Tag: Family

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Go Up!!!

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“Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” Colossians 3:2


I had had a day. One of those long, stressful days where, by the time work was over, I had a whole list of complaints ready for God. And apparently, He had a visual aid ready for me.


I was picking up my son from work when a storm brewed up hot and fast. The sky changed almost without warning. While I was focused on a huge lightning strike, something else caught my attention.


A small-engine plane suddenly ducked incredibly low over us.


Living near the airport, low-flying planes don’t usually bother me. I’m used to them. But this one was low, low. I mean real low.
Low enough that I could see people inside.


Then I watched the pilot make a slight rolling turn to avoid clipping the light pole right there at the traffic light.


For a moment, my heart was probably somewhere near my red glasses.


But then I watched what happened next.With incredible precision, the pilot aimed the plane upward toward the one patch of blue sky still visible. Up. The storm was raging around them, so they went up. They couldn’t stop the lightning. They couldn’t calm the wind. They couldn’t move the clouds. But they could change their position in relation to the storm.


And standing there watching them climb, suddenly all the things I had spent the day complaining about seemed different. I had been staring at my storm. God reminded me to look up.


Sometimes faith doesn’t mean God immediately removes what’s happening around us. Sometimes He gives us the wisdom, strength, and grace to rise above what is trying to consume us. The clouds may still be there. The wind may still be blowing.
The lightning may still be flashing.


But there can still be a patch of blue somewhere above it all. And maybe that’s why Scripture keeps calling our attention upward. “Set your minds on things above…”
Not because what happens down here doesn’t matter. Not because the storm isn’t real. But because if all I see is the storm, I can forget the One who sits above it.


And suddenly I had to laugh at myself.
I’d spent the day complaining about everybody who had gotten on my nerves, only to end the evening throwing my hands toward heaven.


“Lord, forgive me for my stresspasses, as I forgive those who stress-pass against me.” 

(Nope you won’t find that in the King James version. Just in  the book of Chelle’s Confessions .)


Because sometimes the people don’t change. The circumstances don’t change. The storm doesn’t even change. We change altitude.


Tonight, I watched a pilot find the patch of blue. And God reminded me to do the same.


Father, forgive me for the moments when I become so focused on what’s happening around me that I forget to look toward You. When frustration gets loud, help me go higher. When circumstances feel dangerously close, give me wisdom to navigate them. When I can’t change the storm, change my perspective. And when I find myself counting everybody else’s stresspasses, remind me of how much grace You have extended to me.

Help me find the patch of blue.

Amen.
Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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On The Altar To Be Altered

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This morning, I called my older sister.

She couldn’t answer, but she texted me back and said she was at a prayer meeting at her church.

Perfect timing, I thought. Because I had some things on my heart. Some people I love. Some situations I can’t control. So I texted her back and asked her to “throw us on the alter.”

She didn’t notice anything unusual about my message. But I did.

I had meant to type “altar”.

I started to correct myself, but I stopped and looked at the word again.

ALTER.

Then the word I intended:

ALTAR.

One little letter separates them. And suddenly, I wasn’t so sure my typo was completely wrong.

Because isn’t that what we do when life becomes bigger than our own ability to handle it? We take it to the ALTAR because we need God to ALTER something.

We bring our children to the altar because there are decisions we can’t make for them.

We bring our marriages because there are places love alone hasn’t been able to fix.

We bring our finances because sometimes the numbers simply don’t make sense.

We bring our jobs, our dreams, our grief, our fears, our disappointments, our bodies, our families and those situations that have kept us awake far too many nights.

We bring all of it. And we say, “God, I need You to alter this.”

But here’s where surrender gets a little uncomfortable. We usually arrive at the altar with a pretty good idea of “what” we’d like God to alter.

Alter them, Lord.

Alter that situation.

Alter these circumstances.

Alter this bank account while You’re at it.

And sometimes He does.

Sometimes God alters the circumstances. Sometimes He alters the timing. Sometimes He alters the direction.

Sometimes He alters a relationship, opens a door, closes another one, moves somebody, restores something, removes something or makes a way we couldn’t see coming.

But sometimes… most times…God alters us.

He alters our perspective. Our priorities. Our expectations. Our attitudes. Our willingness to wait. Our need to control the outcome.

And perhaps that’s why the altar matters so much. The altar isn’t simply the place where I lay something down and tell God what to do with it.

It’s the place where I surrender it enough to let Him decide what needs altering.

Romans 12:1 tells us to present ourselves to God as a living sacrifice.

Not just our problems. Ourselves.

So this morning, I’m taking my accidental little prayer seriously. I’m putting my “me and mine and all of thine: on the alter.

Yes, I know how to spell it. 😂

I’m putting us on the ALTAR and trusting God to ALTER whatever He knows needs to change.

My family. My circumstances. My plans. My heart.

