They are weak, but He is strong.
Lyrics to the song that resonated in Whitney’s soul
The common denominator between Whitney and myself—and CeCe and the rest of my family—was a love for God and for gospel music. She was most happy in that setting. In fact, when CeCe first heard Whitney sing, she didn’t know who she was, but like me, she knew she had to be a gospel singer because Whitney was belting out some commercial jingle “like she’d been saved!” is how CeCe put it to People magazine back in July 1989. Interestingly enough, the first time Whitney heard CeCe sing, which was on our self-titled album in 1987, she became an instant fan. “We come from the same place,” Whitney told People. And she wasn’t talking New Jersey. She was talking about the church.
With that kind of connection, is it any wonder that we became family? Our bond made us want to work together too. So before CeCe and I headed into the studio to record tracks for our Heaven album, which released in 1988, Whitney and CeCe and I had agreed that we’d record a song together specifically for this project. We were so excited about this, you’d have thought we were eight-year-olds headed to Disneyland.
One thing you should know about me: I love sharing the microphone, the stage, and the studio with great talent. Now put yourself in my shoes. Imagine yourself as a singer, and the person that many consider the finest singer in the world at the time—and certainly the top-selling female artist at that time—can’t wait to join you on your record.
I can’t even write the correct words to express the elation I felt.
When our record company—Capitol Records—caught wind that Whitney was going to record with us, they could hardly contain themselves. Understandably, though, Whitney’s label—Arista Records—didn’t like the idea of sharing their global phenomenon with anyone. So, like many conversations with Whitney, she told me to expect a call from her lawyer about the “cans and cannots” of the recording.
Soon after she and I hung up, I received a call from her rep. He was kind but brief. Our conversation went something like this:
“Hello, Mr. Winans. I know you were expecting my call, and I hate to tell you this, but even though Whitney said she could record with you and your sister, I’m going to have to be the bearer of bad news.”
“After reviewing her contract with Arista, we’ve determined that she cannot participate in the recording at this time. I hope you understand.”
“Of course. I understand.”
I was disappointed but not at all surprised. That’s the reality of the industry.
About ten minutes later, Whitney called back, all excited—just checking to make sure that her rep had phoned and that everything was okay. The excitement in her voice tipped me off to the fact that she had no idea the recording was off the table. I decided to be cordial and proceeded to tell her that CeCe and I understood her label’s position; perhaps in the future we could try again.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
I started explaining my conversation with her rep, but she cut me off. “Boy, hang up this phone. They’re going to call you right back.”
I don’t know what she said to them, but the guy sure called back singing a different tune. And the brief lyrics to this tune sounded something like this:
“Hello, Mr. Winans. I’m just calling back to tell you all is well, and that Whitney will be able to do that recording with you and your sister after all—whenever you’re ready. Okay?”
“Oh, okay.”
“Yes, sir. Have a good day.” Click.
After we hung up, I counted down: five, four, three, two, one. Ring, ring.
Whitney was back on the line.
“What did you say to them?”
All I remember of her response was laughter.
It was on. And when we all got into the studio (we actually recorded two songs together for that album, “Celebrate New Life” and “Hold Up the Light”), we were like kids on a playground—we didn’t want to leave. 
GO TO TheWhitneyIKnewVideos.com TO VIEW THIS AND OTHER BONUS MATERIAL.
Some of the pictures from that studio session hang in my home office. Though it’s a faraway memory now twenty-five years old, it feels like it was yesterday. I remember the white shirt and jeans Whitney wore and her hairstyle; I even remember the perfume she was wearing. It was a blessed time.
But what I remember most of all were the moments she’d open her mouth and let those notes fly. She sang on a song that my friend Percy Bady and I wrote. It was as if heaven had stepped into the room. And as we sang to our hearts’ content, I could feel that family bond rise and grow stronger. The bond was more than blood, it was spirit. Sure, we were “family,” but we were more than that. We were brothers and sisters in Jesus. Heaven came down that day and painted our time with joy and wonder, grace and blessing.
