Today Was My Mamma's Birthday

My Mother, Linnie Rae Enloe, was born 74 years ago this morning. She was born in Seymore, Texas to Gene and Jewel Enloe. She was their second child - she had an older brother. They lived in a little house on the banks of a river.

I called her yesterday to tell her that I would not be able to drive over to Littlefield yet since my eye is still not completely healed, but that I would love to have lunch with her as soon as possible to celebrate her birthday.

She said that she didn't have time to have lunch anyway because she was going to be having lunch with friends, having choir rehersals all day for a big Baptist convention presentation, then singing tonight. Wow! I hope I have her energy at 74!!! I have to have a nap most days just to get through the day.

I was disappointed that I would not be able to see her on her birthday, but knew I could plan something soon. Then, this morning the phone rang, and I was happy to hear that she had decided to come to the house after lunch before she had to report back to rehersals.

I called Laurie and asked if she would pick up a little cake. Sara was already here at the house because Sophie had ballet today. We went out to the garage to see if we could find any kind of decorations to have a surprise party for Mimi.

We did find a few things, and although it looked a little "rag tag" Sara was pleased.

Laurie and Sophie arrived with the cake, then Mimi got here just a few minutes later.

We had a wonderful afternoon together! It was truly a blessing.

I put together a few pictures of Mother.

I read a little poem about a mean mother a few years ago and really like it. I am posting it here.

Thank you Mom for being such a mean mother when us girls were growing up. What we did not realize at the time was that you were really a Woman of Valor!

I am so happy that you are my mother. I love you!!!

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I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate
candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others
had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can
guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also.
But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two
brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd
think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and
where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that
we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly
ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each
time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was
used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you
imagine someone actualy hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now
you can begin to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always
wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because
she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we
have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night
and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our
friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break
the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make
beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid
awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.
By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life
became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for
us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates
and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a
girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really
there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a
boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were
dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused
to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you
dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.

Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie
in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends
had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home
from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends'
report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for
failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for
nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put
to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind
us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the
pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four
children, a couple of us attained some higher education. And whom do we
have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our
mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a
protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a
million and one other things that our friends did.
She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.
Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three
children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my
children call me mean.
Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in
the whole world.

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That Ain't No Coincidence!

The Torah teaches us that there are no "coincidences".

The Hand of Hashem (G-d) causes things to take place, and directs events in specific directions. The Hebrew phrase for this is Hashgacha Pratis. Even the day-to-day occurrences in our lives -- the simple, seemingly unimportant and insignificant details of each and every one of our activities, are controlled by Hashem.

I want to share my most recent example of hashgacha pratis. It happened yesterday afternoon, which was Shabbat.

Since my eye injury (retina tear, unknown cause) almost two weeks ago I have not been able to read - which is my passion. Reading has been such a huge part of my life since I was six years old that not to be able to read has been very difficult.

(I have read for one to two minutes at a time several times each day, but that is only enough time to read a couple of emails. I am able to type with my eyes closed, which is not difficult for me, then proof read what I have typed.)

I have watched so many episodes of Wife Swap, Jon and Kate Plus Eight, Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz, Ophrah, Inside Edition, made for tv movies, and other various shows that I am about to go mad. I have also listened to quite a few Torah programs online, but I typically take lots of notes, so this, too, is difficult for me. I really do miss reading!

This was the second Shabbat I was not able to read the Torah parsha and listened to a teaching on the Internet. Lance was gone to the lake so I was in the house alone. After hearing the Torah teaching I decided to see if I could find a movie to watch.

I fumbled around in a cabinet, and discovered The Chosen. I had seen it a long time ago and bought it about 3 or 4 years ago. I put it in the cabinet and forgot all about it. I remembered that the movie showed the beauty and richness of Orthodox Jewish life and decided that watching it would be a nice Shabbat activity for me.

[There is a scene in a synagogue showing hasidic men, all wearing their tallits/prayer shawls, davening/praying, frum/modestly dressed women behind the mechitzah/separating partition, the rabbi saying hamotzi/blessing before eating bread, the men and boys singing joyfully, and a beautiful wedding in the courtyard with dancing. It's a great movie, and I recommend it!]

Now for the part where I tell about my hashgacha pratis...

At the beginning of the movie one of the Jewish boys, Reuven Malter, is injured while playing baseball. Guess where he was injured. Yup, his eye! He was hit in the eye with a baseball. I had completely forgotten about that part of the movie when I took it from the cabinet and put it in the DVD player.

