Tag: Friendship

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The Weight I Was Never Meant To Carry

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My grandmother used to remind me that the devil is in the details.

Since I am not allowing the devil to win anything today, I’ll leave out the details of recent situations that wounded people I love and, in turn, wounded my heart. The specifics aren’t important anyway. Pain has a way of changing faces while telling the same story.

What surprised me wasn’t the offense itself. It was how quickly I found myself praying for the offenders before the offense had time to settle into my spirit.

Not because I am especially holy. Not because the hurt wasn’t real. Not because I suddenly understood everything.

But because I’ve lived long enough to know that bitterness is expensive. If you don’t deal with it quickly, it starts charging interest.

As I prayed, I was reminded of Job. We often focus on his suffering, his losses, and his endurance. Yet one of the most remarkable moments in his story comes when he prays for those who wounded him.

Job prayed for people who had misjudged him while he was still carrying his own wounds. He wasn’t pretending they hadn’t hurt him. He wasn’t saying they were right. He simply placed them in God’s hands instead of keeping them in his own.

I used to think release meant agreement. I thought if I stopped rehearsing the offense, I was pretending it never happened. If I stopped holding someone accountable in my heart, I was somehow declaring them innocent.

But God has been teaching me something different.

Release is not approval.

Release is trust.

It is placing people back into the hands of the One who sees everything I cannot see. The One who knows every wound, every motive, every hidden struggle, and every missed opportunity.

Sometimes the hardest people to release are not our enemies. They are the people we loved. The people who disappointed us. The people who hurt us while holding a place in our lives.

We want justice.
We want understanding.
We want healing.
We want the story to end differently.

Yet there comes a holy moment when we stop trying to manage the outcome and simply pray:

“Lord, have mercy on them.”

And in the same breath:

“Lord, have mercy on me.”

That prayer does not erase the past. It simply acknowledges that I was never meant to carry the final verdict.

Some burdens belong to God.

Some people belong to God.

And so do I.

Maybe forgiveness is not always a destination. Maybe sometimes it is a decision we make over and over again before resentment has a chance to take root. Maybe it is choosing prayer before bitterness, surrender before judgment, and trust before understanding.

Whatever it is, I know this:

The weight feels lighter when I stop carrying what was never mine to hold.

Love, Chelle

defygravitywithoutwings.com

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Pocket Visions and Cleaning Supplies

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


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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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

defygravitywithoutwings.com

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When the Tool Ate the Manuscript (and Almost My Heart)

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

Let me tell you what almost took me out.

For weeks—WEEKS—I have been doing the holy, unglamorous work of editing and reorganizing a soon-to-be book.
Moving chapters.
Fixing commas that think they run things.
Re-threading stories.
Listening for where God was nudging—and where I was just rambling.

This was faithful work. Quiet work.
The kind nobody claps for.

And then…
The tool I use to assist and “catch mistakes” decided to eat my manuscript.

Not nibble.
Not misplace a paragraph.
Eat it.

I have survived cancer, grief, caregiving, deadlines, and ice storms—but watching weeks of careful labor vanish off a screen?
That will make your chest tighten and your salvation flicker for a hot second.

I sat there spiraling:
Did I just lose half a book?
Am I behind now?
Did I just waste weeks of my life arguing with chapter headings?

Cue the dramatic sigh.
Cue me talking to my laptop like it had personally betrayed the family.

And then—grace, wearing sneakers—slid in sideways and whispered:

Your work is not gone.
You are not behind.
We did not lose half a book.

Because real work doesn’t live only in files.
It lives in muscle memory, lived experience, and a heart that’s been steeped in the message.

And Scripture backs this up.

“So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten…”
— Joel 2:25

God restores years, not just results.
Restoration doesn’t always look like retrieval.
What God restores often comes back stronger.

So breathe.
Roll your shoulders.
Open a new document.

The words still know how to find you.
And the story is very much alive.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com

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Good Morning From Groot

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When I went to make my coffee this morning, I noticed my Brazilian wood plant — the one I call Groot because of the ornament on him — is still growing from just one side.


He’s developing a beautiful arm branch, but only one. By all accounts, there should be two by now.


Most folks would give up on a plant like that.
But I can’t.


All my life, I’ve collected broken things — toys, dolls, records… sometimes even people. Things that seemed useless or pointless to others always found a home with me. I’d turn them into art, merge them with something else, or simply let them be what they were until their value showed itself.


