Below is a letter I recently wrote to my Pastor. Should I share it or leave its sentiments between me and the recipient? I realize this letter captures something valuable–the strengthening of my faith. For that reason, I am choosing to share it.
I have been hearing, seeing, and learning about faith since I was a little girl. Those renowned faith script scriptures in Hebrews 11 are imprinted onto my heart, and I know all the words to just about any hit gospel song about faith. John P. Kee’s entire “We Walk by Faith” album from 1992 still slaps hard.
My love for and my faith in God is my foundation. My experience with faith has been fruitful. And even when life doesn’t work out how I thought it would or how I wanted it to, faith has granted me assurance. As my Pastor says, “Even when I don’t understand it all, I know He’s right. And He’s always for me!”
And in my John P. Kee voice, I don’t live by what I see. But every day I’m striving in the faith that delivered me. For without faith, it’s impossible…
Dear Pastor Winans,
It feels so good to be at a church that you know you are supposed to be at. I feel so much gratitude that my church home is a place of comfort, empowerment, and revelation. Perfecting gives what needs to be given. I apologize that this letter is so long. I just really wanted to express the goodness of God’s orchestration thoroughly.
I have been a nurse for almost two decades, a nurse practitioner for twelve years of that time, and for my entire career, I’ve cared for cancer patients. Over the years, I’ve been so fortunate to work with some of the country’s best doctors, which has, in turn, made me very good at what I do. I pride myself on being knowledgeable and giving care to patients as I would want to be given to my family members. I have seen the natural course of various cancers hundreds of times. I have seen the complications even more. I can’t even count how many scans and labs I’ve ordered or how many conversations I’ve had with people and their families about what it all means. And even with all my experience, it was not easy for me when it hit home, and my dad was diagnosed with recurrent cancer in 2018.
I have had patients sit across from me with aggressive cancers and profess their belief that God will heal them, so they decline all treatment. In transparency, I have often struggled to reconcile this as a healthcare professional who is a believer. God is a healer. I believe that with my entire being. At the same time, what is the point of my existence, or any scientist, doctor, or nurse that prays for God to direct our paths in this position to help people, if the people we can help do not believe that God can use people for them? I understand medicine has limits and faults (especially with the Black community). But sometimes, I feel like we ostracize what a miracle looks like. I believe that God is omnipotent and can do anything, anytime, without the help of anyone. I also believe that God can put you in the path of the right person at the right time and place to accomplish a thing: the latter, no less a miracle.
My dad’s course from the beginning was not typical, sometimes did not make sense, discordant—it is often termed in the medical community.
Just a little backstory on my dad–he is 83 years old. He was born in Selma, Alabama. His dad pulled him out of grade school to pick cotton to help support their family. He never went to or graduated from high school, or middle school, for that matter. Yet, he is one of the wisest men I know. He placed high value on us (me, my younger brother and older sister) getting an education, telling us he wanted us to do better and go further in life than he did.
I saw the presence and power of faith in God by watching my dad. He was a deacon in my childhood church—a small church of less than a hundred people. He was also the devotion leader—he would tap a little silver bell to start service and sing songs like, “My Lord getting us ready for that great day….” Whenever you or the praise team sings one of those old songs my dad used to sing growing up, it brings me soul-satisfying joy. (Also, sometimes, in the heights of your preaching, you do a particular squall that is so nostalgic of my dad.)
He sang in a gospel quartet group for over thirty years (The Emmanuals). He is the reason I love gospel quartet singing. Growing up, I watched my dad faithfully tithe (and he still does). He was a faithful churchgoer—Wednesday night bible study, group rehearsals, Sunday morning and afternoon service (and he was never ever late for any of it). I remember him kneeling every night on the side of his bed in prayer. I watched how his devotion to God took care of him.
I asked my dad if I could share his testimony, and he obliged—because my testimony is wrapped up in his testimony. I still wrote this with as much discreteness out of respect for his personal health history as I could. He approved this letter.
I have worked at the University of Michigan—Michigan Medicine for about seven years. I remember sitting in the chapel of the previous hospital I worked at, praying for the job I have now. In my interview, I remember telling my potential supervising physician that I no longer wanted to be a jack of all trades—knowing a little about everything. Instead, I wanted to be a master of one—I wanted to specialize in certain cancers.
At the time, I had no idea that the specialty I had chosen would be the one my father would need expertise in. I learned a lot, worked hard, and built good relationships with amazing people who I had no idea I would be leaning on to take care of my dad a few years later. And if I have learned anything, I’ve learned that there is immense value in good rapport and reputation.
