Tag: cancer

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A Clown Called Worthy

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2500 people.

A hot, humid Virginia night.

And me—standing on the Dogwood Dell stage, smelling like I bathed in a designer fragrance called “Eau de OFF!”

Listen… I wasn’t just wearing bug spray.

I was marinated in it.

If any mosquito came for me, they would’ve turned around and filed a complaint.

Five minutes.

That’s all the time they gave me to stand there with all my 55 years, all my stories, all my scars, all my holy sass… and share an original piece only about three people were truly going to “get.”

And honestly? I prayed most folks wouldn’t understand it too well — because it was raw, personal, and inspired by that sad little clown inside me who finally decided she deserved some joy, too.

People laughed.

People cried.

People tilted their heads like confused puppies trying to interpret my metaphors.

And yes… one person came strictly to see me fail.(Satan always sends somebody. It’s in his job description.)

And then it happened…

Not my feet—

but my tongue betrayed me.

See, when I get nervous, my words tango.

Between my stutter, my little childhood speech lisp, and this post cancer chemo brain that sometimes takes a coffee break without warning, a few words just packed their bags and left me mid-sentence.

But here’s the funny part:

Most in the audience thought that pause was intentional.

They thought I was giving them deep drama, spoken-word artistry, pregnant silence, poetic tension—

Nope.

Sis just forgot her line.

But God used it anyway.

Because that “mistake” was actually the unveiling of something old—

the little girl who tried her whole life to fit into rooms she was never built for.

The child who once thought her voice was “less than.”

The woman who learned the hard way that the things we try to hide are the things God loves to spotlight.

And on that stage, with my tongue tripping but my spirit standing tall, something broke—and something healed.

I spoke about differences…

disabilities…

heartbreak…

grief…

love lost and breath stolen…

but also about reclaiming my right to be seen, to be heard, to be honored, to be treated with softness, and to outgrow every lie my past tried to tattoo onto my identity.

The applause was loud, beautiful…

but the loudest thing was inside me—

my heartbeat finally syncing with God’s truth:

I am worthy.

Not because I performed.

Not because I impressed anybody.

But because God never once asked me to be flawless—

He only asked me to be faithful.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

— 2 Corinthians 12:9

My weakness didn’t disqualify me.

It qualified me for grace.

It made the moment real.

It made it mine.

Sometimes God lets you trip over your tongue so you stop tripping over your past.

Sometimes He lets your words fall so your truth can rise.

Sometimes your “mistake” is just Heaven’s way of proving that you don’t need perfection to be powerful…

you just need courage.

And if a five-minute performance in “OFF!” perfume taught me anything, it’s this:

If God says you’re worthy, no stumble, no lisp, no past, no hater, and no missing word can argue Him down.

Love, Chelle

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Day Two: See-Saw For One

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Ironically,  the thing I love most about myself is also the thing I love the least…… That I am a tower of Ironies.

I will give unselfishly to some to the point of costing myself.  Then selfishly to some others hoping they would return a kindness just so I can feel loved. 

I am quick to pray for, hug and comfort a complete stranger in need of “just somebody.”  But will proceed with caution with anyone who is supposed to love me….wondering what it is they really want…from me.

I can wrestle with an angel and sometimes a devil on your behalf and full rejoice in your freedom. While secretly dying inside, wondering when it will be my turn,  If it will be my turn. 

It is a super power that I can operate this see-saw alone. It’s my kyptonite that sometimes I wish someone would deem me worthy to ride with me but let me have the good end. 

But even in the midst of what may seem very bipolar, I have come to learn that loving when I feel unloved, makes me all the more worthy. Not externally though. Loving me from within takes work and courage….. but I am so with it and worthy.

I ACCEPT ALL THAT I AM. I AM WORTH LOVING MYSELF TODAY

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Entertained By Angels

Posted in cancer, cancer, chemotherapy, christmas, God, health, inspiration, love, money, relationships, selfhelp, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

My God, My God.

After my very good doctor’s appt today, my husband & I went to a restaurant a bit out of our way, but I insisted because I wanted to see my fav waitress, Theresa Ann Hatch . Long story short, a couple from Columbus, Ohio were also drawn to detour and find Satterwhites. After they left, Theresa tells us that the gentleman said God told him to pay for our meal. When I ran out to find them in the parking lot he says she wasn’t supposed to tell me but since I was there……..he read all the mail in my heart from all the letters I have ever written to God. Had me crying in the parking lot. Talked my hearts desires and my need for rest and that God doesn’t expect a minster like me to try to rescue the whole world but do my part. He also said I need to get in my head how much God loves me and not just in a generic sense.

He never gave me a chance to say a word, so everything he said was 100% from God. They held on to me, and it brought a peace that I can not describe. Oddly my eyes were still dilated from my retina appt so I couldn’t get a grasp of what they looked like, just that they had a glow about them that wasn’t hurting my eyes like the sun does when your eyes are dilated. I don’t know if God will allow me to see them again in this life as they were just passing through, but My God, My God, I believe I entertained angels.