This little Groot reminds me that everything has value exactly as it is, even when it doesn’t quite match the catalog pictures of society.


That one arm?
It’s raised like it’s in praise.
And the smile in the bark makes me happy.


I believe God sees our imperfections with grace and purpose — I know He’s done that for me.

My seasons of brokenness and feeling like a misfit produced music, plays, and even this writing.

Periods of pain with purpose… feeling like a fish out of water… all converted into unique brands of joy.


So if you’re feeling a little uneven today…
a little out of the mold…
a little unlike what you thought you were supposed to be…
You’re not broken.
You’re just growing differently.

Now go raise that arm!


“…everyone who is called by My name,
whom I created for My glory.” — Isaiah 43:7

Love, Chelle

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Will & Grace

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

I woke up smiling this morning.
Not because everything is fixed.
Not because the season has suddenly gotten easier.
But because I was reminded—before my feet even hit the floor—that God still speaks.


An old friend texted me a few days ago wanting to send me a birthday gift. A cash offering. She said it might be late and she wasn’t sure how much.


I immediately told her no.


Not because I didn’t need it—but because I know her story. I know her struggles.
I didn’t want her putting herself out for me.
My heart was in the right place… or so I thought.


She gently stopped me and said, “God told me to sow—and I won’t interfere with God talking to me.”


Well then.
Message received. Loud and clear.


Here’s the part I hadn’t said out loud to anyone:
With a season of   illness, deaths, job issues, a roof repair, and the bills that follow close behind, one of the quiet things I let go of was me.
Specifically—my hair.
Long twist locs reduced to a ponytail (which is no small feat), creative parting, strategic styling,
and gray hairs hollering, “Didn’t you just get old?”


I was debating whether to cancel my usual four-hour appointment this weekend—or worse, swipe a credit card while praying over the interest rate.


But look at God.


With exactly what she sent, the Old Lady Rescue will be in full effect.
No debt. No guilt. Just provision—with intention.


But the real miracle wasn’t the money.


“Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,” says the Lord Almighty. (Zechariah 4:6 (NIV)


It was confirmation—on both sides—that God still speaks.
And He doesn’t just speak to pastors, prophets, or people with microphones.
He speaks to friends.
To women who listen.
To hearts that say yes before they fully understand why.


I was reminded this morning that God provides for all things.
Even the things we label as “extra.”
Even Saturday-morning self-care.
Even hair.


And I was reminded of something else:
sometimes our well-meaning “no” gets in the way of someone else’s obedience.


I thought I was protecting her.
Instead, I would’ve robbed us both—
her of the joy of obedience,
and me of the grace God had already assigned.


“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”  John 10:27 (NIV)


There’s a line from the old sitcom Will & Grace that came rushing back to me this morning.
One character is frustrated, asking why God doesn’t talk anymore.
Another replies:
“When having conversations with God, make sure you’re not doing all the talking.”


Lesson learned.


Sometimes God’s answer sounds like a text message.
Sometimes provision looks like hair being restored before pride is.
And sometimes Grace shows up laughing—right alongside gratitude, when we submit to His Will.


Today, I’m thankful.
Not just for the gift—but for the reminder to listen…
and not interfere when God speaks.


Love, Chelle


PS.
A BIG  thank you to my Christmas music loving,  sugary named, millionaire by multiplication, friend who knows how to hear God !!!

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Grossly Underqualified. Still Expecting A Harvest

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I still don’t know what I’m doing.
The sweet potato in the jar in my window  can confirm it.

I stood it upright like a microphone instead of laying it down like a seed. Slips are forming anyway—which feels both rude and deeply grace-filled.

By every measurable standard, I am grossly underqualified for this harvest. I don’t garden with confidence — I garden with Google and apologies. I whisper encouragement to my plants like they’re on a faith journey too.

And yet… green keeps showing up.

Scripture says, “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”
— Zechariah 4:10

Apparently, this applies to gardeners too.

The sweet potato didn’t ask for my credentials.
It didn’t wait for me to feel confident.
It just responded to warmth, light, and the fact that I didn’t give up on it.

That feels uncomfortably familiar.

God has never waited for my expertise before growing something in my care. He responds to availability, not mastery. To people who stay put long enough for growth to decide it’s safe.