Me.

Because maybe there really is only one letter between the place where we surrender and the change we’ve been praying for.

If you want God to ALTER it, be willing to put it on the ALTAR.

——-

Father, today I place myself and everyone connected to me on Your altar. I give You the things I understand and the things I don’t. The situations I can change and the ones completely beyond my reach. Alter what needs to be altered. Change circumstances where it is Your will, open doors that should open and close those that should close. But Lord, if the change needs to begin in me, give me the courage not to climb back off the altar. Change my heart, my thinking, my direction and my desires until they line up with Yours. I surrender the outcome to You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Love, Chelle
Defy Gravity Without Wings ❤️

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The $1000 Tomato

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Tonight, I came home from church just as the rain started. I was still in my church clothes.
No umbrella.  No plans to go into the garden.

Truthfully, my heart was still heavy.

Just yesterday, we laid my bonus son to rest. It was a beautiful celebration of his life, filled with music, laughter, tears, and memories. But funerals have a way of leaving an echo. Even after the final song is sung and everyone goes home, grief lingers quietly in the background.

My church clothes still carried the memory of yesterday.

And so did my heart.

As I hurried toward the house through the rain, something caught my eye. A flash of red. On one lonely big boy tomato.

Without thinking, I turned around and ran straight into the rain. No umbrella. Still dressed in my church clothes. Hair…well, let’s not even discuss the hair.

All for one tomato.

I laughed the moment I picked it. After months of building raised beds, filling grow bags, hauling soil, buying fertilizer, tomato cages, watering before work, battling mosquitoes, checking on my plants every morning, and praying over a garden that often seemed determined to test my patience, I joked that I was holding a $1,000 tomato.

The truth is…

It wasn’t worth a thousand dollars.

But in that moment…

It was worth running through the rain for.

Then the Holy Spirit gently whispered to my heart, “Isn’t that what I did for you?”

Jesus saw us caught in a storm far greater than rain. He didn’t stay where it was comfortable. He stepped into our brokenness.

Into our grief. Into our sin. Into death itself.

Not because we were perfect.

Not because we had everything together.

But because He saw something worth rescuing.

The Bible tells us that “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)
He didn’t wait until we had cleaned ourselves up. He came running toward us while we were still standing in the storm.

Sometimes life leaves us bruised by disappointment, exhausted by loss, or wondering if joy will ever find us again. Yet Jesus never measures our value by what we’ve been through.

He measures it by what He was willing to pay. The cross settled that question forever.

Then another thought settled into my spirit.
Yesterday, I ran toward a casket. Today, I ran toward a tomato.


One reminded me that life on earth is temporary.

The other reminded me that God still has a way of bringing new life out of seasons of sorrow.

Tonight, as I stood in my kitchen holding my little ‘$1,000 tomato,’ I realized maybe God wasn’t just letting me harvest fruit.

Maybe He was reminding me that even after a day of burying someone I loved…

Even while my heart was still aching…

There was still something worth running toward.

Sometimes God doesn’t stop the rain. Sometimes He places a glimpse of hope right in the middle of it.

A reminder that life is still growing.

That joy is still possible.

That healing is still coming.

Sometimes…

It looks like one little red tomato.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” — Psalm 30:5

Prayer

Father, thank You for stepping into my storms instead of watching them from a distance. Thank You for reminding me that even in seasons of grief, You continue to plant signs of hope along my path. Open my eyes to the little gifts You place in front of me each day, and help me remember that my value was settled at the cross. When my heart is heavy, give me the courage to keep running toward the joy You have prepared for me. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Remembering Donovan ❤️

Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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Stop Living Like Jeremiah 29:11 Doesn’t Exist.

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This morning, my prayers took an unexpected detour.
I started out praying over all the things that don’t make sense. The unexplainables. The burdens that have settled over my family. The heaviness I see across our nation. The questions that don’t come with easy answers.
Somewhere between praying and borderline complaining, a thought slipped through my own conversation with God.


“Lord… I’m getting too old for this.”
Just as quickly came another thought.
“But I’m too young to give in.”


There I was, swinging back and forth between faith and frustration, hope and exhaustion, reminding God of everything that felt impossible.


Then, without warning, the Holy Spirit graciously interrupted my personal pity party with a sentence so simple I almost laughed.
“Stop living like Jeremiah 29:11 doesn’t exist.”
Ouch.


Because that’s exactly what worry does.
It acts as if God has forgotten His plans.
It behaves as though hope has expired.
It assumes the future has already been decided by today’s circumstances.
But Jeremiah 29:11 is still in the Bible.
The economy doesn’t erase it.
Bad news doesn’t cancel it.
Family struggles don’t rewrite it.
A doctor’s report doesn’t edit it.
Political chaos doesn’t overrule it.
God never said I would understand every chapter.
He simply said He already knows the ending.


