Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

I got a call from my granddaughter Kianna the other day. In the midst of delivering pizza to NAPA, the auto parts store, she was verbally attacked by a customer. It seems because Kianna was wearing a mask the lady in line decided that my granddaughter was in need of enlightenment. She accused her of being brain washed by the media, questioned her heritage and political persuasion, then proceeded to tie everything together with a sound cussing.

Sorry. I exaggerated a bit when I used the term “lady.” The strange overheated woman leaned in close and coughed on my granddaughter in hopes that she would realize a mask could not protect her. Never mind the fact that Pizza Hut requires masks on all their personnel. So I did what any Godly grandmother would do. I tossed several shovels into the back of the truck and headed to NAPA. As Kianna and I continued to talk I asked her how big the woman was.

“I think we can take her,” my lovely granddaughter replied.

“Alright honey. Here’s the plan. I’ll whack her in the head with my shovel. You hit her again for good measure. I’ll take her arms, you grab her legs and we’ll drag her into the woods. Between the two of us we can dig a hole deep enough to cover her crazy. Then I’ll explain to her that germs, politics, and brain washing are not the only dangers in our society.” I imagined pointing my finger in her face to drive my point home. “Now you lay there and think about what you’ve done!”

Kianna seemed pleased with the plan. The only problem is that she lives in Illinois and I live in NC; approximately seven hundred and twenty one miles apart. Even as fast as I drive the woman would likely be gone by the time I got there. Oh how I wish I could shake her ‘til her teeth rattle and explain the futility of a life lived in anger. I mean really! What the heck? What she doesn’t know is that my granddaughter just graduated high school in a year that was less than ideal. The child works two jobs and saves every penny toward college. When she is not delivering pizza she takes care of a beautiful little girl with severe autism. Instead of answering her attacker, Kianna took a step back and celebrated the $5 pity tip the guy who ordered the pizza gave her.

I couldn’t get there in time to make good use of my shovel, so I offered a bit of wisdom instead. Since she is headed to New York for college I reminded Kianna that the Lord is preparing her for big city life. “He’s promised to equip us for the things He asks us to do. Maybe He knows you need to get used to all those swear words.” She nodded and laughed. “Then I should be good to go for a while.”

I don’t have any idea how to end this story. Maybe the moral is as mentioned earlier: Living a life filled with anger is futile. Perhaps we should all leave our sharp words and shovels at home. Maybe we could even tip folks extra good to help make up for some of the ignorance going around. Or maybe we could just take a step back and hope to God that crazy is not contagious.

My Kiannagirl and me having tea about 8 years ago. Seems like yesterday.

By Lynna Clark

The last time I packed to go to the beach I included clothes and provisions for every possible scenario. If it turned chilly I had a jacket. If it was hot I had sundresses… plural. If the apocalypse broke loose, no problem. We took plenty of water. If they had no grocery stores on Ocean Isle, we certainly would not go hungry. Good gracious at the food we packed! I mean really. One should not go traipsing off to the far reaches of the state all willy-nilly. What if we got a late night hankering for Chex Mix? We made a foot tub of that just in case. After all… we were staying for three whole days.

Why did I do that? I ended up wearing the same thing I wear at home all week: Black capris, white top. David calls it my uniform.

This time we are going with two of our daughters’ families. My goal is to be a fun grandmother. I will play with them until I collapse in my beach chair. It won’t take long. I’m not a spring chicken anymore. It’s hard to admit that. But at least I won’t be worn out from lugging a bunch of stuff I don’t need up the stairs at the beach house. I can’t help but wonder though…

What will I wear if we go out to eat… which we will if I don’t pack food.

What if it turns cold… which it will if I don’t take a jacket.

What if all my hair falls out again because of my new medicine… which it will if I don’t take a hat.

What if my toenail polish gets raggedy in the surf? Who in their right mind would wear flip flops with unkempt nails?

Oh! And we need a fan for optimal sleeping comfort. Plus our bucket o’ drugs because we can’t let our poor ol’ bodies get any more out of whack. Maybe I should pack our blood pressure cuff to make sure David’s doesn’t bottom out in the heat. And my favorite blanket in case the rest of the crew turns the A/C to subzero; Of course I need my own pillow… and cosmetics. Holy cow it takes a lot to keep me this lovely.

Beach chairs… we can’t forget the beach chairs. And the good frying pan; and ginger-ale in case I get fainty-fied. Of course I will need my insulated cup with the lid…

Toilet paper. Those places never have good toilet paper.

Sunscreen! I almost forgot the SPF one hundred forty seven. And an umbrella or maybe a pop-up tent. One cannot be too careful out in the sun these days.

OH! And chocolate milk! We always take chocolate milk on the trip down. It’s our special tradition signifying the beginning of vacation. No need breaking tradition just yet.

While I list the things we need so as not to forget anything vital, David packs a bag. Singular. It holds two pairs of shorts, underwear, swim trunks, a couple t-shirts, flip-flops. Period.

He zipped his bag shut though there was still plenty of room in it. I do not understand the man.

All I’m saying is that if his hair falls out, he is not getting my hat.

Lynna Clark

My sister’s name popped up on my new smart phone. Actually it’s a stupid phone but you won’t hear me complain. Or recite the many ways it aggravates me. No, I am not going to mention how the things that used to be easy on my old dumb phone are nearly impossible on my new smart phone. Like adding my friend Edith to my contacts. Poor gal. Now she has to be Edith because I can’t figure out how to edit her name. Annyyywayyy… my sister called. “Happy Anniversary!” she joyfully proclaimed. “Thanks,” I answered. “But it’s tomorrow.”

