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Higher Is Waiting, by Tyler Perry
Download PDF Higher Is Waiting, by Tyler Perry
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About the Author
Writer, actor, filmmaker, playwright, songwriter, entrepreneur, and philanthropist Tyler Perry is the mastermind behind nineteen theatrically released feature films, twenty stage plays, nine television shows, and a #1 New York Times bestselling book. His creative empire has won over audiences and built communities from the Tyler Perry Studios home base in Atlanta, Georgia, throughout the world. His unique blend of spiritual hope and down-home humor continues to shape his inspiring life story, connecting with fans across the globe and always leaving space to dream. Since 2006, the Perry Foundation’s aim has been to transform tragedy into triumph by seeding individual potential, supporting communities, and harvesting real change. The foundation supports education, clean water, health, agriculture, girls’ and women’s rights, technology, arts, culture, and globally sustainable economic development, both in the United States and around the world.
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part onePlanting the SeedsMy childhood was a story of discouragement, belittlement, and unthinkable abuse, and yet I rose above. There was no way I could have found any kind of happiness, hope, or vision if my mother, Maxine, and my aunt Mae hadn’t shown me the grace of God. They, as well as other powerful souls, were my spiritual role models. They didn’t have great mansions or millions of dollars to leave me when they passed, but they planted the seeds of grace, the invaluable gift of knowing God.As I look back over my early years and as I walk along my path today, I am grateful for those seeds planted in my childhood. From their powerful inspiration grew my unshakable desire to keep reaching higher and my devotion to help all people do the same.1Learning God Is in ControlBy the time Fridays rolled around I was itching like poison ivy to get as far away as I could from Edgar P. Harney Elementary School. It was especially agonizing knowing Mamma was parked right outside waiting to drive us straight to heaven on earth—Aunt Mae’s house in Greensburg, Louisiana.Sometimes life travels a complicated route, as it did with Aunt Mae and our family. Mae was really a sort of adopted grandmother, but that information didn’t get to my ears until I was older. I say “adopted” because my father, Emmitt, was abandoned and discovered in a drainage canal at the age of two. He was taken to Mae so that she could raise him. What an extraordinary sign of fate’s fierce power, considering that Mae was only fourteen years old at the time. Years later this extraordinary soul helped save me, too. In Aunt Mae’s presence I could breathe deeply in the sanctuary of nature, the freedom of unconditional love, and the benevolence of God’s embrace.Lucky for me we went to Aunt Mae’s a couple of weekends every month and also during summer vacations. Emmitt came along with us in the summer. Ordinarily, that would have meant living in anxiety and fear, but my father was a different kind of man when he was around Mae. Instead of boiling up in anger and violence, he was a placid lake. He would even brag about what a fine son I was and about our happy life in New Orleans. Never mind that he beat and belittled Mamma and me all the time, that lies poured out of his mouth like fine grains of sand from a golden sieve.But Emmitt wouldn’t be joining us this weekend, and I just couldn’t wait to be with Aunt Mae. Every few minutes I’d be checking the classroom’s wall clock, tapping my pencil on the desk, or sliding my sneakers on the wood floor. When our principal finally ended the torture by ringing the copper dismissal bell, I joined the rush of fourth graders grabbing books and papers and breaking through the school’s double doors to hit the sunshine.New Orleans summers are a hot and humid mess, and the thick air can feel like a heavy-handed slap against your face. Standing outside on the school steps, I’d take a minute to catch my breath and get my bearings. Once I’d hear the familiar honk of my mother’s car horn I’d fix my gaze through the sun’s glare.There she was: Mamma in her 1969 powder blue Cadillac Coupe DeVille, waving out the window. Sometimes I could see the weight of the world in her face. Today, though, Mamma’s radiating her thousand-watt smile, and her joy makes me feel carefree. Knowing she’s happy and my green suitcase with the metal snaps is packed for the weekend and locked in the trunk means all is right with the world.When I reach the car Mamma leans over and swings open the passenger door. I slide in and settle down on the roomy, hot-as-a-radiator vinyl seat. She’s wearing one of her usual outfits, jeans and a cotton floral blouse, her café au lait skin glistening in the heat. I’d watched her set her hair in rollers the night before and now it’s brushed forward in a “push do.” Mamma isn’t flashy; she doesn’t have to be. She never wears much makeup because she’s a natural beauty. I always thought my four aunts were jealous because Mamma’s the sister that God gave knock-your-socks-off looks. She’s the one turning heads.