I keep expecting God to say, “You’re not ready for this yet.”
Instead, He keeps saying, “Watch.”

Watch what grows when you stop over-correcting.
Watch what happens when you don’t uproot yourself every time doubt shows up.
Watch what slips free when the season is right.

Turns out God grows things even when the gardener is winging it.

I may be underqualified.
But I’m determined.
And apparently… that’s enough for a harvest.

Love, Chelle

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A Meeting Place

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This may not sound like me.


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

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Faith With Cream

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If you know me well, you know this:
there is a Do Not Disturb sign on my whole being before my first cup of coffee.


Not because I’m mean — because I’m unfinished. Conversations are risky. Decisions are suspect. Eye contact is optional and not encouraged.

Coffee is not a luxury in my house.
It’s a transition ritual — the bridge between sleep and sanity.

I’ve tried drinking it black.
I respect the people who do.
But I am not one of them.

I also refuse to pay six dollars for a cup of bean water served with foam, a wooden stir stick, and a side of financial regret.

So I do what most of us do in real life:
I work with what I have.

A splash of cream. Sometimes thickened milk.
Sometimes eggnog (non-alcoholic, of course).
Always grace.

And somewhere between the mug and the quiet, God meets me.

Faith works the same way.

There’s a version of spirituality that insists you drink life black —
no softness, no comfort, no pause.
Just endure. Prove you’re strong. Push through.

There’s another version that says peace only comes if you buy it, chase it, or overspend your way into it.

But Scripture gives us a wiser prayer — not for excess, not for deprivation,
but for enough:

“Give me neither poverty nor riches;
feed me with the food that I need.”
— Proverbs 30:8 (NRSV)

That is provision without punishment.
Sufficiency without suffering.

Faith with cream doesn’t erase the bitterness —
it makes it bearable.
It doesn’t deny reality —
it softens it enough to receive joy.

God has always provided daily bread —
not to test us, but to sustain us.

So this morning, if you’re like me —
still warming up, still waiting for the cream you forgot at the store to arrive —
know this:

God is not offended by your need for gentleness.
He honors prayers for enough.

Drink the coffee.
Delay the noise.
Let faith be tender today.

Faith with cream still counts.

Love, Chelle

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A Season Of Miracles Of Rest (Even When We Can’t Sleep Yet)

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Every new year arrives carrying declarations.
More. Faster. Bigger. Better.

But this year, something different is echoing through pulpits and prayers alike:
a quiet but radical declaration—
this is a season of miracles of rest.

Ironically, many of us are hearing that message while lying awake at night…
thinking about rest.
Planning rest.
Wondering why rest feels like another assignment we’re failing.
(Ask me how I know.)

Still, Scripture reminds us that some of God’s most powerful work happens when we stop striving—even when stopping doesn’t come easily.

“Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28

Rest is not a reward for finishing.
It is often the starting place—even if our bodies haven’t caught up with the invitation yet.

Renew Me
Renewal isn’t about becoming someone new.
It’s about being refreshed into who God already designed us to be.

Sometimes renewal looks holy and quiet.
Other times it looks like admitting,
“I’m exhausted… and still awake.”

God is not offended by that honesty.

“He restores my soul.”
— Psalm 23:3

Revive Me
To revive is to bring life back to what looks dormant.
Not dead—just tired.
Just worn thin by years of pushing through.

If you’ve ever felt like your spirit hit the snooze button even while your faith stayed intact, you’re not alone.

“Will You not revive us again, that Your people may rejoice in You?”
— Psalm 85:6

Restore Me
Restoration is holy repair.
It is God returning what was lost, broken, or depleted—not always in the same form, but with deeper wisdom attached.

Including the ability to rest without guilt.

“I will restore to you the years the locust has eaten.”
— Joel 2:25

Room to Breathe
Not rushing into the next assignment.
Not proving the miracle worked.
But giving yourself permission to exhale—even if sleep comes later.

Sometimes faith looks like lying still and trusting God is working while we’re learning how to rest again.

“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and trust shall be your strength.”
— Isaiah 30:15

God, as this year begins, renew us where we are weary—even when we can’t quiet our minds yet.
Revive what has grown tired within us.
Restore what life has worn down.
And teach us how to rest without guilt, trusting that You are still moving, even while we lie awake learning how to breathe again.
Amen.

Love Chelle