There was no jealousy or ego or spite between us. There was only song and mutual admiration and an uncommon joy. We loved each other and we loved the God we proclaimed. That studio was like our own little sanctuary, and we were free to praise and worship as we saw fit. We sang and sang and sang . . . We were not just any little children singing our favorite songs; we were God’s children reveling in his glory, and we bathed ourselves in it.
If you ever listened to Whitney perform live, you’d inevitably hear her insert this tiny prayer of thanksgiving into most any song. It’s almost comical, because at times she’d insert it where it really didn’t belong. Yet she remained undeterred by whether or not something “belonged.”
Jesus was always on her mind.
Yes, she loved Jesus. And this fact was never more evident than when she called to tell me that “Jesus Loves Me”—Anna Bartlett Warner’s little poem that so many children grew up singing in church—was going on The Bodyguard soundtrack as the B-side single. This was a triumphant moment for her and for us, as my brother-in-law Cedric Caldwell and I had arranged, produced, and written an additional verse for the song. It was making the cut! Whitney’s excitement in telling us was unbridled.
During the height of her career, she’d unabashedly sing “Jesus Loves Me” at her concerts. I suppose some people chalked that up to mere patronization—assuming she was simply doing a shout-out to her upbringing. But I assure you, the Jesus in Whitney’s life was the same Jesus in my life. And she loved to sing about him.
When Whitney sang “Jesus Loves Me” in concert—or any gospel song for that matter—it was not a mere shout-out. It was Whitney baring her soul. It was Whitney harking back to the Rock from which she was hewn and resting in the peace she gained from that Rock.
It’s the place she always wanted to be.
When you listen to Whitney’s 2009 interview with Oprah, she references that place of peace. By the time her marriage had fallen apart and things were off the rails with her drug abuse, she knew she had steered off course. But she also understood that there was a divine grace that longed to help her get back on course.
I remember the day Whitney made a public faith proclamation. CeCe and I were in a Nashville church with her. The preacher gave an altar call—the part of the service where he invites folks in the audience to make a commitment to follow Jesus. Without either of us knowing or being aware of what she was doing, Whitney stepped out from her seat, walked to the front of the sanctuary, and gave her life to the Lord that night.
Her boldness knew no bounds, for she was “Whitney” at this time—someone so well-known that, really, a person didn’t even have to say her last name. This wasn’t pre-stardom, I-knew-you-when stuff.
What about her image? What about the tabloids and the rumors? None of that mattered to her at that moment. Though she was raised in the church, she had never professed her faith in Jesus as an adult. Seeing her up front at that Nashville church, praying with the pastor—that was one of the first memories that sprung into my mind when she left us. I can see her now up at that altar, kneeling and praying.
Her faith was real to her. She took it seriously. And lyrics like the ones from my brother Marvin’s song “In Return” were what Whitney would use in the gospel section of her concert set to tell her story. GO TO TheWhitneyIKnewVideos.com TO VIEW THIS AND OTHER BONUS MATERIAL.
All I had to give was a broken heart, all torn apart
All I had to give was an empty hope and promises
But in return, he gave me joy that could never be told
And in return he gave me love that is more precious than any gold
So whatever you have to give, you don’t have to be ashamed
Just come as you are, and present it in Jesus’ name
For in return of a torn life, he’ll give you life abundantly
And in return of a raging storm, the Lord will calm the seas . . .
And if you were like me, you didn’t have a lot of gold
Position or money. You didn’t own wealth untold
But Lord, I’m glad you didn’t look on the things that I had
But you looked on the things that you were able to give me
The beauty of lyrics like these is that they don’t just tell Whitney’s story—they describe my story and yours, if we let them.
Whitney sang “In Return” as far back as 1991, never suspecting that only two years later, in 1993, her world would explode yet again with the release of The Bodyguard soundtrack and movie. The soundtrack—one of the ten best-selling albums of all time at her passing—included the single “I Will Always Love You,” which to this day is the top-selling US single of all time. It catapulted someone who was already an international superstar into another stratosphere altogether. Her life became the property of the world and her voice America’s treasure. When she sang, “And in the midst of a raging storm, the Lord will calm the seas,” there was no way she could’ve known that her life would become a raging storm and she would be lost on those waters for a time.
