Because release doesn’t always come with a loud announcement. Sometimes it comes with peace that quietly replaces pressure. Sometimes it shows up while you’re still in motion… not when you’ve stopped everything to go looking for it.

God doesn’t just release you from a place.
He renews you for the next one.

Because walking into something new with an old mindset will have you second-guessing doors He already opened.

It will make you call provision “too uncertain”
and growth “too uncomfortable.”

But when God is in it…there is a steadiness that follows.

Not because you have every answer but because you know you’re not walking alone.

So if you find yourself in the middle of a busy day… trying to hold everything together while quietly asking God for direction,

Pay attention.

He may not stop your schedule to answer you. But He will meet you right in it. And when He does…you won’t have to force clarity.

It will roll right past you.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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His April Faithfulness

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

Even though today is April Fool’s Day…
for me, it marks something completely different.

Twenty-one years ago, I went from being a near-homeless divorcee with three kids in tow to becoming a homeowner in 90 days.

And I still smile when I think about it. Because I was so careful not to say anything that might disrupt what God was doing, that every time someone asked me, “Chelle, what are you going to do?” I would simply say, “I’ll tell you on Wednesday.”

There was nothing special about Wednesdays… except that it gave me somewhere to place my expectation.

And sure enough—every Wednesday—
God gave me something to say.
A step. A shift. A provision. A testimony.

So I kept showing up to Wednesdays. And when I finally walked into that house, on April Fools Day,  I found a Bible waiting for me.

Inside was a note from the selling  realtor that said: “Your bid was not the highest, but in 1955 this house was built for you. God has blessed it. Enjoy”

Confirmation of what I already knew.
This wasn’t luck.
This wasn’t timing.
This was God.

And here I am, twenty-one years later…
on another Wednesday.
Still standing.
Still provided for.
Still carried.

And if I’m being honest… at 2 a.m. this morning, life tried to get loud again.
Decisions. Pressure. Finances.
The kind of weight that makes your head hurt and your chest feel tight.

But somewhere between the worry and the whisper,  I found my footing again.

And this is what I stood on:
Lord, I trust You more than this situation.
Lord, I trust You more than what this situation is trying to tell me.
Lord, I trust You more than how I feel right now.
Lord, I trust You more than my need to control how this turns out.
Lord, I trust You to take care of me… no matter what this becomes.

Because I’ve seen this before.

Different details… same God.

So no… I don’t really do April Fool’s. Because I’ve lived long enough to know that God doesn’t play about His promises.

This isn’t April Fool’s to me. This is “His April Faithfulness.” A reminder that no matter what I face, God has always had my back.

Not always my way.
Not always my timing.
But always… faithfully.



Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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

Posted in cancer, faith, God, money, relationships, women's history monthTagged , , , , Leave a comment


(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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My Rib Struggles To Breathe

Posted in faith, God, law, money, relationships, selfhelp, Uncategorized, war, workTagged , , , , Leave a comment

March 1, 2026

God of dirt under fingernails, of headlines and heartbeats, of babies born into chaos
and mamas who don’t sleep.
Lord hear our prayer
Sit with us in sackcloth and ash.

Hear the Latina scream for her familia.
Hear the Black mama beat her chest
from the weight of knees and crushed souls
Hear the confused person of no color
whisper, “Am I next?”

See my father’s shadow.
The brown father working double shifts
with documents that feel like paper shields.
The Black father teaching his son
how to survive a traffic stop.
The father from somewhere else
trying to sound less foreign
so his children sound more safe.

The one who has never been taught how to weep, but learns that privileged skin
offers no protection.

Watch how they swallow fear so their families can eat.
Watch how they stand tall while history presses down.
Do not turn Your face from the trembling.

Is Abraham’s argument still valid?
Is there still one worth saving?
If there are fifty…
If there are forty…
If there are ten…
Will mercy outrun destruction?

Because we be something else.
We invent vaccines and vendettas.
We cure disease and cultivate grudges.
We build greenhouses and graveyards
in the same generation.

We scream “save the babies” while demanding their mothers bleed in parking lots outside buildings bearing neon  crosses and snakes on stakes.

And if that little bundle of hope
takes breath….. we ration mercy.
We starve truth. We feed them fear.
We hand them a system and call it destiny.

Forgive us for mistaking loud for strong,
revenge for justice,
power for wisdom,
money for mattering.

Slow the hands hovering over buttons.
Cool the tongues that set nations on fire.
Remind the mighty that bleeding does not discriminate.

When leaders puff up,
deflate egos with a firm hand.
When citizens rage-scroll at 3:33 a.m.,
tuck them back into cradles of mercy.

Teach us that being right is not the same thing as being righteous.

And teach us this, Lord –
That Holy is set apart, not divided asunder.

Set apart does not mean split down the middle.
It does not mean camps or corners
or color-coded salvation.

Holy is not red. Holy is not blue. Holy is not loud.

Holy is careful. Holy is weighty.
Holy is handled like heirloom glass passed from trembling hands.

Do not let us carve You up to fit our arguments.
Do not let us drape Your name over fear and call it faith.

If we must be set apart, let it be in compassion.
If we must be different, let it be in mercy.
Separate us from cruelty.
Separate us from arrogance.
Separate us from the need to win
at the cost of one another.

But do not divide us beyond repair.
Remind us that what is sacred is never meant to be torn.

Lord Hear Our Prayer

For the refugee in the cold,
the soldier on watch,
the child learning history from a textbook that left something out —
Cover them.

Guard democracy like a fragile seedling in late frost.
Guard dignity like Grandma’s good china.
Guard hope like a porch light left on for whoever comes home late.

When we start thinking the sky is falling,
Whisper,
“Dead and dormant are not the same thing.”

Let wars stall. Let hatred get tired. Let truth outlive the loud.

And if we must walk through fire, let it burn off what is false and leave what is faithful.

While presidents posture and pundits perform
Let ordinary people sleep.
Let Nama rest. Let grandchildren dream of gardens instead of sirens.

My bladed pen is hot. It does not drip ink.
It draws blood from silence. It refuses anesthesia. I tire  of gentle prayers that never name the wound.

If my words burn, let them cauterize.
If they cut, let them carve truth
from marble lies.

Out of all the people in this great big world,
please hear me. Please know my voice.
Hear me when I pray.
For I will not whisper  when my rib struggles to breathe.

Amen.  Ameen. Aṣẹ̀ Olódùmarè. Selah. Shanti. Alafia. Tathāstu. Ubuntu

from Poems My Mama Would Have Wrote ( If She Had Been Allowed”
Althea’s Daughter: Michelle Gillison-Robinson