I’m usually the one who finds the humor, the metaphor, the small spark of light tucked inside the ordinary. I believe in joy — deeply. I still do.
But today, joy feels quieter, and sorrow feels closer to the surface . The world feels fractured. Nation against nation. Neighbor against neighbor. Families strained. Friendships reduced to likes, views, and fleeting affirmations.
And somewhere in the middle of all this noise, what seems to be slipping away is our sense of community — the kind where people are known, not curated. Where connection doesn’t require a platform or performance.
Yesterday, as I mourned world events , all of this along with a side of opinions still wrapped with faith, I was told I was hiding behind God and the Bible.
That stayed with me.
Not because it shook my faith, but because it revealed something deeper about the times we’re living in — a world so uncomfortable with lament that even sacred language is suspect when it refuses to harden into arguments or slogans.
But my faith has never been a hiding place. It has always been a meeting place — where grief and hope are allowed to sit together without rushing one another out of the room.
Today, I find myself weeping. Not because faith has failed, but because love is still very much alive. “Jesus wept.” — John 11:35 He stood in the presence of grief and loss and did not rush to fix it, explain it, or weaponize it. He allowed tears to speak where words fell short. If tears were worthy of Him, they are not beneath us. Scripture doesn’t ask us to bypass sorrow — it calls us to enter it together. “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” — Romans 12:15
This isn’t a departure from who I am. It’s a refusal to pretend. I still believe in hope. I still believe in resurrection. I still believe God has not lost the plot. But I also believe sorrow has a place in the story — not as an ending, but as an honest chapter.
So today, I show up softer. Quieter. More tender. Trusting that God can hold my tears just as faithfully as He holds my hope.
And believing that even here — especially here — grace is present. Love Chelle
I’ve been sitting with these thoughts since Christmas Eve, wanting to honor tender hearts.
During this season, I know several people walking through fresh grief — the loss of parents, spouses, siblings, children, grandchildren.
Others carry a different kind of ache: childhoods that hold no warm memories to return to. One person even whispered that they weren’t sure they wanted to live to see the New Year.
That kind of pain deserves reverence, not rush.
I was determined not to meet their sorrow with well-meaning clichés — “volunteer,” “adopt a family,” “stay busy,” “choose joy.” Those things can be beautiful, and I do them now. But it took me years of sitting inside my own grief before I could get there. Years before someone else’s smile softened the sting instead of feeling like salt in the wound. So I don’t beat people over the head with happiness.
Sometimes the greatest gift we can give is not advice, not solutions, not silver linings — but presence. To sit. To be quiet. To resist the urge to fix. To simply watch and wait with someone.
Scripture tells us: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
Notice what it doesn’t say. It doesn’t say God rushes the brokenhearted. It doesn’t say He lectures them into joy. It says He is close.
Jesus did come to bring joy to the world — but grief, like the ocean, comes in waves. And the return to joy doesn’t arrive all at once. It comes in stages.
That truth surprised me again while watching Disney’s “Inside Out 2”. When Joy tried to take over too quickly — before the main character was ready — it didn’t heal her. It pushed her deeper into despair. What she needed wasn’t forced positivity. She needed permission to sit with sorrow and memory for a while without being rushed toward “better.”
Sometimes joy doesn’t need to be summoned. It needs to be allowed to come back when it’s ready.
If this season finds you heavy, please hear this: You are not failing because you aren’t cheerful. You are not weak because you’re tired. You are not faithless because joy hasn’t returned yet.
Jesus is close to the tenderhearted — not waiting on the other side of your healing, but sitting with you right in the middle of it. And sometimes, that quiet companionship is the most sacred gift of all.
Can we pray? Jesus, You who are close to the brokenhearted, draw near to every tender soul reading this.
For those carrying fresh grief, sit with them in the quiet where words fall short. For those whose memories ache instead of comfort, hold them without asking them to explain.
Guard them from the pressure to perform joy before it has found its way home again. Give permission for tears, for pauses, for breathing slowly.
Where sorrow comes in waves, be the steady presence that does not leave. And when joy is ready to return — even in small, fragile ways — let it arrive gently, without force or fear.
Until then, be enough. Be near. Be kind to the tenderhearted.