“Ready to go? Did you pee, Junior?” she asks, flashing another smile.“Yes, ma’am,” I say. I hadn’t, but didn’t want to take time before hitting the road.Mamma doesn’t waste another minute, either. She turns the ignition key, guns the gas pedal, and we’re off. We head out to I-10 then onto I-55, leaving New Orleans behind us. Once we are free from the city, she turns up the volume on the eight-track player in the dashboard and belts out the blues, singing along with Z. Z. Hill, Denise LaSalle, and Betty Wright. I don’t join in but quietly set the lyrics like an easy poem into my memory.I also know our route to Aunt Mae’s by heart. We ride along a vast bridge called the Bonnet Carré Spillway that takes us across the murky waters of Lake Pontchartrain. I stretch my arm out the window and let the steamy breeze cup my palm. Even though I’ve never seen an ocean, I think this must be what one looks like: water everywhere with no end in sight, big waves sloshing back and forth.“Mamma,” I say, spurred by a sudden sense of wariness. “Just look at all that water.”“Yeah, baby,” she says.“Why don’t it overflow and cover the bridge, Mamma?”“Because, baby, God’s got it in its banks. He’s in control. He’s in control of the water. He’s in control of the sky, and the birds, and you and me . . . and God is good, baby,” she says.“God is good.”Mamma’s words settle deep in my heart: God’s got it in its banks. He’s in control.My fear disappears like so much dust in the breeze. Now I can settle back in the vinyl seat, feel the warm wind and sunshine pressing against my skin, and simply watch the world unfold.• Surrendering doesn’t mean giving up or not caring. It means trusting and allowing things to be tended to by God. When have you done this in your life? What happened?• When you don’t surrender, what keeps you from letting go of control and trusting that God has you covered?• Consider Proverbs 3:5–6 (ESV): Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.2Talking to JesusTo help make time fly, I count the trees as we speed by on our way to Aunt Mae’s. When they’re rushing faster and faster and I can no longer keep up, I know we’re getting close. The “Amite City” sign is our exit, and once we turn off the interstate we enter a whole new world, one with no concrete sidewalks, no buildings higher than one single story, only one or two red lights, and miles and miles of open land.There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and that’s where we stop for a quick bathroom break and, of course, a meal of chicken, biscuits, mashed potatoes, and creamy gravy. Our stomachs full, we hit the road again. The sun is lower in the sky, but dusk has yet to cast its fading shadows. About ten miles later the Cadillac glides over a steep hill, and for miles and miles there are only red dirt roads and fields planted with cotton, sugar cane, soybeans, wheat, corn, sweet potatoes, and acres of strawberries. Two more turns and at last, at the end of a rock-pocked road, I see Aunt Mae’s place.It was obvious to me even as a child that her house had been through tough times. Whether it was because of fierce storms or seasons of neglect, it was battered and worn-out. The wood frame was covered with some sort of material that appeared from a distance to be brick, but up close was thick slabs of gray-colored asphalt shingle, probably mixed with asbestos; the roof was rusted tin, and the whole structure tilted dramatically to one side. I had the thought “One day this raggedy old house is going to fall to the ground.”As soon as Aunt Mae hears our car pull up, the screen door snaps open and she appears with arms stretched wide like angel wings. She runs into the fenced-in front yard, shoos away the chickens and any other critters underfoot, unlatches the rickety gate, and makes her way to us as fast as her skinny legs can travel. She gets me in her grasp, squeezes me close, and cries out, “Lord, my children are here. My children are home.”It’s true I was big for my age, but even at ten years old, Aunt Mae still had to reach up to hold me because she was a tiny woman, maybe no more than five foot three inches, as delicate looking as a China doll. Mae was thin and exquisite with high cheekbones, brilliant gray eyes, and shoulder-length gray hair. Her face never showed a wrinkle. She looked like she was part Native American. She had an odd fashion sense. I still wonder to this day why Mae wore so many clothes even during the summer’s heat. There she is, standing under the sweltering sun, her petite frame completely covered in a long-sleeved blouse, skirt, apron, and pants, staring up at me with God’s love in her eyes and offering the