Luke 13:6–9 (NIV)
Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any.
So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, ‘For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?’
“‘Sir,’ the man replied, ‘leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it.
If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.’”
Reflection
Some days, I feel exactly like that fig tree—standing in the middle of life, trying my best, but still wondering if I’m producing anything at all. Not the perfect, fruitful tree everyone expects… just the one hoping nobody notices how bare the branches feel.
And honestly? There are moments I feel inadequate in almost every role I hold:
– As a wife, loving deeply but sometimes running on fumes
– As a mother, praying between grown-child crises, hoping I’m guiding well
– As an employee, juggling tasks with a superhero cape that keeps slipping
– As a minister, pouring out even when my cup feels half-empty
– As a singer, trying to bless God while my voice sometimes protests
– As a writer, full of stories but occasionally stuck between heart and keyboard
And in the middle of all that, I slip into development mode: fix myself, improve myself, upgrade myself—as if I’m a project on a deadline.
But Jesus tells a different story.
In the parable, the owner looks at the tree and says, “Cut it down.” But the Gardener—who knows how roots really work—steps between judgment and mercy and says:
“Give her time. Give her grace. Let Me work with her.”
He doesn’t ask the tree to try harder. He doesn’t shame it. Instead He says:
“Let Me dig around her.”
“Let Me nourish her.”
“Let Me tend to the parts nobody sees.”
While I’m busy trying to perfect myself, Jesus reminds me:
“Growth is My job. Staying connected is yours.”
He is not rushing me. He is not disappointed in me. He is not walking away from me.
He is kneeling in the soil of my life saying:
“Give her another year. I know what she needs. Let Me grow her in My timing.”
And that truth sets my soul at rest.
Prayer
Dear Lord,
Thank You for being the Gardener who refuses to give up on me. Forgive me for the times I rush myself, judge myself, or declare myself fruitless. Teach me to rest in You, to stay rooted in You, and to trust Your timing over my own. Dig around me, nourish me, and grow me in the way only You can. And when I feel inadequate, remind me that Your grace is still at work beneath the surface.
With love,
Chelle
Tag: Hope
Dear God – When Caregiving Hurts and Heals
DEAR GOD… WHEN CAREGIVING HURTS, HEALS, AND LEANS HEAVY ON MY SHOULDERS
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9
Today, I told myself I would wait until the temperature climbed to at least forty degrees before heading out to decorate my sister’s room at the nursing home for Christmas. I’m bringing her a case of pudding and picking up the dirty laundry — the usual “big sister doing what needs to be done” routine.
But before I even put my coat on, a familiar companion showed up… guilt.
Not guilt because I don’t want to help — I do, with all my heart.
But guilt because sometimes… Lord, I am just tired.
Tired from my own responsibilities.
Tired from my job, my husband’s appointments, my grandchildren, my writing, my own body acting up on me.
Tired from being pulled in ten different directions while trying to stay whole myself.
And there’s a special kind of guilt that comes with caregiving when you are exhausted.
A guilt that whispers, “You should be doing more.”
A guilt that berates you for needing a break.
A guilt that makes you feel like resting means failing.
Especially when the person you’re caring for is your younger sister.
Only 48.
Bed bound.
Multiple strokes.
Speech limited.
Taken down by a condition we didn’t even know existed until it barged into our family like a thief in the night.
Sometimes I walk into her room and see her lying there, and my heart squeezes because I remember who she used to be — strong, funny, quick-witted, full of that younger-sister attitude that kept me on my toes.
And then another wave hits:
How dare I complain about being tired when she would give anything to switch places with me for one day?
But Lord… that is not the truth You want me to carry.
Because even with her limitations, she and I still do what sisters do:
trash talk, laugh, joke, roll our eyes, and make the nurses wonder what on earth is going on in Room Whatever-It-Is-This-Week.
She’s still her, and I’m still me, and our sisterhood refuses to die.
And yet, the guilt still shows up when I catch myself sighing too hard, or wishing for one quiet weekend, or resenting the cold weather because caregiving is already heavy enough.
But today, Father, You whispered something to my heart:
“Guilt is not your assignment. Grace is.”
Caregiving is not a competition of strength.
It is not a performance for heaven.
It is not a test You are grading me on.
It is love lived out loud.
It is compassion with skin on it.
It is the ministry nobody sees but You.
Decorating her room today…
It’s not just Christmas décor.
It’s dignity.
It’s joy.
It’s a reminder that she is still here and still loved.
And it is a reminder that I am still allowed to be human.
So Lord, when the guilt rises because life is heavy,
when responsibilities pile up faster than I can carry them,
when I feel torn between caring for her and caring for myself,
remind me:
You never asked me to do this perfectly.
You only asked me to do it with love.
And love, even tired love, is still holy.
With Love,
Chelle
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Trying New Things (Even When They Wiggle”
Funny how fears can rule you!
All my life I have refused to eat any food that moves, jiggles, or looks like it might still be breathing. Jell-O? Absolutely not. Pudding? Hard pass. Runny eggs? Never. I don’t know why, but something about the texture has always made my stomach flip like an Olympic gymnast with no spotter.
