Tag: mental health

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Go Up!!!

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


“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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The $1000 Tomato

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

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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The Fragrance of Basil

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

My hands smelled like basil this morning.

I don’t particularly enjoy eating basil by itself. In fact, I’ll probably never snack on a handful of basil leaves. But every time I walk through my little garden, I find myself rubbing a leaf between my fingers.

Hours later, the fragrance is still there.

It made me think about a dream I had years ago. In the dream, I was ushering at a funeral. I spent the service helping everyone else find their seats, passing tissues, comforting grieving families, and doing what ushers do. By the time I finally approached the casket to pay my own respects, something impossible happened.

The deceased sat up.

Looking directly at me, they smiled and said,
“It was your perfume that made me rise.”
I woke up before they explained what they meant, but I never forgot the dream.

Years later, I found myself saying something to another minister that surprised even me.
“I can smell your anointing.”

Now…before rumors started another church meeting, let me explain. 😄 I wasn’t saying the man needed a shower. In fact, the congregation looked at me like I had just announced, “Pastor, you stink.” It took a minute to convince everyone I wasn’t talking about body odor at all.

I wasn’t talking about cologne. I wasn’t talking about lotion.I was trying to describe something words struggle to explain.

There are people whose lives have spent so much time in the presence of God that you sense His peace before they ever open their mouths. Their words aren’t louder. Their personalities aren’t bigger. Yet somehow, they leave behind hope, peace, and life wherever they go.

The Apostle Paul wrote that we are “the aroma of Christ.”

Not because we wear the right fragrance. But because we’ve been close enough to Him that His presence lingers on us.

This morning, while rubbing a basil leaf between my fingers, I realized that basil never has to announce itself or introduce itself. It simply becomes what God created it to be, and everyone who brushes against it leaves carrying its fragrance.

We spend so much time announcing ourselves.
“I’m a minister.”
“I’m an elder.”
“I’m a worship leader.”
“I’m a Christian.”
“Blah, blah, blah” And so on.

There’s nothing wrong with those titles. They describe our calling and our service. But titles were never meant to substitute for transformation.

Basil never says a word. It doesn’t have to convince you it’s basil. It doesn’t wear a name tag. It doesn’t introduce itself before releasing its fragrance.

It simply becomes what God created it to be, and everyone who brushes against it knows they have encountered something different.

Maybe our greatest witness isn’t what we announce about ourselves… Maybe it’s the fragrance people carry away after they’ve encountered us.

Maybe our words comfort. Maybe our patience calms. Maybe our generosity feeds. Maybe our forgiveness heals. Maybe our presence reminds someone that God has not forgotten them.

Long after we’ve left the room…

…the fragrance remains.

This morning, I walked back into my house with basil on my hands. My prayer is that I walk into every room carrying Christ in my spirit.

So today I’m asking myself a different question.

Not…

“What perfume am I wearing?”

But…

“What fragrance am I leaving behind?”

Because if a simple basil plant can leave its scent on my hands with just the slightest touch…

How much more should a life touched by Christ leave behind His love, His peace, and His hope?

May those who brush against our lives leave carrying the fragrance of Christ.

Love, Chelle

“For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.”
— 2 Corinthians 2:15

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The Doctor Who Chose to Heal the Forgotten – Rebecca Lee Crumpler

Posted in God, health, inspiration, love, relationships, selfhelp, women's history monthTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment


(February 8, 1831 – March 9, 1895)

Sometimes healing begins where others refuse to go.

Rebecca Lee Crumpler grew up in a time when medicine was almost entirely closed to women, and especially to African Americans. Yet she believed deeply in the power of caring for the sick and protecting the vulnerable.

In 1864 she became the first Black woman in the United States to earn a medical degree.

After the Civil War ended, Crumpler moved to Virginia, where she treated newly freed men, women, and children who had little access to medical care. The conditions were difficult, resources were scarce, and prejudice remained strong.

But she continued her work.

Crumpler believed that knowledge should serve compassion. She later wrote A Book of Medical Discourses, one of the first medical texts written by an African American physician.

There is a verse in Jeremiah that says, “Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed.”