Amen.
For Shelby. Heaven makes noise a 3 a.m. just for you.
My kitchen cabinet is full of mugs. Tall ones. Short ones. Skinny ones and fat ones. Plain white. Red ones (my fav).
Loud sayings. Funny ones. Spiritual ones that make visitors pause mid-sip.
Some are glass. Some ceramic. Some insulated steel meant to keep things hot long past my capacity to remember when I made its contents.
Every day—sometimes several times a day—I reach in and choose one. Not based on worth, but on need. Coffee when I need courage. Cocoa when I need comfort. Tea when I need calm.
Over the years, some of them have lost their tops. Okay… I lost their tops. And without those lids, the heat doesn’t last as long. But here’s what I noticed one quiet morning while waiting for the kettle to whistle: Almost every single one of them holds fourteen ounces. Despite the differences. Despite the wear. Despite the missing pieces. Same capacity. No mug holds more because it’s taller. No mug holds less because it’s chipped. No mug is disqualified because it doesn’t match the rest. They were all made to receive.
And I wondered when the Church forgot that. Somewhere along the way, we started ranking the mugs. Preferring certain shapes. Deciding which ones looked “right” on the shelf. We forgot that Jesus never measured vessels by appearance. He poured Himself out freely—into fishermen, skeptics, women with reputations, men with questions, people missing lids.
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” — 2 Corinthians 4:7
That’s muddy ministry. Muddy ministry is faith that doesn’t stay clean. It’s Jesus kneeling in the dirt. Touching the untouchable. Lingering with grief. Showing up before fixing anything. Muddy ministry doesn’t inspect the vessel. It just pours. It understands that people—like mugs—come in different shapes, carry different scars, and hold warmth differently, yet bear the same image of God and the same capacity for grace.
Religion becomes abusive when it starts inspecting mugs instead of filling them. When it withholds the pour because the vessel doesn’t look familiar. When it mistakes uniformity for holiness. But Jesus? Jesus keeps pouring. Fourteen ounces of mercy. Fourteen ounces of patience. Fourteen ounces of love. Enough for each of us.
And the mugs without lids? They know to drink while it’s hot. They don’t waste the moment. Maybe that’s the real lesson. Not to become a “better mug.” Not to match the cabinet. Just to stay open… and let Him pour.
And maybe that’s why this truth found me so suddenly. Because once upon a time, fourteen ounces wasn’t just a measurement in my kitchen. It was my grandson, Emmanuel Langston Gillison. Barely more than fourteen ounces at birth, his life gathered hundreds into prayer—family, friends, strangers—hoping for a miracle. We prayed boldly. We hoped desperately. We trusted God with everything we had. And when the miracle didn’t come the way we longed for, Emmanuel’s life still poured out. His brief presence became muddy ministry in its purest form— a ministry of grief, honesty, and learning to trust God when faith doesn’t get what it hoped for.
Fourteen ounces was enough. Enough to draw people together. Enough to change us. Enough to teach us that capacity is not measured by size or by how long something lasts. Some vessels are filled fully… even if they are held only briefly.
Dedication In loving memory of my grandson, Emmanuel Langston Gillison— Fourteen ounces of life, and a lifetime of grace. Some children grow old in years. Some grow old in impact.
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.
It was one of the oddest days of my life. Was sitting at my desk frozen when I got the call from my hometown, sherrif. My brain went into autopilot, and I kept trying to work with tears streaming down my face. My then boss had to force me to breathe and go home. The love my co-workers showed was unmatched. Could not have made it through the coming days and the funeral without them.
He was a complicated man that I did not get to know until he was an old man in need of redemption and forgiveness. In the beginning, I was an abandoned child, looking for answers, who only served him out of obedience to my God, and the Word said to honor thy father. In the end, I became the child thru whom he wanted to give answers and ask forgiveness from his other children thru.
We didn’t have time to become father/daughter in the traditional sense. What we did have was card games, sweet potato pies, road trips, old Navy stories, testaments of the grandparents I didn’t get to meet, and a soft spot for healing to begin. He became my Pop, and I became his church mother. LOL and inside joke between us.