This morning, I found myself in a situation at work where I either had to eat… or be rude and not eat at all. And tempted as I was to decline, I figured I’d at least try the little thing they called a *Croque*—thick toast, fancy cheeses, tomato jam, and right on top… a sunny side–up egg. You already know what part scared me.
To make matters worse, I had just talked in Bible study the night before about embracing all that life has to offer and not letting fear write the rules. After fighting cancer , everything else *should* seem easy, right? Right…
Well I’ll be dern.
It was delicious. Movement and all. I wanted another.
What I learned from this was as fattening as the menu;
*Psalm 34:4
“I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears.”
→ Fear looks small until you’re the one staring down a wiggly egg.
Isaiah 41:10
“Fear not, for I am with you…”
→ Even at the breakfast table.
2 Timothy 1:7
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear…”
→ Fear is borrowed—not owned. It’s time to return it
John 10:10
“…I have come that they may have life and have it more abundantly.”
→ Abundant life sometimes starts with a bite.
Sometimes, it isn’t the “big things” that grow us—sometimes it’s the tiny choices that stretch us beyond our comfort zones. Fear sneaks into the smallest corners: decisions, relationships, opportunities, and yes… even breakfast.
But growth isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s as simple as saying,
“Lord, help me try something new today.”
And when we do, God gently proves—again and again—that He meets us in the smallest acts of courage.
Sometimes, the thing we feared ends up blessing us. Sometimes, it just ends up being a funny story. Either way, we survive… and grow.
Here’s to trying new things.
Here’s to facing old fears.
And here’s to trusting God with both the big leaps and the wiggly eggs.
P.s. I need more deliverance and prayer time for Jello. LOL
With Love, Chelle
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Red Light, Green Light
Lately, I’ve been stretched thin — the kind of thin where coffee starts looking like an emotional support beverage, and my bed feels like a distant memory. With relatives going in and out of hospitals, caretaking shifts, family worry, and decision fatigue (add a side of job and regular life), I’ve been functioning on autopilot. And not the smooth, first-class autopilot. More like the “Lord, please fly this plane because I’m tired” version.
Then, yesterday, on the way to yet another appointment, I found myself sitting at a stoplight. I thought it was red, so I just sat there… waiting, replaying the last few weeks in my head. My shoulders were tight, my eyelids heavy, and my spirit stretched. Then suddenly — BEEP! An irritated horn behind me snapped me back to reality.
And that’s when I realized:
I wasn’t sitting at a red light at all.
It wasn’t even green.
It was yellow — a caution light telling me, “Proceed when safe.”
🌟 Misreading the Signals
That moment hit me deeper than I expected. Because stress will have you out here misreading life’s signals.
When you’re tired enough, everything looks like a stop.
A closed door feels like punishment.
A pause feels like abandonment.
A delay feels like failure.
A quiet season feels like rejection.
A yellow light looks red.
But exhaustion is a lens that lies to us.
Sometimes, God isn’t saying “STOP.”
He’s saying, “Chelle, slow down, breathe, look around… and move forward with Me.”
God Uses Yellow Seasons Too
We love the green-light seasons — when everything flows, doors open, blessings drop, and strength is high.
And we understand the red-light seasons — when God lovingly tells us to wait, rest, or retract.
But that yellow light?
That in-between, not-quite-here, not-quite-there space?
We treat it like an inconvenience.
God treats it as instruction.
A yellow season says:
“Be cautious, but don’t freeze.”
“Use wisdom, but don’t quit.”
“Move forward, but stay alert.”
“Pay attention, but don’t be afraid.”
A yellow light is still movement — just intentional movement.
The dig into this moment wrapped itself around one of my Uncle/Pastor Ron’s favorite scriptures:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He shall direct your paths.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6
My scripturally adjacent version:
When we’re exhausted, our understanding gets cloudy.
When we’re overwhelmed, our perspective gets foggy.
But when we trust God, He clears the road even when our vision is blurry.
Honk Honk, if you feel like you’ve been waiting at a red light for too long…
Ask yourself gently:
“Is this really a red light…
or am I just too weary to see that God is saying, ‘Proceed — just proceed wisely’?”
Look again.
Take a breath.
Lift your head.
Reset your spirit.
Ask for fresh strength.
Sometimes, the miracle is not the light changing…
it’s your clarity returning.
So before I pick up my keys again and cause some other signal light saints to lose their religion, pray with me:
Lord
I am tired. My mind is overloaded, and sometimes I misread what You’re trying to show me.
Help me see clearly today.
Help me not confuse exhaustion with direction or fear with caution.
Give me discernment to know when to rest, when to wait, and when to move forward.
Thank You for being patient with me when I stall at yellow lights.
Guide my steps. Strengthen my spirit.
And help me proceed wisely, safely, and confidently with You.
Amen.
With Love Chelle
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As Long As Someone Remembers
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
Never Really Gone As Long As Someone Remembers.