Rebecca Lee Crumpler answered that prayer not only with faith but with skill, dedication, and love for those who had long been ignored.

Sometimes the most powerful medicine
is the courage to care.

Bread Crumbs

Service does not always appear glamorous.

Rebecca Lee Crumpler chose to practice medicine where the need was greatest and recognition was smallest.

She reminds us that compassion often requires perseverance.

Sometimes the calling God places on your life
is simply to heal what others have overlooked.

Steps From Our Sisters
Honoring the Women Who Marched Before Us

Curated by
Michelle Gillison-Robinson
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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My Survivor Song Knows My Name.

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

I was listening to one of my favorite songs—“He Knows My Name”—and my emotions spilled out before I could stop them.
It happens like that sometimes.
After a rough moment.
After allowing myself—again—to be hurt by someone who never really took the time to know me.
Not my heart.
Not my story.
Not the way I learned to survive.


I didn’t even realize how much I was carrying until that song started playing.
And suddenly, there it was—grief, relief, truth—all at once.


Because here’s the greatest thing about God:
He knows my name.
And not just my name—He knows my nickname too.
The one spoken by people who love me.
The one I only answer to when I feel safe.


He knows me with the mask—the strong one, the capable one, the superhero version that keeps showing up.


And He knows me without it—the tired, tender, still-hoping version I don’t always let the world see.


The real me.
Not the performance.
Not the usefulness.
Not the resilience résumé.


This song reminds me that I don’t confuse God.
I don’t disappoint Him by being human.
I don’t have to explain myself into being worthy of love.
It’s my Survivor Song because it tells the truth I forget when I’m hurting:
I am already known.
Already named.
Already held.
And when I rest in His arms, I don’t need armor.
I don’t need a script.
I don’t need to be brave for one more minute.
I am safe.


With and without the mask.
With and without the cape.
Somewhere along the way, I learned to confuse being needed with being known.
But God never made that mistake.


So today, if you’re feeling unseen—
if you’re nursing the quiet ache of being misunderstood—
let the reminder rise up like a song in your chest.
You are known by name.
You are held without pretending.
You are safe in His arms.
And sometimes… surviving looks like letting yourself be known—first by God, and then by yourself.
“I have called you by name; you are Mine.” — Isaiah 43:1


Love, Chelle





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Reframing The Heart

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

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned a quiet lie —
not from God, but from human interpretation.

We learned it from what was modeled, praised, or rewarded.
From homes, churches, systems, and relationships that mistook endurance for faithfulness and exhaustion for virtue.


Most people were doing the best they could with what they knew — but they were still human.
And without realizing it, we carried those lessons into our understanding of God.

I know this because I have done it myself.

I confused being loved with doing to be loved.
I mixed up belief with performance.
And I carried that misunderstanding into my faith and called it obedience.

But that is not God’s heart.

God does not delight in depletion.
He delights in wholeness.

Jesus did not invite people to follow Him so they could replace Him.
He did not ask them to become saviors, fixers, or endless wells.
He asked them to come — as they were — and to unlearn what fear had taught them about love.

Scripture never praises burnout.
It praises obedience rooted in love, not fear.
It honors service that flows from being seen — not from trying to be noticed.

When Jesus said, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,”
He was not offering a reward for those who gave the most.
He was correcting what people had been taught about God.

If your kindness comes from feeling unseen,
if your faith feels like constant output,
if your love has slowly turned into self-erasure —
that may be something you learned, but it is not something God requires.

God does not need you emptied to be faithful.
He desires you rooted, restored, and whole.

Being needed is not the same as being loved.
And God’s love has never required you to disappear.

God, help me separate Your voice from the voices that shaped me.
Heal what I learned in survival mode.
Teach me Your heart — not a human version of it.

Love, Chelle
DefyGravityWithoutWings.com

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Unmarked Seeds And  Clearance Rack Faith

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

I was standing there with a handful of seeds and no idea what any of them were.
No labels. No instructions. No promises.
Just seeds.


Some were round. Some looked like dust. Some looked like… dirt pretending to be something important.