G-d used this movie - which I had bought a long time prior to my eye problem - to remind me that He is in the eye fixing business.

The scene after the accident during the game when he was injured was of Reuven laying in the bed in the hospital with his eye bandaged after having surgery. His father came to visit him. Reuven asked him if he would be able to see again.
His father told him, "Until the bandages are removed we won't know whether the eye will be able to see or not. But Dr. Lachman is very optmistic."

Reuven replies, "But he's not sure?"

His father then says, "No. No, he's not sure."

Then Reuven sees the newspaper folded up and sticking out of his father's coat pocket. He takes it out, opens it, planning to read it. His father says, "Ah, ah, ah, no reading."

He asks his father, "What do you mean? I can't read a newspaper?"

"You are not allowed to read."

"What about my school work?"

"That's one of the great advantages of being hit in the eye; no school work."

Reuven then smiles slightly with a tiny bit of concern showing on his face. The next scene shows him listening to the radio. (The year was 1944 so he didn't have a tv to watch with his good eye.)

I've had some very worrisome thoughts about my own eye in these past days. I've wondered if it will return to normal. Doing even light activities makes it cloud over and makes it hard to see anything when I close my left eye. I've worried about having to give up reading and driving permanently. I have wondered if I could learn braile if I had to. I've thought about the degeneration rate - and how long it has been going on without me even knowing about it - and if it will continue. I felt like I knew exactly how Reuven was feeling.

There were a few other things that happened while he was in the hospital, then it showed him slowly and awkwardly walking up the steps with his father to their apartment. After going inside the next scene was of him entering his bedroom.

His thoughts were narrated: "Here was my room, just the way I'd left it. But somehow everything seemed different... My father had often told me that health was a gift. But I had always taken that for granted. But now...now I tried to imagine what my life would be like with only one good eye. I felt sick inside. I was scared."

When I saw him having difficulty going up the steps that he had run up and down hundreds of times before, I wanted to cry. I understood that feeling. Since I have had this eye problem I have to have someone help me to walk safely when I leave the house. I can't see very well to determine if there is a step or curb that could trip me. If there is a slight incline or bump or uneven surface I trip easily. I have never had this feeling of being scared I would fall every time I leave the house and it is quite unsettling.

I, too, have wondered what it would be like to live with only one good eye. I realized that I have simply taken my eyesight for granted. I have worn glasses since I was six years old. But I have always been able to see to do anything I want to do. Now I have discovered that I can't even pour a glass of water without spilling it and making a mess.

I can't see if I drop food on my clothes or see if I have put my shirt on wrong. There are a million little things that I do routinely every day that I am now having difficulty doing.

I can't go to work, and I am worried I will get fired. Even though it is only a part-time job I enjoy it, and money is money.

Yes, I, too, have been feeling a little sick inside and have been a little scared.

The next scene is of Reuven playing the piano. He plays hesitantly, making mistakes. From another room his father yells, "Don't strain your eyes."

"I won't" he replies.

It was a very sad scene for me to watch. It was as if he somehow seemed to have resigned himself to his fate: not being able to do the things he had always done in the past - or at least, not being able to do them as well as he had before the accident. I began to really hope that my eye will get completely better. I didn't want to resign myself to having only one good eye!

Quite a few scenes later, after quite a bit of time had elapsed (and a lot of other things happened that I don't want to mention so as not to spoil the movie for you if you haven't seen it yet) he walked up to his friend, who was studying and dropped his eye patch onto the table. He said, "You wear that for a while."

His friend looked up at him, very surprised, and replied, "You can see."

"Yeah, I can see."

"Baruch Hashem!" was his friend's response. (Baruch Hashem is translated into English as Bless G-d.)

And that is what I, too, want to say: Baruch Hashem!

I do think my eye is getting better, and I pray that my sight will return to normal. I hope I can go back to doing things that I enjoy doing.
But no matter what happens, I won't ever go back to taking my sight for granted. Just like Reuven's father had always told him: Health is a gift!

Hashgacha pratis. That ain't no coincidence!

(Note: I did not write this all at one time. I started on it about noon, and just worked on it little by little throughout the day, so I didn't actually read more than a couple of minutes at a time. I wrote down the quotes in a notebook - with my eyes closed, and remember, I can type with my eyes closed.)

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Some pictures of what I like to call, "The Saga of My Right Eye".




My new designer eye-wear







Now we're stylin'



Sara and Sophie each gave me a pretty pony to sleep with to help me feel better until my eye boo boo gets well.