I figure sometimes that I was the “Moses” baby. … shipped off with no knowledge of him…so I could return and become a path to his need for freedom. Though I 💯 validate it, I am blessed to never quite have known the anger my sisters and brothers felt for him. I suppose my heart was kept in reserve for the old man and young child of God he would become.
Still missing you, Pop. I thank you for the gift of the crazy brood of sisters and brothers I inherited 9 years ago.
I hope amongst the milk and honey that there is strong coffee and sweet potato pie!!
Edgar Jerome “Jerry” Franklin-Bradshaw March 1, 1944 – February 5, 2015
Once again I want to thank you, my heartbeats, for all the love shown this week. My 54th year started off a wee bit strange with major changes professionally and personally. Made my knees shake but my faith ain’t fake. No worries babies. God is in the details.
I have come to realize that I am a full year older than my mother was when she died and God has brought me back from more near misses than I can recount here. I owe it to her, to God and to myself to make this year count!!
Pulling back a wee bit so I can move forward. Choosing the fast God chose for me and using this time to straightened my crown.
YOUR LESSON FOR TODAY. A few days ago I was going to toss it because the other early blooms had died and it was looking rough. But I choose to cut away the dead parts and sure up the soil for what looked like one last shoot. I tied her to a bamboo stick for support. And within days this happens!!!
So take note, no matter what life looks like you will bloom again. Just remember: 1. Let Go of the dead habits and toxic folks along for the ride. 2. Check your roots and use some self care to fertilize your path 3. Tie yourself to a good support system Faith – Family – Good Friends and pro counseling!
-In Loving Memory of Edelmira Brown. November 1969 – October 2022
The day my mother died is the day I really knew she loved me. A strange thing to say, I know, but my truth nevertheless. The understanding of all things from the beginning came with the ending.
I had crawled in bed with her waiting for her last organic breath in a sterile room. My nose irritated by the scents of alcohol and i.v. Her nose bloody from forcing oxygen. I tried to clean her face. Lotion even but tears would fall from her left eye. My strong mother didn’t cry. She “leaked” as we would call it. I didn’t want to take it away from her. Truth is, I didn’t want to lose them myself. If I wiped them, I would never again see the strength of her womanhood again.
She hadn’t spoken for 3 days. Not since she had given me some rather poetic instructions. Even now I laugh that she and I could never have a straight conversation. Always a movie script of some kind. Meaningful now, drama back then.
When the silence came, her heart monitor spoke for her. The number of beats would rise and fall as different voices entered the room and addressed her all with the same tone. “Sister?” “Ma’cia?” “Mama? Mama? MAMA!!”
I knew her 3 day rule. If she didn’t rise in the three days like Jesus did, then she didn’t want to be hooked to nothing that would change that. She was adamant about not being trapped in weakness.
But I punked out. I sang “He’s sweet I know” as if that were going to change her mind. She waved a few times. I never knew if she was raising her hands in worship or telling me to shut up.
I have always felt I failed my younger sister by allowing her to sign those dreaded papers. I remember the mix of sadness and anger in her eyes as she penned her name and then literally ran from the room. It would be days before I saw her again
I’m was not quite cognitive of where my older sister was in that moment. I knew she was there. I suspect she was no longer the Big Sister at that moment but too was again the child with the single pocahontas ponytail praying for Mama not to go. She, like Mama, would try hard to not show it, but vulnerability reveals itself even in stone.
I only found out today that they had their private moment at some point that I must have slipped away. There was a forgiveness time involved and a phone conversation with her best friend. I pray she will tell you all about that someday.
The youngest was barely a preteen. Sheltered in the room with the grandchildren. The “adults ” always feeling the need to protect them from the inevitable.
I too made that mistake. I had sent my two youngest kids to school that Monday. Not sure if I was shielding them from death or from seeing me in a child like desperation. Children need to know that their parents are human too.
The treatment of my eldest, I regret the most. I had him when I was 15. He was her baby. Her son that I birthed. She would laugh and say that I was just the “egg bearer.”
Through well meaning “it’s going to be okay” I neglected to talk to him about God’s Will and how a person’s will outweighs our tears. At the moment of her death, he comes flying in with a bouquet of get well balloons, not realizing that her version of getting well meant leaving us behind.