The “Jesus Loves Me” single, which was on that record-breaking Bodyguard album, released in 1993. Fittingly, we recorded that song in Whitney’s studio, which was located on the lower level of her home, down the hall from her trophy room. Since the studio was in full use, audio techs and other hired personnel were in and out of the house—though they only had access to that one area. In order to have free roam of the house, you had to have a special pass. Since I held one of those passes, I was the one who always went upstairs to get Whitney whenever we needed her.
We’d lay down some tracks, and she might call me on the phone from upstairs: “Hey, how’s it going? Everything alright? You need anything?”
“Everything’s fine, but we’ll be needing you soon to lay down some vocals.”
Just to get me going a bit, Whitney would be coy. “I ain’t coming down there now . . . I’ve got so much to do up here.”
“Girl, you better come on down when I call you down, or I’ll come up there and get you,” I’d say.
Eventually she would relent and get down to business.
Whitney was fast in the studio, but during our sessions for “Jesus Loves Me,” I pushed her a little more than she was used to. It’s different when a vocalist produces a vocalist. A vocalist can push a bit more than a music producer who doesn’t sing, knowing that there might be something just beyond the singer’s “comfort zone.”
Whitney enjoyed the rigor of the studio and the fact that I made her work a little harder. And, because we were in her studio, she couldn’t give me any excuses. We worked, and she loved it.
One of my favorite things about Whitney was that she had no real pretenses in the studio. She didn’t need candles lit or something to set the mood. Her voice brought the mood, and her love for singing was her inspiration.
If she had any studio quirks at all, it was that she used any excuse to talk. If she wasn’t giving me a hard time, she was chit-chatting and cutting up. I’d get her focused again, then she’d start talking—about the song, about an upcoming concert, about going out and getting something to eat. All she needed was a window of opportunity, and she’d rev up again.
In the end, though, the decision to work at her house for that song was so good because Whitney was able to be in her element, comfortable in her own home, and do what she loved with people she loved. I can’t help but think her love for Jesus—and especially his love for her—inspired her during that recording too.
When Whitney sang “Jesus Loves Me” during her live performances, she wasn’t just performing, she was preaching. In 1994, she sang it in Brazil and gave the gospel message to the audience—telling them, “I love the Lord Jesus. I’m not ashamed to tell the world about him.” In that performance, she shifts back and forth between preaching and singing; it’s a beautiful, passionate display of faith in song and message. GO TO TheWhitneyIKnewVideos.com TO VIEW THIS AND OTHER BONUS MATERIAL. The people who doubted her faith or thought it a charade simply didn’t know Whitney.
When I play the song now and hear her sing the line, “See, sometimes I’m lonely, but I’m never alone,” my heart hurts. There were times in her life when she certainly felt lonely and, I would venture to say, times when she felt alone. I think gospel music always brought her back. I think that singing and feeling that joy again was her way of finding her way back to Jesus.
This life trembles beneath the waves of hurt and loneliness, and no one is exempt. The people who we think are the most successful and have it all together are often the ones who are unraveling underneath. Whitney had music, her family, and her faith to guide her during the hardest of times. But so many people feel they have nowhere to turn.
If Whitney were here now, I think she’d say that’s one of the reasons she sang: to bring hope to people. Her voice could bring light to the darkest of days. Thousands of people said so in their tweets and blogs and YouTube comments after her death. Yet sometimes those who have the ability to bear the most light are the ones who fall into the deepest dark. And who is there for them? Who picks them up out of the pit?
The Scriptures say that when we are at our lowest, Jesus reaches down and pulls his children out of the pit. Whitney always seemed to find her way back into the light; she always seemed to find the strength to bear the light so others might have hope. My prayer today is that we return the favor—that we bring the light back to our princess and remember her in the way Jesus remembers each of his children: redeemed, made new, reborn, restored. Because that’s what she is now, now that she’s Home.
My friend Maya Angelou wrote a poem for President Clinton’s inauguration entitled “On the Pulse of Morning.”