My dad came to UofM in 2018 with recurrent cancer. He was treated and had some complications along the way, but we were considerably smooth sailing until 2020, when his cancer came back and metastasized to his lungs. His CT scan at the time read “innumerable lung nodules.” Innumerable—too many to count. Around Septemberish 2022, he started additional treatment for this.
One thing I have loved about being a nurse is seeing the complexity of how our bodies function. There is indeed a brilliant, amazing God who created us. A patient has a problem—we run our ‘differential diagnoses’ and try to solve it. The key often fits the lock for us; sometimes, it doesn’t. Since forever it seems, knowledge about everything our great God created reaches towards more of it. And the pursuit of and attainment of knowledge is a beautiful, magnificent thing. But God is so big—with ways and thoughts high as the heaven is from the earth. What we know is a drop. And what we do not know is a vast ocean.
On February 15th (this year), my mom called me around eight o’clock at night to tell me something wasn’t quite right with my dad. He was very, very weak and had even almost fallen. We agreed that he should come into the emergency room. The hospital had emailed staff that morning, informing us that the ER was at high capacity and that over fifty patients were waiting for beds. Nonetheless, I let them know that my dad was on the way. My little brother went to my parents’ house in Southfield and drove them both to Ann Arbor.
My dad had a stroke back around 2005. He recovered well and had minimal if any, residual effects from the stroke. When he presented to the ER that night, they began working to rule out a potential stroke again. His baseline bloodwork stopped us in our tracks. He had a hemoglobin of 6 and a repeat hemoglobin of 4.8.
When I saw this, my heart sank (normal hemoglobin is ~14-18). My dad had dangerously low, life-threatening anemia. They moved him to critical care, and the doctors and nurses at UofM began to run tests looking for sources of bleeding and reasons for the anemia while typing and cross-matching him for a blood transfusion (which took a little longer than usual because testing showed his blood had a lot of antibodies, so they had to find donor blood that was well-matched and compatible). This was a scary, scary time. Every extra minute I got between seeing my patients, I would visit my dad in critical care.
No matter what, my dad is the “I’m fine” type. He hardly ever lets anything break his calm. I remember saying, ‘Dad, you must will your body to be ok. Keep hanging on until they find you a blood match.”
I hadn’t asked Brian to contact you, Pastor. But I was sitting on the edge of my dad’s bed, and Brian sent me a text, “Pastor Winans said he’s praying for him.” So, I told my dad, ‘Daddy, Pastor Winans is praying for you.” My dad was weak, but he smiled.
My dad was in the hospital for seven days. They ran test after test—running the list of those differential diagnoses. There was no bleeding. Everything eventually pointed to autoimmune hemolytic anemia—a rare anemia when your immune system makes antibodies that attack your own red blood cells. His bone marrow, the spongy tissue in the center of bones responsible for producing blood cells, also seemed to be an issue. There was mention of a bone marrow biopsy which I was praying my dad did not have to go through. He received three units of blood. He started on high-dose steroids to calm his body’s immune response. We waited to see if that would work. The underlying question yet to be answered was what was driving the hemolytic anemia. Was it his cancer? Was it his cancer treatment?
While my dad was in the hospital, I listened to one song and one song only—over and over again- Miracles (Kierra Sheard and Pastor Mike Jr.). Over and over, I sang it—He performs miracles just like He said He would.
You preached multiple sermons theming miracles right before and during my dad’s hospitalization. One dug a ditch for me—An Untraceable blessing: I didn’t see that one coming. The scripture was II Kings 3:16-18— Ye shall not see wind, neither shall ye see rain, yet that valley shall be filled with water. And Habakkuk 1:5—for I will work a work in your days which ye will not believe, though it be told you.
You started this sermon by saying, “To understand that God is a God of miracles is what I want the church to begin to believe God for. A wonder that happens….” You went on to preach, “You are involved in your own miracle. …and the word from the Lord was to dig a ditch. If we’re going to believe God, let’s believe God big. If we are going to dig, we might as well dig big. The fulfillment of your miracle is predicated on the size of your ditch. So, dig deep and dig wide.”
The whopper of that sermon for me was when you said, “…the word God gives you does not go along with the pattern. Sometimes you have to call it like He says it and not like you see it. What is paramount in this lesson is that God wants you to step out of your logic, step out of your intellect, step out of your ability, and trust Him. …what God is saying is to take your eyes off the pattern. Cause you’re not going to see the wind; you’re not going to see the rain. Yet the valley is going to be filled with water.”
I heard those words, and the recollection of the previous several days scanned through my thoughts—me intently following every single lab test and scan that was being done on my dad, me anxiously eyeing which way his hemoglobin, kidney function, liver function, and tumor markers were trending—all of the patterns and logically what they mean. There was one test that returned positive that had me shaken. We were waiting days for confirmatory testing to be sure.
