Eva Whittington-Self - May Bells Daughter: Overcoming Personal Tragedy with Gods Strength and a Mothers Love

Copyright 1999 by Eva Whittington Self

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ISBN 978-0-7180-3648-5 (eBook)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Self, Eva Whittington.

May Bells daughter / Eva Whittington Self.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-7852-7047-7 (hbk.)

1. Self, Eva WhittingtonHealth. 2. ParaplegicsNorth Carolina Biogrtaphy. 3. Physically handicapped womenNorth Carolina Biography. I. Title.

RC406.P3S45 1999

362.4'3'092dc21

[B]

99-20415

CIP

Published in the United States of America

1 2 3 4 5 6 BVG 04 03 02 01 00 99

To Our Daughters Abby and Audrey

Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip for your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.

Deut. 4:9 NIV

Contents

I have never written a book before. I never dreamed that I would write a book, much less be the subject of a book. It has been an exciting, challenging, and humbling process. It has been both enjoyable and painful to relive my lifes experiences as we have written this book.

This book is the result of contributions by a lot of significant people. Id like to tell you about a few of them:

Thanks to my dear friend and co-author, Lisa Harper, who first asked me to pray about writing a book five years ago. Her vision, encouragement, and gracious persistence have led to this project becoming a reality. I pray that her hearts desire to glorify God and minister to women will be fulfilled by this book.

Thanks to Mike Hyatt at Thomas Nelson who convinced me that my story was worth telling, not only at large conferences and in small churches, but also in written form. Mikes wise counsel and professionalism helped reassure me that this was a project worth doing. He helped us to not only do it, but to do it well.

To my Sunday school class at First Baptist, Hopkinsville and the Sims/DeWeese Bible study for their constant encouragement and prayers. Thanks to Barbara Sledd for the long walks and meaningful talks.

Thanks to my husbands secretary, Rita Black, for all the typing, shipping, handling, faxing, and everything else. Thanks especially, for retyping parts of the manuscript (sorry we made you cry).

Thanks to my in-laws, Dr. Ben and Carolyn Self, for all their prayers, encouragement, support, and for being on-call grandparents.

Thanks to my husband, Andrew, who is my ghostwriter, editor, agent, and, of course, my lawyer. He is my personal trainer and motivator. He knows when to push and when to pull. He is my balance and my estrogen neutralizer, especially when I... well, you know. He is the best father my girls could ever have. He is my best friend and partner for life.

Summers are hot in North Carolina. Real hot. And real humid. Because we never had air-conditioning in the small five-room house where my mama and daddy raised my five older brothers and meDaddy thought air-conditioning was bad for a personthe only relief we could get from the heat was to find a shade tree or a porch swing. Fortunately, we had both.

I was raised in Concord, just outside Charlotte. Both Mama and Daddy worked in textile mills. Mama had worked the first shift at Cannon Mills from the time she was sixteen years old. Daddy worked the third shift and either played or umpired baseball most of his life. Where I came from, baseball, the mill, and the church were the three main ingredients in lifesometimes in that order.

In the summer of 1980, when I was only nineteen years old, I was invited to speak at the North Carolina Youth Evangelism Conference in Greensboro. It was being held in the Greensboro Coliseum and the organizers were expecting five thousand people. Im not sure I had ever seen five thousand people in one place before, let alone spoken to them. I was excited, but very nervous.

It helped to know that my home church, Southside Baptist, was bringing a busload of young people to the conference for moral support. My friend Donna Mac and I had already left for the conference the day before. But the one person I hoped would be therereally, the only person I needed to be there other than the Lordwas my mama, May Bell Whittington.

Mama didnt drive, so I knew shed either have to get Daddy to bring her, which was unlikely, or she would have to catch a ride with somebody else. Because Greensboro was almost two hours away from home, I really didnt think Mama would be able to make it. So I did what she had taught me time and time again to do in those kinds of situations. I prayed. All day long as I prayed, I imagined what was taking place at home.

Because it was summertime, I knew that Mama had spent at least part of the day out in the garden picking tomatoes. I could see her cradling the tomatoes against her chest with one arm while the other moved her Lucky Strike cigarette back and forth from her mouth to her side.

I knew that if Mama was going to make it to the conference, shed have to fix Daddy an early supper, probably of fresh pinto beans, tomatoes, and some bread. Shed have to tell him over and over again that his food was ready. There were at least two reasons for that: one, Daddy couldnt hear very well, and two, the baseball game on TV would be turned up way too loud.

After Mama had taken care of Daddy, she would take care of herself. No doubt she would have her best red dress all laid out on the bed, inside out, and before she changed into it, shed sprinkle baby powder all over it. Shed then put baby powder on her as the sweat continued to roll down her face.

After Mama finished dressing, shed get down on her knees beside the bed and pray. Shed stay there for several minutes, praying for both me and Daddy. Ive walked in on her so many times when she was on her knees by her bed that I could clearly picture her in my mind.