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Reset

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Today, I reset but will not rewind.

I will no longer take cuts with knives I sacrificed for and be hit with stones that I have the deed to. I must say so long to my “Job’s” friends (from the Bible, not work) who need to eclipse me in order to find shine. I will no longer fill voids and patch wounds while being left on battlefields alone. I can no longer be held hostage for my portion or my inheritance

I have never claimed to be perfect or to have all the answers. Life never gave me an easy button or a GPS. I never had the finer things but would give you the shirt off my back. Never had gold in my pocket but every penny you had access to. I did my best with the hand I was dealt. That’s all God requires of m, and in my matured year, I am learning that is a very good thing.

Lord, forgive me for hearing their voices over Yours. I return to the peace you purchased and the love you freely give. I am bruised but not broken. Cast down but not destroyed. Though I sometimes stumble, I will dance with the limp I got and to the song I write.

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Nope, You Ain’t Got This

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I can’t remember who’s social media page I saw it on, so I can’t give proper credit, but this paraphrased sentence shook me to my core.

“Never Tell A Person, ‘you got this’ when they ask for help because obviously they don’t or they wouldn’t be talking to you.“

I know it is something I have said thinking I was be encouraging, but could my pat on the back have seemed dismissive? Did I trivialize a pain that was greater for you than I feel in myself or for myself? Could you have needed a soft place to land and I simply elevated you to somewhere higher to fall from?

I think back to when I was at the height of my cancer battle. Folks would say “oh you got this” or “you are so strong.” In actuality, I was screaming on the inside, needing a shoulder to cry on and desperate for an old school laying on of oil anointed hands. When all my treatments were over, I politely smiled when asked if I was good now. I really should have loudly voiced, “oh heck no, I’m fighting extreme depression, I feel like I’m going crazy, please don’t abandon me.”

Ooooooo forgive me, I did mean well and I oft see past today and into your future. I still envision great things on the horizon. But at the time you need a Word, I will now tell you God got you and let’s see how we can walk through this.

There may be nothing I can do in the natural but be a voice in the darkness or a bit of sunshine clearing shadowing places. Truly, that may be all you need. Or I can point you to some resources beyond me. In wisdom, we will talk to the Father first about what is best for you.

Now bear with me, it may take me awhile to shake that cheerful cliché. But for today, I pray that whatever is disturbing your mind, your heart or your body be washed in the Presence of the Almighty. That you be hugged by the best comforting of the Holy Spirit. That the provision, healing, and freedom purchased by Christ at Calvary be revealed and afforded to you. That every wound be mended and every resource for a Balm in Gilead soothe every where you hurt.

I pray that today you see that God got this and God got you. And that you are never far from one willing to walk it through with you.

Love ya – Chelle

Rude About Boobs 2022

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Today I practice what I preach. Checking in at 7:15 a.m. for my repeat 3D Smash-a-gram. Its 3 a.m. now and while I should be sleeping, I am up thinking about the ridiculously pink outfit I will wear today. My attempt to warn every woman I walk past today to not to let this happen to them.

It hits different once you have had BC knock on your door. You don’t complain about the discomfort as much. You are not as shy about being half naked in front of strangers. You accept the fact that yours takes longer and costs more than a regular test. You understand that you will not be allowed to leave until several people “read” you. You hold your breath and try to be tough while you wait for the nurse to come back with a “thumbs up.”

Yes, I’m still at it. Being rude and talking about boobs! LOL. But I forfeit my right to be private in order to save lives. I lost 4 years of my “normal life”. I know others that lost all of theirs . An hour once a year…every year just may give you yours back!!!!!!

#rudeaboutboobs #singchelle #breastcancersurvivor #breastcancerawareness

#rudeaboutboobs

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On this last day of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I just want to remind you that it is not just about one month but about one life, one family, one community, and one world at a time.

I still believe there is a cure out there but in the meantime there are things you can do to help yourself and your loved ones fight against a disease that robs so many families of the caregivers. Early detection is key. Get them Smash-A-Grams, do your monthly feels, and have honest conversations with your doctor.

Love each other enough to be #rudeaboutboobs .

Heart Hungry

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I was out in the Carytown area yesterday. One of the worst places to be when you know that you can’t have solid food for 36 hours before a medical test. But I was looking to pick up my last meal for a few days and wanted something special.

However my husband and I ran across homeless people near the trash cans of so many of these trendy restaurants . I began to weep when I saw them because this is America….the land of excess…and yet so many are living like this. Carytown flows with cash. Most times I can afford nothing there. It was heartbreaking seeing people of all ages and colors hoping for some wasteful person’s scraps.

This situation is only exasperated by Covid closing so many churches and shelter resources. It is also created by a ” I got mine. You get yours” attitude so many financially secure people have.

