Tag: church

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A Release of Miracles

Posted in faith, God, health, inspiration, law, love, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment


There is a particular kind of grief that comes when someone you love is still here, but you are watching them grow weary from the battle.
It is not the sharp grief of a single loss. It is a quieter grief. A slower one.
It is loving, hoping, helping, praying, adjusting, advocating, and wondering how much more their body can endure.


As I sat in church today, my thoughts drifted to my younger sister Cheryl. After years of strokes, limitations, therapies, setbacks, and victories that most people never see, she is tired. Not tired of life. Not tired of love. Tired of a body that no longer cooperates with the plans she once had for it.


As one of her sisters and amongst an army of caregivers, it is a difficult thing to watch.
When someone you love is hurting, every part of you wants to fix it. You want to pray the right prayer. Find the right doctor. Discover the right treatment. Speak the right words.
You want the miracle. I wanted to witness the miracle.  I had declared it would be a big one with a testimony  that we would be jealous of.


But somewhere along the journey, many caregivers find themselves praying a different prayer. 
“Lord, Your will be done.”

I heard painfully, repeatedly and with soul crushing tears to release my expectations and my need to “see it my way.”
Not because I  have stopped believing.
Because I have learned to trust.


One of the hardest lessons of faith is accepting that what we hope a miracle looks like may be different from what God has planned.


We pray for complete healing.
God may provide strength for one more day.
We pray for the storm to stop.
God may provide peace in the middle of it.
We pray for the mountain to move.
God may teach us how to climb.
None of those answers mean God failed.
They simply mean God sees a bigger picture than we do.


That can be frustrating for people like me. I like answers. I like solutions. I like seeing how all the pieces fit together. But faith does not require me to understand God’s plan.


Faith requires me to trust the One who does.
There is a freedom that comes when we stop trying to second-guess God.
We are not called to be His advisors.
We are not called to explain His timing.
We are not called to understand every twist and turn of the journey.
We are called to trust Him.


Even Jesus prayed, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”
If the Son of God could surrender His preferred outcome to the Father, perhaps I can surrender mine too.


That does not mean I stop praying for Cheryl.
It does not mean I stop believing for miracles.
It simply means I place both the prayer and the outcome in God’s hands.
For years, I have watched Cheryl fight battles she never asked for. I have watched her endure things that would have broken many people. Through it all, I have learned something about love.
Love is not always fixing.
Sometimes love is showing up.
Sometimes love is sitting quietly.
Sometimes love is holding a hand.
Sometimes love is trusting God when you cannot trace what He is doing.


Today, my prayer is simple.
Lord, hold Cheryl close.
Strengthen her where she is weak.
Comfort her where she is weary.
Remind her she is loved.
And help me trust You with the parts of this story that belong only to You.
Because the greatest miracle is not always getting the outcome we wanted.
Sometimes the greatest miracle is discovering that God is still trustworthy when the outcome looks different than we imagined.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
Proverbs 3:5
This is especially for you if you are loving someone through a battle you cannot fight for them. We see the weight you carry, the prayers you whisper, and the tears you hide. Most of all, God sees you. 💜
Love Chelle
Defygravitywithoutwings.com

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Silent Screaming

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

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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Let Peace Come Out My Mouth

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Some mornings I wake up already arguing. Not out loud. Just internally. With bills. With fear. With people. With timelines. With memories. With disappointment. With exhaustion.

Before my feet even hit the floor, my spirit already feels like somebody shook the snow globe and forgot to let it settle.

And if I am not careful, whatever fills my heart first starts leaking out my mouth next.

Sharp answers. Heavy sighs. Sarcasm dressed up as humor. Silence that punishes. Worry disguised as “being realistic.”

And whew… some folks can turn one bad mood into a ministry of misery before breakfast.

The older I get, the more I realize peace is not just a feeling God gives me. Sometimes peace is a discipline God teaches me.

Because anybody can speak panic. Anybody can repeat bitterness. Anybody can echo chaos. But it takes maturity to walk into a tense room and refuse to multiply the storm.

That does not mean pretending everything is fine.

Jesus calmed storms while acknowledging they were real storms.

What I am learning is this: I can tell the truth without setting fires. I can be tired without becoming cruel. I can be overwhelmed without making everybody around me drink from the same anxiety.

And honestly? Some days the prayer is not deep or fancy.

It is simply:

“Lord… before I answer this text, before I walk into this office, before I react to this situation, before I say something I cannot unsay, before my face says it before my mouth does… let peace come out my mouth.”

Not perfection. Not fake positivity. Peace.

The kind that pauses before speaking. The kind that softens hard words. The kind that leaves room for grace. The kind that remembers exhausted people often wound each other accidentally.

Because once words leave us, we do not get to gather them back like spilled sugar.

And some of us survived entire childhoods built from somebody else’s unhealed mouth.

So now I ask God to help mine become safer.

Not silent. Not weak. Safer.

Especially in seasons where my own heart feels stretched thin like a dollar menu meal feeding six people.