Here’s the part that humbled me.
Jeremiah 29:11 wasn’t spoken to people whose lives were going according to plan.
It was spoken to people living in exile.
People who had lost what was familiar.
People who couldn’t see how God could possibly bring beauty from the ashes around them.
People who wondered if His promises had somehow expired.
Yet God didn’t begin by explaining their circumstances.
He began by reminding them of His sovereignty.
“For I know the plans I have for you…”
Notice the emphasis.
You don’t have to know the plan… because God does.
We spend so much time trying to figure out what God is doing that we forget Who is doing it.
Maybe that’s today’s reminder.
When our thoughts begin rehearsing every possible disaster, perhaps we need to lovingly interrupt ourselves.
“Stop living like Jeremiah 29:11 doesn’t exist.”
Not because life isn’t hard.
But because God’s promises haven’t changed.
Faith isn’t pretending the storm isn’t real. It’s refusing to live as though God misplaced the forecast.
Maybe faith isn’t always loud.
Maybe sometimes faith looks like getting up one more morning…
praying one more prayer…
believing one more promise…
and taking one more step down a country road toward a sunrise you haven’t reached yet.
Because Jeremiah 29:11 still exists.
And so does the God who spoke it.
Prayer
Father, forgive me for the moments when I let fear preach louder than Your promises. When my circumstances become more believable than Your Word, gently redirect my heart. Teach me to remember that You already know the plans You have for me—even when I can’t see them. Help me walk by faith instead of forecasting disaster. Today I choose to trust that Your hope is greater than my uncertainty and Your future is stronger than my fear.

Thank You for reminding me that I don’t have to know the plan because I know the One who does. When I drift from praying into borderline complaining, lovingly call me back to Your promises. Give me the courage to take one more step, pray one more prayer, and trust You one more day.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans for your welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” — Jeremiah 29:11 (ESV)

Love, Chelle

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KEEP BELIEVING

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

This morning I walked into my garden carrying more than Tomato-tone.

I carried worry.

Last week’s storms had been relentless. Then life happened. Family emergencies. Hospital visits. Exhaustion. The garden got the best I could give it, but not always everything I wanted to give it.

As I made my rounds, my fears seemed justified. Several of my biggest green tomatoes had blossom end rot. Months of watering, fertilizing, staking, and waiting… only to find them ruined before they ever ripened.

I picked them off one by one and tossed them across the yard to the squirrels, who had probably been waiting all season for me to make a mistake.

I was disappointed. Maybe even a little angry.
Not just because of the tomatoes. Sometimes one rotten tomato becomes the place where everything else finally shows up.

The financial pressures.


Watching people I admired and believed would make it…walk away from marriages I thought would last forever.


Family struggles I can’t fix.


Dreams that seem to take one step forward and two steps back.


Storm after storm.

The tomatoes just happened to be what broke my heart that morning.

Then I walked around to the other side of the my garden expecting more losses. More disappointments.

But, there she was. My very first zucchini. She hadn’t even been there the last time I looked. Then I remembered something.

The bees hadn’t been showing up because of all the rain. That little zucchini only existed because, one morning, I stepped in and hand-pollinated the flower. At the time it felt almost foolish. I wondered if it would even matter.

Today I held the answer in my hand.

Isn’t that just like God?

Sometimes we become so focused on what’s been damaged that we almost miss what He’s growing on the other side.

The rotten tomatoes were real. But so was the harvest.

Maybe that’s the lesson I needed today.

Not every fruit survives the storm. But neither does every promise die in it.

The storms didn’t stop the zucchini. The rain didn’t cancel the harvest.

The bees didn’t show up… but God still did.

If God asks us to keep planting, keep watering, keep believing, He also has a way of surprising us with fruit we weren’t expecting.

Today, my first zucchini wasn’t just dinner. It was a reminder that disappointment is never the whole story.

Sometimes the blessing you’ve been praying for isn’t gone. It’s simply growing on the other side.

So if today you find yourself throwing rotten tomatoes to the squirrels, don’t leave the garden just yet. Walk around to the other side.

You just might find that while you were grieving what didn’t make it… God was quietly growing something beautiful all along.

“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

Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com ❤️

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Sometimes The Holiest Thing You Can Do is Take A Nap

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I caught my reflection in the mirror today.

My face looked tired. Not just sleepy… worn.

The kind of worn that comes from always running. Always carrying. Always trying to squeeze one more thing into the day before collapsing into bed at night.

Stress and exhaustion have a way of changing our faces long before they change our calendars.

As I stood there looking at myself, I realized something. This was never what God intended.

Somewhere along the way, I started wearing fatigue like a badge of honor. I convinced myself that constantly doing more somehow made me more faithful, more productive, or more valuable.