And full confession — I made the executive decision to buy them from a discount house online, which should have been my first clue that clarity was not included in the price.


Because planting unmarked seeds feels risky.
You don’t know what you’re committing to.
You don’t know how long it will take.
You don’t know what kind of care it will need — or if you just planted hope, oregano, and disappointment all in the same row.


And that is where I had to repent of my disgust with not being able to see the seeds’ vision.


God has planted a lot of unmarked seeds in me.
No timeline.
No instruction card.
No neat little packet that says “This will bloom in 90 days if watered weekly and protected from disappointment, other people’s opinions, and your own impatience.”


Just obedience.
Just trust.
Just dirt and hope.
Some seeds He plants look insignificant — almost invisible.
Some feel mislabeled by other people.
Some feel like they were handed to us without explanation at all.


And yet… seeds don’t need labels to know what they are.
They just need soil.
Light.
Time.


And a gardener who doesn’t dig them up every five minutes to check progress — which, for the record, I have learned is frowned upon in both gardening and faith.


I think that’s where I get tripped up.
I keep wanting proof before growth.
Confirmation before commitment.
Fruit before faith.


But the seed already knows what it carries — even when I don’t.


“So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.”
— 1 Corinthians 3:7


Maybe the confusion isn’t failure.
Maybe it’s faith in its earliest form.
Maybe God is saying:
Plant it anyway.
Water it anyway.
Stop interrogating the soil.
Because unmarked doesn’t mean unintentional.
And unseen doesn’t mean unimportant.
And dormant is not the same thing as dead.

Love, Chelle

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Good Morning From Groot

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

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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Don’t Miss The Baby Turnip

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


I couldn’t sleep, again, so I tuned into one of my favorite comfort-watch movies, Last Holiday (2006), starring Queen Latifah.

I’ve watched it more times than I’ll ever confess, but there is one scene I always slow down for.
It’s the kitchen scene. My favorite one.


When Chef Didier looks at Georgia and gently compares her to the baby turnip — the smallest one in the bin, often overlooked, passed by for something bigger or flashier… yet the most tender, the most flavorful, the one a true chef treasures.


That scene gets me every time.
Because the baby turnip isn’t flawed.
It isn’t unfinished.
It isn’t lacking.
It’s just quiet.
And early.
And easy to miss if you’re in a hurry.


And if I’m being honest — part of why that scene hits so hard is because I’ve felt like that turnip.
Overlooked. Passed by. Sitting there thinking, “Excuse me… I am organic, well-seasoned, and emotionally available.”
But folks keep grabbing the big, loud potatoes.

Meanwhile, God is in the kitchen like a five-star chef saying,
“Leave her. She’s tender. She’s not for everybody. And I don’t rush good ingredients.”


Whew.


That’s the holy pause in the story. Not the luxury. Not the bold declarations. But the moment when someone truly sees her.


And isn’t that what so many of us long for?
We grow underground — faithful, steady, consistent — while the world keeps reaching for whatever looks impressive on the surface. We’re not trying to be flashy. We’re just trying to be faithful.


Still, being overlooked can sting.
Especially when you know you’ve been planted, watered, and patient.


But the baby turnip reminds me of this truth: being passed over by people does not mean being passed by God.
God delights in roots.
He honors slow growth.
He protects what is tender until the right time and the right hands arrive.


Sometimes you’re not hidden because you’re insignificant.
You’re hidden because you’re delicate.
Because you’re reserved.
Because you’re meant for a table that understands flavor.


So yes — I may be under a blanket right now pretending I’m Queen Latifah — but I’m also believing, learning, and internalizing this:
I don’t need to audition for worth.
I don’t need to shout to be seen.
I don’t need to rush my growth just because someone else is loud.
If I’m being missed right now, maybe it’s because I’m being saved.
And when it’s my turn?
They’ll wish they hadn’t rushed past the produce section.


Lord, when I feel unseen, remind me that You see fully. Teach me to trust Your timing, even when I feel overlooked. Help me grow deep roots instead of loud leaves,and rest in the truth that being missed by people does not mean being missed by You.


Amen.
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 !!!