Scripture says:

“Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt…”
Colossians 4:6

Not bland. Not passive. Seasoned.

Truthful words with wisdom in them.

Maybe that is the real miracle some days. Not that the storm disappeared. But that peace came out of us anyway.

And in a loud world amplified by too many of the wrong words, that is holy.

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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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The Place My Name Found Me

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

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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Flowers Don’t Apologize

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

This prayer is for those who need to realize…
you can’t have flowers without the dirt… and some rain.

I know… we love the bloom.
We love the part people can see.
We love the color, the beauty, the evidence that something worked.

But real growth?
It doesn’t happen in the spotlight.

It happens down in the dirt.
In the messy places.
In the seasons that don’t look like anything is happening at all.

And if we’re being honest…
some of us have been side-eyeing the dirt in our lives.

Questioning it.
Trying to rush out of it.
Asking God why it had to be this way.

But this morning… let me remind you gently…

“His mercies are new every morning.”
— Lamentations 3:23

That means yesterday’s mess didn’t disqualify you. It didn’t ruin the process.
It didn’t cancel what God is growing in you.

It watered something.

Even the hard conversations. Even the tears.
Even the moments you wish you could redo.

God used it.

So yes… there may be some mud in your life right now. Yes… it may feel uncomfortable.
Yes… it may not look like growth yet.

But that doesn’t mean nothing is happening.
It means something is forming beneath the surface.

So today… we make a choice.
We choose to rejoice.
Not because everything feels good…
but because we trust what God is doing.

We rejoice in all things…
because we understand that dirt and rain
are part of the process of becoming.

And when it’s time to bloom…
You won’t have to explain a thing.

Flowers don’t apologize for the dirt it took to grow them.

Dear God,
Thank You for not wasting the dirt in our lives. Even the parts we didn’t choose…
even the seasons that felt heavy, messy, and unclear. 

Help us to trust You in the middle of it. When we don’t see growth…
when all we feel is the weight of the soil…
remind us that You are still working beneath the surface.


Teach us to stop resisting what You are using.
Give us the grace to endure the rain and the patience to wait for what is being formed.
And when it’s hard… help us to rejoice anyway. Not because everything feels good,
but because You are good in everything.

Grow us in the places we tried to escape.
Strengthen what we thought was breaking.
And when it’s time to bloom…
let it be undeniable that it was You.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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They Grow While You’re Gone

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It’s 5:30 a.m.
I’m sipping my coffee, staring out the window into the darkness… somehow convinced I can see trouble in my garden from 100 feet away.

Don’t judge me… but I really considered stepping out there in my robe in 35 degrees to go check on my plant babies.

And somewhere between that first sip and the silence… I caught myself.

This isn’t about seeds.

This is about how easily my mind will grab hold of something—anything—and worry it to death.

Work stress that doesn’t clock out when I do.
Money questions that don’t always have quick answers.
A newborn I just prayed over in the hospital,
with whispers of concern about her ability to thrive.
Friends walking through the slow, sacred heartbreak of losing their parents…
and me carrying pieces of that with them.

All real things. All things that matter. All things experienced before.
And yet…

Look how quickly my heart starts hovering over them, like it’s my job to make sure everything turns out alright. Like if I think about it enough, check it enough, replay it enough…

I can help God along.

But I can’t.

Because even when I am doing the work of God, it is still God who is working.
I am not the outcome.
I am not the fixer.
I am not the one holding it all together.

I am just… hands in the soil.
Faithful to plant.
Faithful to water.
Faithful to show up.

But the growing?
The healing?
The sustaining?

That was never mine.

And if I’m not careful, I will let the weight of what I care about pull me out of the very places God is calling me to be present.

Sitting here with my coffee, trying to manage what He already has in His hands…
while He’s already prepared a seat for me somewhere else today.

There is a time to plant.
A time to water.
And then… a time to trust.
Not anxious trust.
Not hovering trust.
Real trust.

The kind that finishes the coffee,
gets dressed, and walks into the day
without carrying what God never assigned me to hold.

So I’m going where I’m supposed to be.
And I’m leaving the garden…
and everything it represents…
right where it is.

Because what God has already taken responsibility for does not need my worry added to it.

Even the good things don’t get to compete
with obedience.

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1

Love, Chelle

DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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Unshakable

Posted in God, health, law, love, war, workTagged , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

My son-in-love, Kamau, posted that he was booking a flight to Africa. There was a storm coming, he said, and somebody needed to build shelters for the giraffes.

He displayed a picture like it was urgent.
Dark sky. Lightning splitting it wide open.
Giraffes standing tall in the open plain.

He might have been joking (hard to tell with him.) Because that is Kamau.  Compassion wrapped in comedy. Protection tucked inside a punchline. A heart that sees danger and immediately asks, Who needs covering?
I love that about him. ( Don’t tell him I said that.)

But when I looked closer at the picture,
those giraffes were not panicking. They were not lowering themselves to the ground.
They were not scattering. They were standing.

Unshakable. Unmovable.
Storm pressing in. Mortal danger possible.
And yet their necks were lifted.
Their legs planted.
Their bodies steady in the wind.