healing power of touch, all under a heap of fabric.With our arms still wrapped around each other, we climb the shaky front steps up to the wood porch and walk through the screen door into the living room. These were far from fancy digs. This house was one story high, only four rooms in all, with windows made of a wavy kind of old glass, and worn pine boards on the floor. Black-and-white newspaper comics were stuffed into the holes in the walls to keep the warmth or cold away. I loved the faces in the comics, but I learned at a young age that if I tried to pull them out, my hand would get slapped.We walked straight into a small living room, maybe only 10 × 10, where Mae’s grandfather, whom we called Papa Rod, would be in his bed. There was also a sofa, a chair, and a chest. Mae had a lot of chests in her small house, and every one was filled with carefully folded quilts and blankets she had sewn herself. Pictures of Martin Luther King, Jr., and John and Bobby Kennedy hung on the wall.My aunt had things I had never seen before, like an old washing machine on the back porch where you fed clothes through the wringer. One time I got my hand caught in it and the pain shot straight from my arm into my brain. I never did that again. There wasn’t any indoor plumbing, either, just an outhouse, and in the cold winter months, a lone fireplace barely kept the chill out. But who cared? I was made comfortable by the sweet power of Aunt Mae’s wide smile and open heart.Friday and Saturday nights were full of laughter and stories. Some Sunday mornings we went to church, but unlike in New Orleans, where we never missed a Sunday sermon, at Mae’s we didn’t go to church regularly. On one of these mornings when we weren’t hurrying out, the aroma of strongly brewed coffee and freshly baked teacakes gives me a lazy wake-up call. From my cozy bed, I hear Aunt Mae singing gospel hymns:Precious Lord, take my hand,Lead me on,Let me stand.I am tired,I am weak,I am worn.In my little-boy mind, I didn’t know what Mae was singing about; all I knew was that I loved the sound of her sweet, soulful voice. On this memorable morning, I creep out of bed and without saying a word tiptoe into the kitchen and listen to Mae’s singing. I’m not sure if she knows I am spying on her, but if she does, she waits a few minutes before greeting me.“Good morning, baby.”“What you doing, Aunt Mae?” I ask in my still sleepy voice.“Talking to Jesus, baby.”“How can you do that?”“Did you say your prayers last night?”“Yes, ma’am.”“Then you were talking to Jesus, too,” Aunt Mae says, with her bright eyes and that orange slice of a grin.My heart feels heavy but in a good way. Aunt Mae plants a seed inside my heart and pats it down with her loving words. I know something sacred is going to grow there. Jesus made Mamma and Aunt Mae happy, and now I want to know Him for myself. The season of my yearning for God has arrived.• What was the first spiritual seed that was planted in your soul?• Recall a time in your childhood when a friend or relative helped to change you in an important way.• Consider 1 Corinthians 3:6 (ESV): I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.3AskingCompared to the light-filled, loving times I had with Aunt Mae, weekends spent in New Orleans were doomed to turn dark and grim. On Fridays my father, Emmitt, would come home from work and walk through the door with an easy gait. His week’s pay would be folded into the back pocket of his overalls. He’d reach in, unfurl the bills, and with an air of pride and self-importance, dole out our allowance.Then he’d take a long bath, put on his dress-up creased jeans and freshly laundered plaid shirt, splash on sweet-smelling cologne, and then, without fail, start yelling at us to find his shoes. “Where’s my damn shoes?” We’d scurry around the house like rabbits looking for clover. It was always one shoe in one place, the other one hidden somewhere else. I swear he misplaced them on purpose. But once they were on his feet and he walked out the door, we knew any generous mood wasn’t going to last. Storm clouds were bound to return.Sure enough, a few hours later he would be back home with his jeans and flannel shirt stale and stinking of alcohol and cigarettes. The emotional storm would build like a swirling tornado, and before long he would be crazed and violent, belittling and beating my mother. I didn’t escape his wrath, either. He was over six feet tall and muscular from his work as a carpenter. You could sense his physical power even if he wasn’t touching you. To me he looked like a terrifying giant. He’d stomp through the house in his heavy work boots, yelling about everything we were doing wrong. If anything got in his path, he would explode and his fists would fly. Almost in a supernatural way, his anger would turn his brown eyes into an electric green, and when that happened I knew the worst was still to come. This was our hell on earth, and Mamma and I were burning in its flames.
