The Plan: An Incredible Story of Amazing Grace, Unfailing Love, and Undeniable Miracles

By Pshyra Sheriff

Pshyra learned as the baby of a large family that she had to make noise until she was heard. This determination became the very strength that fueled her faith as an adult. So when she realized she was having a serious health issue, she quickly understood she had to take loud, bold steps to get the help she needed while relying on her strength as a faith warrior. As each stage of her journey brought its own set of lessons and wisdom, she discovered the importance of listening to her body speak as its messages became louder and clearer with each day.

In an inspirational memoir, Pshyra reveals insight into her years-long quest for answers that eventually took her to the emergency room in November 2018, where she felt life slipping from her body. Unable to move, she reveals how she stood on her unwavering faith that no matter the outcome, God could heal her. It was at that moment in faith that Jesus stepped in, rewrote her ending, and gave her a new beginning. Even as her health battles continued, Pshyra details how she found inspiration and strength in the last gift her mother gave her before departing Earth.

The Plan is the story of one woman’s journey through her health challenges as she learned to trust in the power of love, amazing grace, and God’s plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664230910

Pshyra Sheriff

Pshyra Sheriff, affectionately known as “Shy,” grew up in a large Pentecostal family that regularly attended church. Through life experiences over the years, her “religion” was transformed into a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, giving birth to an unshakable faith that would one day save her life. Today, Shy resides in Atlanta, Georgia, and writes inspiring devotionals called “Love Always, Shy” reminding readers of the power of God’s love and grace. Learn more at LoveAlwaysShy.com

Book preview

1

Losing Mama

I was five months pregnant with my son, Emanuel, and had an eight-year-old daughter, Nina. I was looking forward to Mama meeting who would be her youngest grandchild. He’d have the joy of experiencing Nana in the same way the other grandchildren had. Sleepovers at Nana’s were both a joy and comfort to all twenty-three of them. In my mind, we’d have plenty of time left together to make beautiful memories.

Mama was like a ray of sunshine to everyone who met her. Not only did she have the ability to make each of her children genuinely believe they were her favorite by merely loving each of us in our own unique love language, but she also made everyone who came across her path feel loved and like they were the most special person in the room. I didn’t realize it growing up, but it was a privilege to have had her as a mother. Watching how she lived her life was a lesson in love and compassion far greater than words. Her love was an amazingly powerful force to reckon with.

She was the queen of the family. Not in just in title but in the way she lived her life. So when she was diagnosed with colon cancer, the very foundation of the entire family was shaken far greater than the worse earthquake we’d ever felt. She was the glue that held the family together. Not only could we never imagine losing her, but we had no idea how to flow without her. After all, who were we without Mama?

It had now been two and a half years since her initial colon cancer diagnosis and four months since her surgery to remove the cancer. She was undergoing aggressive chemotherapy, but because she had allowed things to get so bad before seeking treatment, the cancer had spread throughout her abdomen and attached to other organs. I will never forget the look on the doctors’ faces when they came into the hospital waiting room after her surgery to give us the update. They tried to be hopeful for us, but let’s just say they didn’t have poker faces. They gave her six months to a year to live. Even then, I had the sense they were being optimistic as they stuttered out the words.

Our human sides wrestled with our faith. We wept while making positive confessions. We encouraged each other while struggling to keep ourselves afloat. We quoted scriptures while our hearts broke. Clearly, faith and fear were at war, and our family was in the crossfire.

One thing about my family is that we are very good about carrying on. So when I spoke to Mama this particular Friday night, and she mentioned she had a scripture for me, I figured I’d call her back the next day to get it. I simply didn’t realize how precious and urgent that exact moment was. I guess I took for granted that there’d be a tomorrow.

So when I awoke the following Saturday morning, I thought it would be just another day. I was lying in bed with a stethoscope-like gadget on my stomach that I’d purchased to hear the baby’s heartbeat when the phone rang. It was my sister Joy, calling to tell me that Mama had passed out and was at the hospital, where they had been unable to revive her. I could hear my sister Rebecca in the background, sobbing. I quickly got up, threw on some sweatpants while praying aloud, got Nina dressed, and raced out the door to head to the hospital. Oddly, even though Joy had told me they weren’t able to revive her, I still believed she’d be OK.

When I arrived at the hospital, most of the family was already there, and the others were on the way. We gathered around Mama’s bed, praying and singing songs. She still had a pulse that was weakening by the moment yet would have surges when we called out her name. The doctor explained that she was fighting to stay with us but that her pulse would continue to weaken until it completely stopped. Daddy sat next to her bed, holding her hand. As he saw the little dot on the heart rate monitor slowly go from sharp peaks to smaller and smaller waves, he slipped her wedding ring off her finger and quietly left the room. He’d said his goodbye after fifty-one years of marriage as best he could within his heart. Some of us stayed in the room with Mama as she made her full transition, and some of us went outside to comfort Daddy. This was a day we could have never prepared for.

Over the last few months, we’d watched her suffer silently. The pain and aggressive chemotherapy were at times hard for her to bear. Regardless, she still smiled each day and always encouraged us in so many ways in our own lives. In fact, she was determined to make sure we learned the lesson of love. With Thanksgiving just nine days before her passing, we had a chance to take the final exam with her, our teacher. We each went around the room and expressed what we were thankful for and how much we loved each other. She was able to see that we’d learned the lesson. Now it was time to live it out on our own.

The next several years that followed would bring about so many challenges to overcome and so many questions to figure out. How do we say goodbye to the one who taught us how to love and forgive, even when we didn’t want to? How do we carry on traditions she’d shared with us, even though they would never feel the same? How do we cling to each other without our precious glue that had such binding power? I must admit it took a long time for us to answer the question: Who are we as a family? The fracture in our hearts and spirits was so painfully damaging. But somewhere deep in our DNA, the answers were there, along with the realization that we never had to say goodbye to Mama because she lived in and through each of us in so many ways. It would be a long journey before we realized it, but time would reveal all.

So on that day, even though goodbye seemed so permanent, it was more of a, See you later. And as time went on and we began to heal, we did indeed see her again living through each of us in the spirit of love.

2

The Start

of Symptoms

I’d had irritable bowels for years. I wouldn’t have classified it as severe. It was just a matter of occasionally eating too much of the wrong thing that would trigger painful bowel movements with traces of blood. I never thought it was worth mentioning to my doctor as I seemed to