But I heard you say those words, and I can’t explain their weight. I praised God and dug that ditch in my heart. Then, as the pinnacle point of service waned, a lady that sat behind me in service that day, who I do not know, tapped my shoulder, and placed fifty dollars in my hand. At first, I was a little confused. And then I realized God was being God. I turned around and hugged her.
At the end of the sermon you said, “I didn’t see that coming; all I did was dig the ditch. And then I woke up the next morning, just like He said, there was a pool of water. …Regard and wonder marvelously; for I will work a work in your days….”
After that Sunday, over the next several days, weeks, and now months, just like you preached, I kept waking up- the next morning, the next morning, and the next morning, and there was a pool of water. The ditch indeed contained the miracle. My dad’s hemoglobin recovered and has remained stable. Every week since his discharge from the hospital, my dad checks his labs and is slowly tapering off the steroids. Every week I am reminded that He performs miracles just like he said he would. That confirmatory test I mentioned earlier came back negative. And he does not need a bone marrow biopsy.
Was it his cancer driving this anemia? On March 20th, my dad had a chest CT scan. When I logged into his chart to read his results—Pastor, I didn’t see it coming. The scan verbatim read, “Compared to 9/22/22, there has been significant interval decrease size with essentially complete imaging resolution of multiple previously seen solid lung nodules, with few remaining nodules. No pathologically enlarged thoracic lymph nodes. Interval decrease size of the previously enlarged right hilar lymph node.” He went from innumerable—too many to count, to a few remaining. I ran downstairs with my laptop, called my dad, and said, ‘THIS is a miracle.’
His tumor markers became undetectable!
On that Sunday you preached, preached! You said, “But the understanding of faith is that it not only has to be in my heart but also in my mouth. Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.” So, I had to tell you, Pastor. You asked, “Do I have anybody here that really needs a miracle? Then I want your praise to be commensurate of your ditch. If you’re looking for a little miracle, just give him a little bit of praise. But if you’re looking for an impossible miracle…”
And that was all I needed to hear. I dug my ditch for my miracle. I sowed a seed that Sunday. The doctors, and nurses, still can’t pinpoint the exact driver of his anemia. Why did this happen? Maybe it was this. Perhaps it was that. The key often fits the lock, and sometimes, it doesn’t. I am thankful that when it doesn’t, I know the One who holds all the keys and all the locks—the One who can work a work.
One other person I told that my dad was in the hospital at that time was Asher’s Godfather, Deshawn Tatum (whom I call Tatum). During that same Sunday message you said, “You ought to have somebody in your group that knows how to get a prayer through. Somebody that knows how to get in touch with the Master.” I guess Brian and I took heed and had our “where two or three are gathered” covered.
You, Pastor, have been tremendous in my life. Several years ago, I remember Brian holding the phone to my ear and hearing your voice, praying for me while I lay in the hospital—eight months pregnant, four days into labor with pre-eclampsia, shaking from rigors, feeling that I was losing control of my body. There was so much commotion around me—machines going off, doctors and nurses trying to calm an infection and control my blood pressure. But the hospital noise seemed so faint while you were praying.
The infection cleared, and my blood pressure normalized. Then, some weeks or months after, at one of the most difficult times of my life, you met with Brian and me in your office to help encourage, pray for, and talk us through pregnancy loss. After that, we tried again, and along came Asher, handsome and healthy.
My dad has visited Perfecting several times, especially on Father’s Day. Whenever he hears you preach, in person or virtually, he says, “That man can preach!”
If I told it all, this letter would be ten pages long. The gist is that my dad is at home right now, doing well. On the day he was discharged, I sat beside him on the hospital bed, and he said, “… Can’t nothing out beat prayer.” Thank you, Pastor, for praying for him.
I am grateful for you. I am grateful for my good friend, Tatum. I am grateful for my friends in the health profession for whom I can reach out to for their expertise. I am thankful to all the doctors, physician assistants, nurse practitioners, nurses, and all the staff down to the valet at UofM for their attentiveness and care.
One colleague said, “Amyre, your dad must have a good heart.” I knew she meant physiologically a heart able to keep functioning with no effect of such a critically low blood level. When I responded, “Yes, he does!” I meant a heart that loves the Lord and has tried to live his life pressing toward the mark.
Being in that service on that day while you preached that word is a miracle. ALL of this is a miracle and has strengthened my faith in God and His Word. All of this makes me want to tell the world to get you a church home and Pastor like mine. You are the GOAT!
God is a good God. I can’t help but love Him. I can tell the world about this!
Faith comes by hearing. How shall they hear without a preacher?
Faith without works is dead.
The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord.
And now unto him that is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think!
My love to you and first lady always,
Amyre
