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What Does God Forget?

Recently, I’ve been watching a few Nigerian dramas, and I’ve noticed a phrase that seems to appear whenever a character is struggling.

Someone will eventually look at the person facing hardship and say, “Maybe God has forgotten you.”

Every time I hear it, something inside me pushes back.

Not because I don’t understand the pain behind the statement. I do.

Most of us have lived through seasons when prayers seemed unanswered, doors stayed closed, healing took longer than expected, and hope felt delayed. In those moments, it is easy to wonder if God has overlooked us.

David certainly felt that way.

“How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1)

The remarkable thing about Scripture is that it doesn’t hide these questions. It records them honestly. God’s people have always wrestled with disappointment, delay, and uncertainty.

But feelings and facts are not always the same thing.

When Israel feared they had been abandoned, God answered with one of the most tender promises in Scripture:

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” (Isaiah 49:15-16)

God does not lose track of His children.

He remembered Noah in the flood.

He remembered Hannah in her barrenness.

He remembered Rachel in her grief.

He remembered Israel in captivity.

And He remembers you.

What is easy to miss is that God saw them long before the answer arrived.

He saw Hannah before Samuel was born.

He saw Joseph before the palace and before the prison doors opened.

He saw David before the throne while he was still tending sheep in obscurity.

He saw Martha and Mary before Lazarus walked out of the tomb.

He saw Noah while the rain was still falling.

In every case, there was a season when heaven seemed quiet, circumstances appeared unchanged, and no visible evidence suggested that God was moving.

Yet silence was not absence.

Delay was not neglect.

And quiet was not proof that God had forgotten them.

The same God who saw them before the answer came sees you now.

He sees the prayer you are still praying.

He sees the promise you are still waiting for.

He sees the tears no one else notices.

He sees the faith it takes to trust Him when nothing appears to be changing.

Just because you cannot yet see the answer does not mean God has stopped watching over the situation.

Sometimes people point to verses where God invites His people to remind Him of His promises and ask, “If God never forgets, why does He tell us to put Him in remembrance?”

“Put Me in remembrance; let us contend together…” (Isaiah 43:26)

I don’t believe God asks for reminders because He misplaced the promise.

I believe He invites us to remind Him because we are the ones who forget.

When we rehearse His Word, pray His promises, and declare what He has spoken, our faith is strengthened. Our hearts are anchored. Our perspective is corrected.

The reminder is not for His memory.

The reminder is for our confidence.

Which brings me to a question that stopped me in my tracks:

If God remembers His covenant, remembers His promises, remembers His people, remembers mercy, and remembers our tears, what does God forget?

According to Scripture, there is one thing He repeatedly promises not to remember.

Forgiven sin.

“I, even I, am He who blots out your transgressions for My own sake; and I will not remember your sins.” (Isaiah 43:25)

“Their sins and lawless deeds I will remember no more.” (Hebrews 10:17)

“You will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea.” (Micah 7:19)

God does not forget because He is absent-minded. He chooses not to hold confessed and forgiven sin against us. Through the finished work of Jesus Christ, what has been covered by grace is no longer counted against us.

Think about the beauty of that.

The God who remembers every promise has chosen to forget every forgiven failure.

The God who remembers your name, your prayers, your tears, and your purpose chooses not to remember the sins you have surrendered to Him.

So the next time hardship lingers and the enemy whispers, “Maybe God has forgotten you,” answer with the truth.

God has not forgotten where you live.

He has not forgotten what He promised.

He has not forgotten your prayers.

He has not forgotten your tears.

He has not forgotten your name.

The only thing God has promised to forget is the sin you’ve placed under the blood of Jesus.

And that is something worth remembering.

Love, Chelle

defygravitywithoutwings.com

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The Weight I Was Never Meant To Carry

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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Pocket Visions and Cleaning Supplies


This morning, I woke up and couldn’t find my glasses.

Now, for those of us who have reached a certain age and prescription strength, this is not a minor inconvenience. This is a full-scale emergency.

I looked on the nightstand.
I looked under the bed.
I looked in the bathroom.
I looked in places where glasses have never been a day in their lives.

Nothing.

So I sent a message to the Gillison Girls group chat:

*”Uggh. I must have been sleepwalking again. Can’t find my glasses anywhere. And no, they are not on my face.”*

My Aunt Katy, immediately responded:
*”Did you find them? True essay—walking by faith, not by sight.”*

Everybody laughed.

