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
defygravitywithoutwings.com 