Lift up your eyes upon
This day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
The poem calls us to lift our eyes to change—to a new day in which to dream and to be the person we always knew we could be. Maya’s words also challenge us not to give in to fear but to overcome fear with grace. You and I need grace daily. Just as we have a deep need for it, so also do our friends and family members and neighbors. I love the idea of stepping forth with a new dream and allowing that dream to shape our lives.
Whitney took hold of her dream. Her success inspires and infuriates us. We love that she had it, but we’re not sure if the exchange was worth it in the end. Sometimes you give up so much to attain what you can only dream about.
Whitney needed grace during her lifetime, and she still needs grace from us in death. We need to be okay with the highs and the lows of this life. We need to not let fear take our grace away, for it is by grace that we achieve our dreams. Grace gives us the freedom to pursue our dreams and the confidence to fail. In the Bible, the apostle Paul attributed our very salvation to grace—and grace is a gift. An unearned yet costly gift.
Whitney preached grace, and she seized as much of it as she could from a God who grants it freely. She’d want us to do the same.
A few weekends ago I was blessed to be invited to sing at St. James United Methodist Church in Alpharetta, Georgia, where Whitney would attend when she was at her Atlanta residence. It was through Whitney’s funeral that I became connected with the church—a church endeavoring to do great things in the community and for the Lord.
Before I sang, the choir offered up a rousing number led by an exuberant young man. The people of this church were clearly gifted in their ability to sing and play instruments. Afterward, the lead pastor addressed these talents and praised God for the gift of worship. I was struck by the pastor’s humility and sense of responsibility regarding worship.
It seemed natural to me that Whitney would attend such a church. I’m sure it felt like home to her: people standing all over the auditorium playing tambourines, raising their hands in prayerful worship. This church fit Whitney.
The pastor said something else that struck me. During the singing he approached the pulpit and brought the congregation back to the heart of the matter: “We need to be careful,” he said, “especially in this day and age, not to confuse entertainment with worship.”
The line today certainly gets blurred in churches all across America. But I reflected on the way Whitney fused entertainment and gospel—worship—so effortlessly. She was able to entertain with the best of them and then transition into a truly heartfelt gospel number. Whitney understood what it meant to have fun, there’s no doubt about that. But she inherently knew how to guide that passion for the entertaining moment into a moment of reflection and wonder.
Now I’m sure that plenty of the folks attending her concerts were not too interested in joining in a worship service, but Whitney didn’t care. She sang the songs that made her feel good. She was blessed with worship, blessed to sing the songs that made her heart sing. That’s what made her special.
I’ve often said that a good song speaks to the heart. One friend of mine reminded me of the words of poet Robert Frost: “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.” Yes. Perfect. That’s what Whitney knew. The songs that moved her would move her listeners, and the songs that moved her were the songs with deep meaning—gospel songs, songs of faith and hope that pointed her home.
One line in “Jesus Loves Me” says:
Little ones to Him belong
They are weak, but He is strong
I don’t know how many times I’ve sung these lyrics. The context is almost always little kids singing to parents, and parents “oohing” and “ahhing.” But I sensed when the lyric says, “Little ones to Him belong,” it’s not only talking about children. I think it’s talking about us adults.
When Whitney sang “Jesus Loves Me,” I saw and heard a child.
I think the song was her invitation to each of us to become a child again. We are the little ones. We should allow ourselves to open up once more to what God wants for our lives.
I believe that during Whitney’s time away from doing music, during her marital turmoil, she realized she had wandered from God. The lyric I added to the version of “Jesus Loves Me” that she sang for The Bodyguard single became her prayer years later, I think. I’m convinced with all my heart that this should be my prayer and yours as well:
Pressing on the upper way
Always guide me, Lord, I pray
Undeserving and stubborn will
Never fail to love me still
Amid all the headlines of Whitney’s tragic death, we learned one telling detail: that not only was “Jesus Loves Me” the final song she performed publicly but one of the last songs—if not the very last song—she sang before she died. Despite her struggles and frailty, she still believed the God of her salvation loved her. I dare to believe a little further: That there in her hotel room, before she passed from this life to the next, she voiced it once more—“We are weak, but He is strong”—without any cameras around. A moment of private worship between one of God’s children and her heavenly Father.