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Product details
Hardcover: 224 pages
Publisher: Spiegel & Grau (November 14, 2017)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0812989341
ISBN-13: 978-0812989342
Product Dimensions:
5.3 x 0.9 x 7.8 inches
Shipping Weight: 11.2 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.8 out of 5 stars
364 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#11,751 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
I accepted this book from Penguin Random House for review purposes. I had been looking forward to reading it and the opinions expressed are my own.I rate this book a 4.5. It will not appeal to everyone, but in its niche it is among the top books. Readers who appreciated Chris Gardner 's The Pursuit of Happyness will also enjoy this. It has a touch of Dead Poets Society by N.H. Kleinbaum feeling as well.Higher Is Waiting is written from Perry's personal experiences. The book is divided into 4 main sections: Planting, Nourishing, Branching out and Harvesting.Each brief chapter illustrates a lesson, an experiece from Perry's life, and closes with a recap, a consideration and often a verse. While it has a Christian bent, this book is for anyone who desires more from life, who wants to understand and take control of their life experience.As did each of us, Tyler lived through difficult times. Lessons were presented and perhaps not understood until years later. He was blessed with strong female role models who had exceptionally strong beliefs of faith. While now his life may be considered a success, it would not be, (the same as for each reader,) until he took responsibility. The lessons he learned, illustrates and shares, help the reader to look back and find their own lessons.The chapter on Protecting Your Dreams resonated with me, as did the encouraging words to never quit, to continue moving forward. Find ways to live your dream even if on a smaller scale.I also appreciated the chapter on Leaving The Nest, paying attention to the signs and signals about time for change. We have a choice about how we view what is and what has happened in our lives.
I love, love, love this book. It was so eye opening for myself. It helped me to realize that the Lord has placed something inside of me that everyone isn't supposed to see. It also helped me to understand some people can't give you what they don't have or never had. God is always the answer and He has a word for everything that you are dealing with or need.Thank you Tyler Perry for Blessings Me with these "Shoes" of knowledge and understanding once again.
I wasn’t expecting to shed so many tears- all happy tears. There’s so much I could write. God was definitely in this. This book needed to be written and at this time. If you’re thinking about giving up on your dreams, or afraid to move forward, read this book. If you believe in the power of prayer and faith, you need to read this book. God is so awesome. There are several passages from the book that I will carry with me. However, there’s one that stood out the most, it was at the very beginning- “Stand. Listen. Wait patiently. Keep waiting.†Confirmation. I needed this. I know higher is waiting and I will definitely keep climbing.
Simple, knowledgeable, interesting, and a heart touching read. This isn’t one of those self help books where the author professes what to do, when to do do it, how to do it. This is Tyler exposing his life to us. His fears, his obstabels, his hurts, everythjng. This book outlines how Tyler went from “rags to riches†and the multitude of lessons he learnt. Tyler encourages readers to discover what matters to them, how to follow their heart, how to value your family, amongst various other aspects of life. I loved it
I expected a fun easy read, it was that and much more! My life experiences and the work I do allows for me to know what forgiveness could do to move people forward. I expected to get some insight on how this man writes so much brilliant work, intrigue and educate the people. I didn’t expect to shed so many tears. I did expect to be encouraged so then the tears were wonderful cleansing tools that leaps one soul forward. Thank you Tyler Perry for writing this book. Thank you for giving so much of yourself, letting your light shine. May this book do for hundreds of millions more that we all let our light illuminate this world on this little blue planet that The Creator may be pleased with humanity! Faith, hope, forgiveness, empathy, compassion, worthiness, awareness, belonging...Yeah I’m Encouraged! 

“There’s no magic time machine to reset the clock or reinvent our childhoods, but we can alter the present and future by changing how we think and feel about what’s happened in our past. No matter how difficult or disturbing your memories, they don’t have to crush your soul. You can transcend your experience. You can change your reaction. You can forgive.†Tyler PerryHigher is Waiting is for everyone, however I do understand not everyone is ready at the same time to do the hard work, but I encourage you to take the small steps and get it done, the benefits are priceless. Mr. Perry uses his life experiences, lots of lessons learned the "hard way," to help others move through difficult times and be inspired to live and amazing life filled with grace and possibilities!
After all the tears during many of the storytelling, at the end of the book Tyler Perry made my heart smile and filled with gratitude! Thank you for writing and sharing your journey from a vulnerable authentic place. God speed! I read all day on 12/16/17 and finished on 12/17/17 1:17am. I couldn’t put it down, besides a brief three hour on the road running errands. This book was a wonderful treat to spend a day being inspired that will benefit people to move forward.
Tyler Perry~What a man, what a testimony! This has got to be the best inspirational book I have ever had the privilege of reading. It's an easy read with short vignettes that can be read in less than a few minutes with scripture and food for thought after each one to think on though, it just left me wanting to read on! This man is such a wonderful role model of overcoming hardship with grace and grit. I wish more young people can read his story and know that there is a better way to get out of poverty and disparaging life situations~this man is one class act and leaves the reader wanting to aspire to higher.
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