Let me correct that. She didn’t leave us behind. She left this world behind and we just happened to be still in it.
The room was full though. Sister’s sisters and Sister’s brothers (one on the phone was in New York). There were so many, 10 of them total. Being on the oldest end, she was a second caregiver to most of them. Missing completely was the youngest brother. He was her original baby boy and had been murdered by a robber a few short years before. Honestly, I believe that was the day she really died. Her broken heart never quite recovered and affected her body from that point forward.
Her mother, the rock of our family, had been in and out, wheeled in a chair. But I still can’t picture her in the room at that moment. I was told later how she drew close to her daughter and gently rubbed her forehead. A silent expression of love that is the hallmark for much of my family. This was the second child she had lost at too young of an age. The baby boy, Ronnie at 33 and my mom not quite 54. Her soul was hurting in ways I cannot and will not try to imagine.
Slowing beeps and tubes being removed, counting each deep draw and release. Five. The number of grace. A number I now have a love / hate relationship with. On Valentine’s Day no less. A day she has previously disliked and one I still avoid 21 years later.
I remember my pastor/godmother trying to pull me away and I screamed at her “she brought me in this world, I can go with her out.” I don’t think I ever apologized to Cat for that. Not sure I should, that pull almost took my mother’s love from me.
In that moment, holding fiercely to my mother’s arm, I felt her. Not just a shockingly strange amount of energy that only those who have held on to a transitioning person know.
But I felt her.
It should have been a peaceful moment. But I was 31 years old and wasn’t ready for her to go yet. I had questions only she could answer. I screamed. I cried. I prayed in tongues so strong and loud that Cat asked the nurse to give me a sedative.. Even now I believe my comical mother got a chuckle out of that.
But I felt her.
She was free. She was seeing her Savior. She saw that Ronnie was okay.. Everything that ever burdened her was being released.
But I felt her.
Though it was only mere minutes it felt like hours. Holding on to her arm, that ironically had no more strength or warmth, I believe I was selfishly trying to hold on to her. Hold on to her because I still needed her. I still wanted her.
But I felt her. And she was finally fierce.
Her love was intense. It was given. It was written. It was unspoken. It was taken for granted. It was appreciated. It was too much and not enough all at once. It hurt her. It hurt others. It healed her and she healed others.
And in that moment, I felt her. I felt her love and I didn’t cry for her again for one full year. My mother showed me she loved me when she let me feel her.
November 8, 2021. An excerpt from “My Mama’s Love Is Like …”
While I waited to hear back on a very special “flight”, I was awaken around 1 a.m. with an amazing feeling of God expressing His love to this person.
It is what I prayed for my very special friend who found Christ late in life and went on to do some amazing things for the Kingdom. Though I know God honored his service with extended life and people who loved him and his infectious laughter, I asked that he would feel an amazing sense of being loved “just because” God does.
It made me giggle with joy and pray my beloved Doc C did too.
I also pray now for some folks in my life who have not come to know Christ for varying reasons. You may think I am nuts sometimes, but I try to impress on you that God is good despite life circumstances or the hand you have been dealt. I want you to know this love and why it makes me Peaceful when you wonder why I am not falling apart.
It’s not about rules or regulations or anything remotely religious. Its about a God who loves you, hurts for you, moves for you and works it out if we pay attention. Nobody is trying to change you. But this love does it when you truly let it in.
It’s not about being a religious freak or perfection……have you met me yet? LOL. Being set apart for God is what being Holy is. And that being set apart is based on you feeling His love and never wanting Him not to know yours. Your actions follow suit.
God loves you the way you are. His love improves you and uses your flaws to love on others. If you truly know me, then you only love me because God loved me first. If any flaw in me has steered you away from Christ…..I beg you to forgive me and let’s fix it.
To the person who feels like they are going thru hell and that God does not care. Look again. Look again.
He is there in the friend who sent you ginger snaps when chemo would not let you eat. He is there is the nurse who smiled at you just a little extra to get you thru. He is there is the coworker who sends you an emoji every morning to motivate you to live. He is there in the person who sent you food for no reason. He is there in the 100 bill somebody felt they just had to give you and you needed it.
