Free The Whitney I Knew by BeBe Winans, Timothy Willard Page A

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.
    â€œWhat 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:
    â€œHello, 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?”
    â€œOh, okay.”
    â€œYes, 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.
    â€œ
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.

    â€œThank you, Lord.”
    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