The Whitney I Knew (13 page)

When Whitney “reemerged” into the spotlight with
Sparkle
, her final film (being released in August 2012), so many were delighted that she was back. She looked healthy. She seemed wiser. She was ready to give it all another go. People were excited because she was using her gift again.

When she began filming the remake of
Sparkle
in Detroit, the first thing on her mind was attending church with Pastor Marvin Winans—my brother—which she did. Whitney showed up at church that first Sunday she was in town, and just before Marvin went into
his message, he saw her sitting in the congregation, waving at him. What could he do?

“I just want to come give you a hug,” she shouted from the audience.

Marvin, knowing this was Whitney being Whitney, told her to come on up and get it over with. So she ran up and hugged him. Marvin didn't know that would be the last time he saw Whitney alive.

But there she was, back among us—her fans. When those who possess such special gifting leave us for a time, we miss them. We always want that initial burst of glory we saw when they first arrived on the scene. When Whitney returned to the public light, the “every woman” had returned, hopefully still bearing her gift.

She brought her gift with her for sure. But she also brought with her a more mature understanding of her gift—something that is easier said than done. She showed up on time or early for the six weeks of filming for
Sparkle
, executive producer Avram Kaplan reported. No personal stylist doing her hair and makeup, just down-to-earth, who-she-was Whitney. Yet when she took the stage to sing “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” for the film, stand-in Stefanie Mitchell told
People
that everyone got “really emotional. The extras couldn't stay in character. Even the director and producers couldn't keep it together.” The reason? Whitney was singing what was in her soul that day.

Whitney's extraordinary gift brought her into the lives of so many people—tens of millions of fans, as well as dignitaries of every ilk and industry. Once, the Sultan of Brunei paid Whitney more than six figures to perform a concert for his daughter. Another time, she headlined at Nelson Mandela's birthday party—a “little” gathering in London's Wembley Stadium. And, in 1994, after a fundraising concert for South African children's charities, a grateful Mandela claimed he was there “merely to polish her shoes.”

It takes a very grounded person to protect their gift in those kinds of circumstances. Really, you have to even protect it from yourself. When people start throwing huge money at you to perform private concerts, or international leaders claim they are unworthy of you, you have a whole new set of blessings
and
problems to deal with.

Temptations arise. Corrupting temptations that may not feel like they're all that terrible. But in our humanness and hunger, we may—like Cain in the biblical account of Genesis—wish to sell our birthright for our own selfish gain.

This is the stewardship question that many brought up with Whitney: did she abuse or misuse or abandon her God-given gift? Even though I don't believe she sold out her voice for selfish gain, she always wrestled—especially in the early days of her career—with understanding the enormity of what she'd been given.

For Whitney, her task wasn't just performing at concerts. It was staying healthy both physically and spiritually. As many were quick to point out, staying focused in a “Whitney world” could be very tough. By staying focused, however, you are better equipped to see the adversary—and the adversary may be yourself. It may also present opportunities you should not take.

Whitney would learn these lessons firsthand.

The biblical book of Proverbs says that one's gift is a tremendous responsibility and blessing: “A man's gift makes room for him, and brings him before great men” (18:16). Whitney's gift paved the way for her success and for worldwide recognition. She was hailed, not just by the entertainment elite, but by men and women with power: presidents, business leaders, culture-shapers.

The reality is that every decision we make in life builds on a previous one. Though our gifts blaze a path before us—opening doors and clearing new terrain—we must always remain cautious of where those pathways and doors lead. It's the little foxes that destroy the vineyard. Demise doesn't just happen; it occurs over time.

So it goes with addiction. It starts with something very small—for Whitney, perhaps as small as a decision to sing for a public audience rather than to sing just for church, or to pursue her passion for music rather than the passion she had for basketball.

That decision about what career path to take—often rather innocuous in the past—now can assume larger meaning, because we live in a different era. These days, when you ask a young person what they want to be, it seems they're almost as likely to say that they want to be a star as to say they want to be a doctor or a teacher. But most young people don't know the cost of the celebrity life. Why? Because it's presented like candy; it starts with a taste. And if you believe the candy is sweet—the golden ticket for entrance into Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory—without understanding the price to be paid, your defenses will break down. This is why it is so important to know who you are
before
someone entices you with outside pressures.

Whitney knew who she was early on in her career. But her rise to stardom was so fast that it thrust her into an EF-5 whirlwind that took her years to make sense of. She learned from her mom and from Dionne, among others, about her gift—how to use it and how to make it better—but truly catching up with the ins and outs of what was expected of her, and learning when and how to say no to the demands that were placed on her, was a lifelong process.

When her career took off, it was difficult for her to keep up with it all. So many people entered the rhythms of her life—from security details to band members to financial managers to publicists and attorneys. She barely knew who some of those people were. And when you don't have relationships with the people who are running your business, it's hard to know who is working on your behalf and who might be stealing from you.