He is there in the songs that bring you joy. He is there in the counseling sessions. He is there in the eyeglass cleaner delivered every Christmas (you know who you are.) He is there when your grandkids overwhelm you with kisses.
He is there through tough times and sorrows. He holds you when no one else will. And you wonder why you didn’t lose your mind…it was Him holding it together.
And this is for a very specific friend: He was there in every Star Wars movie. He was there in every recipe you perfected. He was there and used Optimus Prime to bring a message. He was there in Bumblee. And for Pete’s sake He is there with them crazy cats of yours. Lol. He was there during our elementary school days when you would hear my church choir wooing you but we’re afraid to come in because segregation still existed. Who do you think made us sing so freaking loud!!!! . He sent a ram in the bush to get you out of a bad situation as a child. Your family was not perfect. No earthly family is. But God whispered more times than you noticed and He is still whispering.
To all of us, just because the Red Sea has not parted for you or you have not noticed a burning bush yet, does not mean God has not loved you. People disappoint you. They disappoint God. But His love overcomes and with some focus….We can see it everywhere and in everything.
I write this with tears in my eyes because today….more than anything I want my friends and loved ones to giggle with God’s Presence today. I want to arise in Glory someday to see our comedy club section. Filled to the brim with the joy of God’s love.
Please if you need me to show you the way…..reach out to me. I’m coming for you….but hoping you catch me first.
Truly, truly, I say to you, unless the seed of wheat having fallen to the earth dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit. – John 12:24 (DLNT)
It is an awesome blessing that, in very recent weeks, my earthly father, most certainly under the direction of my Heavenly Father, had taken great care into making sure that I would be united with my slightly younger sister, Tammy. The two of them had only reconnected a few months prior and though I had heard her name in conversation before, she never really knew I existed.
As I would soon find, timing is everything. On January 5, ironically on my birthday, Tammy’s mother died. My dad was devastated at the thought of his baby girl being alone and though we could not make the services, we had made plans to make a 6 or so hour drive to see Tammy. Daddy felt she needed him and that she would need me.
I didn’t fully understand his urgency, until just 30 days later, on February 5, both Tammy and I would lose Daddy.
As I went through Daddy’s papers in preparation to celebrate his entrance into Heaven, I begin to find “bread crumbs on a trail” leading me where he wanted me to go. I found Tammy’s birth card from the hospital where she was born. I found her younger brother’s newborn pics. Over and over, I found evidence of the six children he loved, lost in circumstance and had hoped to renew full fellowship with.
Tammy and I have not met yet, nor have I had the opportunity to meet two of my other siblings… yet. The memorial service is in a few days and I pray they will all be able to make the winter travel. But she and I have had a ball getting to know each other via text, phone and social media. We realized that we are actually pretty alike including our bad habit of not being able to sleep past 4 a.m. and that we are both warrior sisters who like to get stuff done and done right. LOL.
During one of our conversations, John 12:24 came to my mind… “Unless a seed falls to the ground…. It remains alone”. God knows we miss our parents. My mom died on a February day as well… on a day ironically important to Tammy’s mom too. But it seems clear to me that they had somehow planted seeds that are multiplying in us.
Seeds of wiping each others tears. Seeds of laughter. Seeds of hope. Seeds of forgiveness. Seeds of renewal. Seeds of never really being alone again.
Tammy says that she had always wanted a sister. She just inherited more than a few. My sister Melody says that the girls involved should never call ourselves half-sisters because we are all too chubby to be halfs of anything. Lisa can’t wait to embrace all of us.. thinking she was the oldest… but tickled to find out she was not.
I began to count out all the children from all the parents involved and realized that Tammy has a lot more sisters and brothers that she will be able to handle. All ages, sizes, colors and shapes ….not letting blood separate us …. But embracing each other as what my youngest sister, Cheryl, calls “grown orphans.” LOL.
Even though there are only 5 months between Tammy and myself, I am pleased that she thinks of me as a big sister. It remains to be seen if she will relish her role as a soon to be spoiled Baby Sis. I think we were both feeling loved when I got the chance to nag her this morning about making sure she lets me know that she got to work okay … snowy weather both here in Virginia and in New Jersey where she is. She agreed to comply with the request of this “mother hen.”
defygravitywithoutwings.com 