It made me think of Psalm 91:
“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. Under His feathers you will find refuge.”

Those giraffes looked uncovered. But they were not unprotected. They looked exposed.
But they were not outside of shadow. Psalm 91 does not promise the absence of storms. It promises covering in the middle of them.

And then Psalm 46:10 settles it:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”


Not be frantic. Not be consumed. Not be undone. Be still. Still like you trust the One who commands the sky. Still like you believe the storm does not get the final word. Still like your roots run deeper than what threatens you.

We are living in days where thunder travels across oceans. International conflict crackles like lightning. Voices rise. Fear spreads.

But maybe faith looks like a giraffe in a storm.
Not dramatic. Not reckless. Just anchored.
Unshakable. Unmovable.

And I smiled again. Because my son-in-love thought he was just telling a joke. Instead… he helped me write a sermon about faith standing firm in adversity.

He is going to be so embarrassed when he reads this. Make sure you tease him for me.

Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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You Are Black History

Posted in Black History Month, faith, God, inspiration, love, relationships, Uncategorized, workTagged , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Black history does not live only in textbooks, timelines, or framed portraits. It lives in you.


It lives in the prayers your grandmother whispered that no one recorded. It lives in the courage it took for your parents and grandparents to keep going when quitting would have been easier.

It lives in the way you show up to work, to church, to community, to family — even when the reward is unclear.


Black history is not only something that happened. It is something that is still happening.


It is made every time you choose dignity over bitterness. Every time you carry joy in a system that profits from your exhaustion. Every time you tell the truth — even quietly. Every time you endure, love, build, teach, heal, or believe anyway.


Some names were written down. Many were not.
Some stories were celebrated. Many were survived.
But history is not only what is remembered — it is what continues.


You stand on the shoulders of those who were victorious without reward. Those who served faithfully without applause. Those who planted seeds they would never live to see bloom.


Their courage flows through you.


And we have always known how to leave something behind.


Breadcrumbs on the ground when the path was uncertain. Hushpuppies tossed not as waste, but as wisdom — a way to distract danger long enough to keep moving. Cornrows braided tight to the scalp, not only as beauty or tradition, but as memory — paths etched into hair, holding maps to water, to safety, to freedom.


What could not be written down was carried. What could not be spoken aloud was encoded. What could not be protected by law was protected by love, community, and God.


This was not myth. This was method.
A people learning how to survive systems designed to erase them — by remembering anyway.


If you are still leaving breadcrumbs for those coming behind you… still marking the way quietly… still choosing faith, dignity, and care when no one is watching…
You are doing what has always been done.


You are part of a holy lineage of guidance and endurance. A living echo of the God who makes a way where none seems visible and leads His people forward, step by step.


“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
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”
— Psalm 119:105


If you are still standing, still hoping, still loving, still reaching for God and for one another — you are Black history in motion.
Not just because of where you came from, but because of how you choose to live.


We see you. We honor you. You matter.
Love, Chelle

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A.D. King – The Other King

Posted in Black History Month, God, health, inspiration, love, relationshipsTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Before history narrowed the movement to one name, there were two brothers.

Alfred Daniel Williams King. Born in 1930. Preacher. Organizer. Strategist. Three years younger than Martin Luther King Jr. but standing in the same danger.

When Birmingham, Alabama became ground zero in 1963, A.D. did not visit. He moved there.
Birmingham was nicknamed “Bombingham” because of the frequency of racial terror bombings. Churches. Homes. Black neighborhoods.

A.D. helped lead mass meetings and demonstrations alongside Fred Shuttlesworth and Ralph Abernathy. While Martin carried the national microphone, A.D. carried the local weight: Organizing. Stabilizing. Coordinating.
Keeping frightened communities steady.

He was arrested during the Birmingham Campaign.His home was bombed.  While Martin wrote “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” A.D. was outside holding the infrastructure together.

Movements do not survive on speeches alone.
They survive on people whose names do not trend. After Martin was assassinated in 1968, A.D. stepped further into leadership. 
One year later, in 1969, A.D. King was found drowned in his swimming pool at just 38 years old. The death was ruled accidental. But many in the community questioned how a strong adult man, familiar with his own pool, could drown under unclear circumstances.

No national day of mourning. No holiday. No monument echoing his name. History has a habit of compressing movements into a single face. But there were always second lines. Siblings. Strategists. The ones who held meetings when the cameras left.

We still do it today. We elevate one leader.
We forget the organizers. We chant one name.
We overlook the network. A.D. King represents that hidden layer.

He stood in the same fire. Faced the same threats. Carried the same calling. But the spotlight did not linger.

Micah 6:8

“He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?”

CARRY THIS WITH YOU
If your work is not visible, is it still valuable? Of course it is.  If your name is not printed, is your impact erased? Of course not.

BREADCRUMB
History may narrow the headline. But heaven keeps fuller records.

We see you, A.D. King — for carrying weight without applause.

Bread Crumbs — for those coming after us.
Victorious without reward. Still here.