We don’t have a lot in our house but we are blessed. My husband and pooled what we had and bought as many sandwiches and fries we could handle. Thank you to the Carytown McDonald’s for asking what we were doing and donating a matching amount of bottled water.

I was shook so much by one married couple out on the corner with what seemed to be all of their possessions huddled against the cold. I freaked when I noticed a baby stroller but was relieved to find it was a very old dog wrapped in a blanket. I’m not a pet lover but I had to feed it. The poor thing was so tired looking he barely lifted his head at the smell of food. The young husband was so grateful he started to cry.

In the age of Covid you can’t touch, get too close or even see smiles anymore. But I was struck by all the emotions in his eyes and they spoke the volume of the problems in the human experience. His eyes were a golden brown color that I have never seen before and pierced right through me as a reminder to be grateful in all things. Even under the dirt and behind a make shift mask his face glowed.

I also noticed that they still wore their wedding bands. Tells me that they have not been out there too long. Most folks would have pawned for a room. Also tells me that they are determined to stay a family.

My husband and I made one last pass thru the street to make sure we hadn’t missed anybody we saw. Thought I had gone crazy because the couple and that old dog were suddenly gone. No way they could have moved that fast. We had just circled the block.

All I can do is wonder if we had been visited and tested. I pray we passed. My own food is still in the fridge. No need for it. My heart filled me.

RE-POTTED

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It’s 3 a.m.

Knowing full well that I have to be ready for work in 4 short hours, I am changing the flower pot holding a certain plant on my dining room table.

Honestly, I can’t even tell you what kind of plant she is. All I know is that when I acquired her the tag said “low maintenance.” She ( I determined that because it was far too pretty to be otherwise) was an impulse purchase made immediately after I had been diagnosed with cancer.  

“I want life in this house. Something that grows!” That is was I screamed at my husband when he questioned my purchase. He was right to be puzzled because my green thumb was notoriously lacking. Not even faux plants were safe from me.

But this one said “low maintenance.” I knew she would not fail me. I needed that in my life knowing that my world was about to change. All I had to do was water, feed, turn some light on her. I would sing around her and we would both be alright.

Fast forward. Just about 15 months later. The hard part is done. Surgery, chemo, radiation over. Hair growing back. Returning to more life as Michelle and less as a patient. Busy, busy, busy.

I’m doing pretty good. Her? Not so much. This morning I could practically hear her crying. Missing some leaves. Some turning yellow. Not growing anymore.  

I wanted to give excuses. I wanted to blame Her for not living up to the guarantee. I swore I had not changed a thing. I was still doing my regular routine care of Her.

Or was I?

Was it this Sunday or last? Had my every Sunday morning ritual of loving on Her become less regular? When was the last time I added plant food. Did I forget that She was not a cactus?

I realized from feeling around her soil that water was not this issue. Her position near the light was giving Her the proper hours each day.

Her roots were exposing but She was dying. I realized She was not growing, changing, and evolving because she had no room to. The normal processes of day to day without the promise to expand space had choked the life from Her. Literally.

Routine care was killing Her.

Her, was teaching me a lesson.  Daring me not to return to my “low maintenance” life from before cancer. Her yellowing leaves were weeping begging me to remember to not just breathe but to live.

And then I began to weep.

A few days ago, I lost a beautiful friend. Not to cancer but to a stupid flu bug. I begin to think of her as that neglected plant. Loving, caring, giving her all to make the lives of others beautiful. But not requiring much in return.

Too young to die, but who had convinced herself she was too old to try new things.  

She was an awesome cook who dreamed of catering, but was stuck at a desk job. After many years, she got caught in a company downsizing. I tried to make her see it as an opportunity to finally make use of that awesome kitchen. I even bought her a chef’s hat with her name monogrammed on it, hoping to it motivate her.  I never saw her wear it outside of the day I gave it to her at the office.

So I am still weeping at this awful hour with dirt under my fingernails. Heartbroken at the thought of what could have been if she had just re-repotted.

Now don’t get me wrong. She had a beautiful life. She had an amazing soul.  Her love was beyond compare. But I always could feel her holding back what was truly inside.  She gave herself routine care with no room to expand.

Then I begin to think of the others I lost during the past 15 months. To the ravishing of  cancer clinical and otherwise.  Where might they  have wanted their roots to go? How tall did they want to be?

I realized that their memories were speaking to me through the plant I am fighting to save.

Fight to grow! Everyday! Don’t accept a low maintenance condition when you are born to reach for light. Don’t let the routine “have to” things keep you from being as green as you can possibly be. Don’t let any disappointment, disability or person impede the life you were born to live.

So, now I am completing this task with love. I will probably have the smell of fresh potting soil in my nose all day.  I should have worn gloves to keep me from having any dirt under my nails when I go to work.

But it’s okay. It will be a reminder that I am meant to grow to a bigger pot. Doing my work …but chasing my dreams!!!

In memory of Michelle Rodgers Baber. The most beautiful flower transplanted to Heaven on January 17, 2020. “See ya later, Darling.”