Years down the road, Whitney would learn who was trustworthy and who wasn't. When people proved disloyal—especially for someone like her, who was so fiercely loyal—that knowledge hurt. It's hard to recover from that kind of hurt. Yet it's those kinds of stings—those business stings—that take the joy out of using your gift.

This part was particularly hard for Whitney. She loved people and
wanted
to trust them.

To be fair, I don't think people understand the amount of pressure a gift like Whitney's brings with it. Picture it as being lost at sea. It's more than an ocean; it's vast and overwhelming. Even lifelong friends aren't exempt from taking advantage of and benefiting from the gift. NFL quarterback Michael Vick has talked about how he had to cut things off with some of his lifelong friends and even family members after he was jailed for dog fighting. His experience evidenced the biblical axiom that bad company
not only corrupts good character, but it can also bankrupt you financially and spiritually.

Think about it. You go to work. You're a friendly person, you're kind, you're generous, and you love to smile—like Whitney. But someone can rob you because of your kindness. Some people can and will take advantage of you if you don't protect yourself from the little foxes.

Understanding and protecting the gift: it's vital! A precious personal gifting should be treated like a jewel. When a diamond is on display at a museum, authorities go to great lengths to guard it. Many times, thieves come from within—an inside job. You can almost count on insiders selling you out to people on the outside. This was never more evident than in the events that followed Whitney's death. Even then people tried to gain financially at her expense. A picture of her in her casket? Really? That's not a loving act, that's thievery.

Some would argue that Vanessa Williams didn't understand the importance of protecting her gift when she was younger. When her beauty earned her the Miss America title, we learned that she had already allowed others to exploit and soil her gift for their own gain. She wasn't proud of her decision, and that decision haunted her, her family, and those who admire her, for years.

That's why I love God's grace and second chances. To see Vanessa Williams now, as celebrated entertainer and actress, is nothing short of heartwarming. Now she understands exactly how to protect her gift.

Whitney's life stands as a reminder that the beautifully gifted among us can and often will be soiled by our culture. We blame Whitney for not protecting her gift. But what about us? Do we see
the beautiful, the talented, the special, and run to exploit them? Or do we see their lives among us as a little bit of heaven, a little piece of God's glory embodied in human form?

The same people who were so excited that Whitney had returned to the limelight were probably the same people who said that she abused her gift or sold out the black community for fame and money. From my perspective, the only sell-outs are the people who turned their backs on her simply because of the way she died. Whitney's gift was the reason for her fame. And while she struggled with temptation, I believe the only thing she sold out were venues.

I won't argue with those who perceive her substance abuse as a demeaning of her gift. What people fail to understand is that Whitney lost her voice a couple of times, not because of substance abuse, but because she was exhausted and struggled to quit smoking cigarettes. That may come as a shock to some, and I'm not saying that Whitney was a chain smoker, but she did smoke cigarettes. Hard-core drugs, however, make a better headline.

Substance abuse—though a very real issue with Whitney—was not the sole cause of her waning voice, and in my opinion, it wasn't even the primary cause. From the time Whitney started smoking socially (when we were younger), up until she died, I always challenged her to stop. “It will ruin your voice,” I'd tell her. Whitney's own godmother, Aretha Franklin, confessed that her high notes were leaving
her
because of cigarettes. And yet I could never convince Whitney to give up smoking, even though losing her voice made her feel incomplete.

None of us are our abilities alone. I fully believe that every aspect of our being as crafted by God constitutes who we are as people. Yet
for Whitney, her voice was her identity. It was only a small percentage of the total woman she was, but her voice was tied so intricately to her soul—and it so tapped into her joy and faith and love—that when she sang, she felt 100 percent complete. And knowing how much she loved to sing, I can't shake the idea that she spoke to us when she sang.

As I listen to her songs on iTunes and click through personal and YouTube videos, I'm
re
-astonished, if that's possible. Maya Angelou was right: I walk right into Whitney when's she singing.

It happened for a watching world when she sang the National Anthem on that Super Bowl Sunday so many years ago. But it also happens for me when I watch her sing with CeCe. I see her hold my sister's hand and look at her like any loving sister would look at her younger sibling—with such deep care and adoration. Whitney's countenance allows me, the viewer, to enter more deeply into the song. Why? Because I'm invited into its story by the singer.

I can sing a song on stage and the performance can be just humdrum. Or I can talk to you through my song, convincing you of something you never knew before or inspiring you toward something you never thought possible. That's the magic of music. That's what Whitney did so well. She beckoned to us: “Come in here and walk around with me.”

Whether a wispy love ballad or a jubilant gospel song, Whitney
became
each song that emanated from her vocal cords. You and I have our particular “languages.” We bare our souls through our work or our art, our leadership or our philanthropy. I think most of
us, however, can hear that special language of music. It's a universal language clothed in different styles. Songs help us communicate our deepest hurts and apprehensions and anxieties and desires.