Then I saw a sign that read:
“Daniel slept in a lion’s den. Peter slept in a prison. Jesus slept in a storm. No matter what your circumstances, you can take a nap.”

I laughed. And I thought about it. Those aren’t just clever words on a sign. They’re reminders that peace isn’t determined by your surroundings.

Daniel didn’t wait until the lions disappeared.
Peter didn’t wait until the prison doors opened.
Jesus didn’t wait until the waves settled.

They rested anyway.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve convinced ourselves that rest is a reward for finishing everything.
“I’ll rest when the laundry is done.”
“I’ll rest when the kids stop needing me.”
“I’ll rest when work slows down.”
“I’ll rest when life gets easier.”

But life keeps moving the finish line.

The Bible paints a different picture. Rest isn’t the absence of responsibility. It’s an act of trust. Every time we lay our heads down, we’re declaring,

“God, I’m no longer trying to be You. You’ll keep the world turning while I close my eyes.”

That doesn’t mean we ignore our responsibilities. Daniel still had lions to face. Peter still had chains around his wrists. Jesus still had a cross ahead of Him.

It simply means that exhaustion isn’t a badge of honor. Sometimes faith looks less like striving… and more like sleeping.

So today, I made a decision. I’m setting a timer during my lunch break. I’m going to find somewhere to lay my head down.

Not because my work is finished. Not because all my problems have disappeared. But because my body is telling the truth my heart has been trying to ignore.

Stressed and tired are a dangerous combination, and they were never God’s design for us.

Perhaps if you’re reading this, you need permission too. Take the nap. Close your eyes.
Trust the One who never does.

After all…

Daniel slept in a lion’s den.
Peter slept in a prison.
Jesus slept in a storm.

Maybe the holiest thing you can do today…

…is take a nap.

“In peace I will lie down and sleep, for You alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.”
Psalm 4:8

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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When Joy Spins In A Wheelchair

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I was already having one of those days. Maybe it was the stress of a long day at work spilling past quitting time and being made late getting to where I needed to be. Maybe it was the heaviness that has become familiar with my sister Cheryl’s illness.

But tonight, the nursing home had transformed one of its rooms into a prom. There were balloons, music, decorations, smiles, and volunteers who had worked hard to make it special.

Cheryl looked beautiful. She wore a bright red dress, fire engine lipstick and a crown. She smiled at her reflection . For a short while, she was the fashionable diva sister from her youth.

Her son and her former physical therapist proudly escorted her as her two handsome prom dates, while our older sister, Melody, and I happily served as her royal court attendants.

She enjoyed herself.

And yet, if I’m honest, part of me couldn’t stop seeing what wasn’t supposed to be.

It was still a nursing home. She was still in pain. She was still in a wheelchair.

Some losses don’t disappear just because someone hangs streamers on the wall.

Then the music changed.Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” began filling the room.

Across the room sat another resident—a woman a little older than Cheryl. She was dressed in a sparkly black gown with a fluffy tutu peeking beneath it and ballerina slippers on her feet.

When the music started, she didn’t apologize for her wheelchair. She lifted her hands toward the ceiling. She spun. She laughed.

She did wheelies across that nursing home floor as though she were dancing on the biggest stage in the world.

As I sang along with Whitney’s words, she rolled her wheelchair right over to me, reached out with a smile, and invited me to dance with her.

For a moment, she wasn’t asking me to ignore her wheelchair. She was inviting me to look beyond it. I couldn’t stop watching her.

Then something surprised me. I wasn’t feeling pity. I was feeling jealousy.

Not because she could walk. She couldn’t. Not because she wasn’t hurting. I’m sure she was.

 I was jealous because she possessed something I had misplaced:

Joy.

She reminded me that joy isn’t the absence of pain. Joy is refusing to let pain have the final word.

That woman never stood up. But somehow she rose above the room.

I wonder how many of us are waiting to dance until everything is healed. We’re waiting until the diagnosis changes. Until the relationship is restored. Until the finances improve. Until life looks the way we imagined.

But what if joy was never meant to wait for perfect circumstances? What if worship can happen in a wheelchair? What if celebration can exist in a nursing home?

What if God is inviting us to dance while we’re still waiting for the miracle?

That evening , I went to encourage my sister. Instead, God introduced me to a ballerina in a wheelchair who quietly preached a sermon I’ll never forget.

Maybe today you feel confined by something you didn’t choose. A diagnosis. A disappointment. A loss. A season that doesn’t look anything like you prayed it would.

If that’s you, don’t wait for life to become perfect before you lift your hands. Some of the most beautiful dances happen in places where no one expected joy to live.

“You have turned my mourning into dancing…” — Psalm 30:11

Healing isn’t always the first miracle. Sometimes joy is.

 Love, Chelle

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Pocket Visions and Cleaning Supplies

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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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A Release of Miracles

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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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Holding Space

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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

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