Then my older sister Melody came in for the finish:
*”Or when you’re walking around with your vision in your pocket.”*

Because, yes. That’s exactly where the glasses were.

In my pants pocket.

The same pants I had apparently laid out during some mysterious middle-of-the-night adventure.

To make matters stranger, the shoes were positioned. The clothes were arranged. From all available evidence, Sleepwalking Chelle was preparing to go somewhere.

I just have no idea where.

The whole thing was funny until I realized there was a sermon hiding in the middle of the jokes.

How many times have we told God we couldn’t see?
Couldn’t see the answer.
Couldn’t see the next step.
Couldn’t see how things were going to work out.
Couldn’t see the purpose.
Couldn’t see the miracle.

And all the while, we’ve been carrying the very vision we thought we lost. Maybe not the whole picture. Maybe not every detail.

But enough. Enough light for the next step. Enough wisdom for today’s decision. Enough faith for today’s burden. Enough grace for today’s journey.

Sometimes we’re searching the whole house for something God has already placed in our pocket.

We ask Him for vision when He’s already given us purpose.We ask Him for direction when He’s already shown us the next step. We ask Him for confirmation when He’s already spoken.

The glasses weren’t lost.I just didn’t know where to look. Maybe that’s true of some of the things we’re praying about too.

And then there’s the part I can’t stop laughing about. Apparently, in the middle of the night, I was getting ready to go somewhere.The clothes say so. The shoes say so. The glasses in the pocket say so.

I may not remember the journey, but there was evidence of preparation.

That’ll preach.

Because sometimes God is preparing us for places we can’t yet see.

We don’t know where we’re going. We don’t understand what’s happening. We can’t remember how we got here.

But there are signs everywhere that He is getting us ready. Ready for healing. Ready for ministry. Ready for change. Ready for a blessing. Ready for the next chapter.

So if you can’t see clearly today, don’t panic. Check your pockets.

You may be carrying more vision than you think.

Oh and before I forget,  after I found my glasses in my pocket I found a duster cover in the pajama shirt I was wearing.

Wherever I was planning to go, I was apparently determined to see it clearly and dust it first.

With Love And Laughter
Chelle

defygravitywithoutwings.com

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The Potatoes I Didn’t Believe In


I almost gave up on them.

Not because they died, but because they didn’t seem to be doing anything.

Day after day I walked past those grow bags, peeking into the soil, looking for evidence that my effort had mattered. I watered. I waited. I worried. Then I worried some more. Nothing. At least nothing I could see.

I remember standing over those bags convinced I had failed them. The gardening experts had plenty to say. Use seed potatoes. Use certified potatoes. Use organic potatoes. Use the right potatoes. Meanwhile, I was standing in the grocery store buying potatoes the same way I’ve bought them all my life—to cook, to eat, to turn into fried potatoes on a Saturday morning. I didn’t know their pedigree. I didn’t know their variety. I didn’t know whether they had the proper credentials for success.

I just planted what I had.

Then one morning, after weeks of wondering, I looked a little harder and found a tiny green shoot. Just one. Not a harvest. Not a miracle. Just enough evidence to keep me from giving up.

Soon there was another shoot. Then another. Before long, the bags were overflowing with green vines spilling over the edges. The plants that once seemed dead now looked determined to take over the backyard. My husband and I laughed about it because I honestly don’t know what kind of potatoes I planted. I never paid attention to potato varieties. I bought them because they were on sale, brought them home, cooked them, and ate them. Yet there they were, growing anyway.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized this wasn’t really about potatoes.

We pray for miracles, but we often expect God to use certified methods. We look for the right people, the right circumstances, the right timing, the right credentials, and the right opportunities. Yet over and over again, God chooses ordinary things. A shepherd’s staff. A boy’s lunch. A widow’s oil. A handful of grocery-store potatoes.

The lesson wasn’t really about gardening. The lesson was about trust.

Sometimes God is growing something long before we see it. Sometimes what looks dormant is simply developing underground. Sometimes the miracle isn’t cancelled; it’s just hidden beneath the surface.

But the funny thing about potato gardening is that the story doesn’t end with all that beautiful green growth.

In fact, after the vines have stretched, the leaves have multiplied, and you’ve finally convinced yourself you’ve succeeded, the plants begin to die back.

The leaves yellow. The stems droop. The lush green growth that once made you so proud starts to fade. If you don’t know better, you’ll think you’ve lost everything. After all that waiting, all that watering, all that hoping, it can feel like the story is ending in disappointment.