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Happy Birthday To Us
In less than 24 hours, he will be officially an adult, and I will be able to stop using my husband’s AARP card and have my own.
I helped deliver this marvel and he has stolen every birthday since. He was born a little blue, and the doctor said “here grandma, you wake him up.” So, I roughed him up with love and anointing oil on my hands….praying all the while and thanking God for that first cry. Ironically, he is the only one of my grands who actually calls me grandma. I guess he heard with the doctor said.
This morning, I take another first cry for a sweet boy who now becomes a man.
Happy tears because he is now smarter than I could have ever dreamed, more loving than I could have imagined, and his future is so bright that the sun has competition.
As joyful as this triumph is, a few nervous tears as he goes to college, achieves his dream career, meets his future mate, and perhaps a brood of 6.5 feet tall children like himself. Selfish, I know, but I will always want him to let me hold him in my heart the way I did in the pic below.
Thank you, Josiah Gillison and Teonna Tull-Roberts, for the best birthday present ever.
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No Fruit Cake, Please
Reflecting on yesterday’s Christmas blessings.
My husband’s latest scans came back clean. Whew just in time to put a little Christmas cheer back.
My “partner in crime” cousin’s suspected breast cancer turned out to be nothing. I think she is happy I bug folks about smash-a-grams.
The Lord put me in the path of a young man who needed a Christian stranger to look past color, gender and class to “read his mail”. He thought he had hit a psychic reading which gave an inroad to talk about WHO a word of knowledge really comes from.
Then an unexpected last minute dessert order that I really didn’t know how to charge for, helped pay for 6 new sets of thermals for donation to Blessing Warriors RVA Inc. .
All I need now is for no one to offer me fruit cake and this will be the best Christmas ever.
Merry Christmas Everyone
With Love and Penmanship – Michelle
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Find Me In The Clutter
All this week I found it tough to find my quiet time and focus.
Being a wife, mom of 5, grandma of 10. a full time employee of a job that runs more like 12 hour a day and resource minister, what is alone time again? I had pushed my time with God to quick moments…out of focus and not very devoted.
Guilt tried to creep in several times as I had been carving some time this week to do some decluttering and downsizing as I am making decisions whether to renovate my cute little house built in 1955 or move on to something bigger. Like I found time for junk but not Him.
Amongst the piles of what to trash, what to give away, and what to keep for repurposing, I found treasures and tears. Joys and lows. Memories kept and some that needed to be let go. I laughed as much as I cried. I held on to as much as I said “why do I still have this?”
This morning, I go to get up determined that God and I would have coffee no matter what! Yet before I could fully get out of bed, my foot would rest on one of the many piles of sorted clothes. My mind immediately thought to tidy up a little first.
“Find Me In The Clutter”
What?
“Find Me In The Clutter”
Clear as day. In my spirit was an utterance to see God’s Glory in all my mess. As I refocused, I see Him.
He is there with me amongst the colorful stick figure drawings and piles of mother’s day cards from the joy of being a mom and Nama.
He is there with me in the butterflies I collect in memory of the beloved twin daughters and a grandson lost at birth.
He is there with me in the college diploma I received though I was told as a teenage mother I wouldn’t graduate high school. He is there with me in all 5 of their diplomas as well.
He is there with me in the mesh and metal cage bra I wore during 25 radiation treatments after 3 months of chemo and a lumpectomy.
He is there with me in angel figurine of a woman whom I never met who died herself but left the encouragement to celebrate my 3rd year as a survivor.
He is there with me in every photo of every loved one, every saved wedding announcement, every saved funeral program. In old records, old books, tickets stubs, vacation shirts and on and on.
I am writing to you now atop a pile of clutter in a hot mess of joyful tears mixed with “God, I’m sorry.”
I can’t quite find the words to express this feeling of knowing that He is always with me and speaking, even when I am a mess in a mess. What I had classified as a distraction turned into revelation and gratitude. A different kind of devotion…. initiated by Him.
I still have work to do…… both on working on “our time” and my cluttered environment. But He urged me to be mindful to let go of the guilt and allow this to be a “rested work”. A work that has purpose and meaning that will feel less like work as we clean it together.
WHEW GLORY!
So if any of you earth dwellers go looking for me today, listen out for the Hallelujahs in the hallway under the piles of kids clothes!!!!
- Michelle
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Have Faith
Because of our crazy blended family, I don’t get to see all my 10 grandkids during Christmas. So I gave my oldest son’s kids their gifts early so they could have Christmas together before the eldest boy leaves to spend Christmas in NJ with his mom.
The youngest in this bunch, Jonah, had a gift from me that hinted at a much wanted gift that his parents are giving him on Christmas day. He was totally confused as to why I gave him a video game for a console he does not have. I told him to go have faith. We then begin to sing his fav new phrase “Holy Spirit Activate”.
How amazing it would be it we would grab onto the promises of God this way? He has already dropped the hint. Now go have faith!!!!
Merry Christmas, Love Always Michelle
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