But experienced gardeners know something different.

Of which I am not—at least not yet.

I’m still the woman who planted grocery-store potatoes without knowing what kind they were. I’m still the gardener who stood over those bags convinced I had failed. Yet even I am beginning to learn that the dying back isn’t the end of the story. It’s the signal that the harvest is near.

The plant is not giving up. It is finishing its assignment.

All season long, the energy that showed up above ground has been quietly producing something beneath the soil. When the visible growth begins to decline, it often means the hidden work is complete. The harvest was forming long before anyone could see it.

It reminds me of Galatians 6:9:

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

The funny thing is that the harvest often begins forming long before we can see it. God is working beneath the surface while we are still looking for evidence above ground.

Isn’t that true in life sometimes?

We celebrate the seasons of visible growth. The opportunities, the promotions, the breakthroughs, the answered prayers we can point to and photograph. Yet there are other seasons when something appears to be fading, changing, or coming to an end. A role shifts. A season closes. A body grows tired. A prayer is answered differently than we expected.

What if every ending isn’t a failure?

What if some things have simply completed their work and are making room for a harvest we cannot yet see?

Sometimes what looks like dying is actually ripening.

Maybe that’s why I love these potato bags so much. They have been preaching a sermon all spring. First they taught me that dead and dormant are not the same thing. Soon they will teach me that decline and defeat are not the same thing either.

I planted what I had.

God grew what He wanted.

And somewhere beneath those leaves, where I cannot yet see, a harvest is forming.

Maybe that’s true in more places than my garden.

Love,
Chelle

defygravitywithoutwings.com


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Silent Screaming

Trigger Warning: This reflection discusses grief, youth violence, childhood trauma, emotional neglect, and the long-term impact of silence within families and communities.

I thought I was just there to sing.

Instead, after my last song,  I sat listening to a mother whose 19-year-old son had been killed less than five minutes from home. She described him as the good kid. The one who checked on his parents. The one who helped people. The one who stayed connected.

And somehow, despite all of that goodness, she now lives with the reality that she had to bury him.

What shook me even more was not just her pain, but her posture.

As she spoke about the young man responsible receiving a 46-year sentence, I heard both grief and forgiveness in her voice. Not weakness. Not denial. Just a heartbreaking understanding that tragedy had swallowed more than one life that night.

She spoke about childhood trauma. About children carrying pain nobody stops to address until it explodes into violence in the streets. And then she said something that settled heavily in my spirit. She talked about the dangerous things we normalize in our homes:

“Children are to be seen and not heard.”

“What happens in this house stays in this house.”

For generations, many of us were taught those sayings as discipline, respect, or family loyalty. But sometimes those same words teach children something else entirely:

Your feelings do not matter here.

Your pain is inconvenient here.

Your truth is unsafe here.

So children learn to survive by swallowing emotions they were never meant to carry alone. Fear gets buried. Anger gets buried. Shame gets buried. Hurt gets buried.

But buried pain does not disappear.

Eventually it leaks somewhere.

Sometimes it leaks into addiction.
Sometimes into rage.
Sometimes into depression.
Sometimes into violence.
Sometimes into emotional numbness.
Sometimes into streets filled with children trying to release emotions nobody allowed them to safely process at home.

As I listened to her speak, a familiar phrase rose in my spirit so strongly that I walked up and shared it with her afterward.

I told her, “I call it silent screaming.”

Because that is exactly what so many people are doing.

They are screaming internally while functioning externally.

Smiling.
Working.
Going to church.
Posting selfies.
Making jokes.
Serving others.
Showing up every Sunday while quietly unraveling inside.

And honestly, the church should be leading the effort to erase silent screaming.

Not by becoming a place where people perfect appearances, but by becoming safe enough for honesty again.

Too many people have mastered church behavior while still bleeding emotionally underneath the surface. We know how to shout over pain, dance over pain, quote Scripture over pain, and hide pain behind ministry titles.

But Jesus always stopped for what was underneath.

He noticed the overlooked.
He listened to the hurting.
He saw what everybody else missed.

And maybe that is part of our assignment too.

To hear people before they become headlines.

To create homes where children feel emotionally safe enough to speak.

To remind people that silence is not always strength.

Sometimes silence is survival.

And some children end up on the 6 o’clock news because nobody heard them when they whispered.

“There is a time to be silent and a time to speak.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:7

Love, Chelle


DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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When “This” Doesn’t Look Like Increase

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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Holding Space

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


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

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)

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 💛