“Oh… well happy 50th anniversary tomorrow! It’s a big one!” she exclaimed.

“Actually it’s number 49, but thank you,” I answered.

“Oh… well at least I was the first to congratulate you! Hope y’all have a wonderful day… tomorrow.” “Thanks sweet sistuh,” I replied. I didn’t have the heart to tell her one of our daughters had just stopped by with eggs from her prolific chickens and had already congratulated us. Not sure how people remember these things. I’m not even checking Facebook anymore. But somehow they know that felicitations are in order. Surely they don’t still use a paper calendar like I do. In fact I consider it a fun event to transfer all the important dates to my new paper calendar every January. Yep. I’m still that person.
What’s even better is that my hubba remembered our anniversary and gave me the best gift. He painted our bedroom. Sappy sentimental man. The gift is very special to me because I know how difficult it is for him to get down on his knees to trim around the baseboard. He assured me it wasn’t hard at all. “It’s the getting back up that’s hard,” he smiled that sexy smile and my heart melted. Yep. He’s still got it.

On our actual anniversary we REALLY got hot and bothered. He took me to Rufty’s Garden Shop to pick out flowers for around the mailbox. During the last year or so, I’ve been unable to go anywhere because of chronic pain. Well, except for the doctor’s office. But David suggested that a quick trip from our house over to Innes Street probably wouldn’t overtax me too much; especially if I didn’t wear myself out getting ready. So I threw a summer scarf around my lovely housedress. David pulled into the crowded lot and I was happy to spot the perfect heat tolerant plants. He scurried inside to make our purchase while I waited in the car. After he received a hug from the wife of his youth, he turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. Thus the hot and bothered.

Sweat ran down the back of my lovely house dress. Mama warned us girls to never go out in public without getting “done up.” She always added, “That’s when you’ll run into your old boyfriend for sure!” Well praise God I married my old boyfriend and the last thing on his mind at that point was my attire.

The kind folks at Rufty’s took time in their very busy Friday to help. As they, along with David worked in the heat to jump start the battery, I contemplated removing my scarf. But I didn’t because, you know… house dress. Instead I prayed that the Lord would intervene on our behalf so I wouldn’t have to hitch a ride in all my loveliness. At least I had on my good… flip flops. God heard the prayers of a desperate poorly dressed woman. Eventually we were back on the road for the short trip home to the magical land of Clarkville. It’s a wonderful place, hot at times, but always full of adventure. Laced with sweet surprises like fresh eggs. Plus kind people, and blessings heaped upon blessings. Happy half century to us!

Well… you know… 49.

By Lynna Clark

Fifty years ago this month, I walked down the aisle of the Landis Methodist Church on my daddy’s arm. It didn’t matter that he had on a tux that didn’t match the rest of the men in the wedding party. Besides, it wasn’t his fault. One of our groomsmen showed up in a suit with tails. Outside the bride’s dressing room, I heard the friend exclaim, “Hey! Y’all have on the wrong tux!” Not him of course. That would be too obvious since all the other guys looked alike. Thinking I would panic, Daddy and Chris quietly switched jackets. Thankfully they wore the same size. Hence daddy walked me down the aisle in a tux with tails since he would be sitting next to mama instead of standing down front. I really didn’t care. All I knew was that my sweetheart waited for me to become his wife. We were ready. After all, I was nineteen and David would be too the following month. Okay. So he was eighteen. I’m a cougar and I totally robbed the cradle. But we were plenty old enough to know everything. Or so we thought.

On that beautiful day, our life together officially began. Through the years, God blessed us with three daughters, lots of fun places to raise them, and plenty of joy in the journey. At times we were richer than poor. Other times… not so much. Always we lived on the grace of God and His provision. We called it adventure living. There was also the whole ‘in sickness and in health’ thing. Nobody wants me to rehearse all that. At times, it’s been a very rough ride. David just gently cared for me every step of the way, never once wavering in his kindness and love. When he promised his faithfulness at the ripe old age of eighteen, he meant it. Fifty years later, here we are, upheld by the Lord’s mighty omnipotent hand. How Firm a Foundation could have been our theme song. Either that or Living on a Prayer, by Bon Jovi. Both are pretty accurate. Any way you look at it, God has been very good to us. That is why I’ve hung onto Psalm 90:1. “Through all the generations Lord, You have been our home.” David holds Jeremiah 29:11 close. “For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you; to give you a future and a hope.” Fifty years together with the Lord. He has been so faithful, so gracious, so wonderfully good. Yet David and I are still learning at His feet. Day by day He teaches us that He really is not mad at us for not always getting it right. He just loves.

If I could give one bit of advice to anyone who seeks wisdom it would be this. Put a tray or a bowl, some kind of vessel, by your door. As you enter, drop your keys there so you can always find them. This will save your marriage and also your mind. God bless you beloved ones. Thank you for your part in making our lives so good.

By Lynna Clark

Do you ever get the impression that the world has gone completely crazy? Wisdom has left the building… the whole planet for that matter. I happened upon a comforting thought yesterday in the little book of Ephesians. Listen to this:

Speaking of Christ Jesus, it says. “Now He is far above any ruler, or authority, or power, or leader, or anything else- not only in this world, but also in the world to come. God has put all things under the authority of Christ.” -from Ephesians 1: 21,22

Apparently, I can rest in His wisdom. HE is in charge. I am not. Neither is anyone else really, no matter their title. This is not a political statement. It’s just a reminder from a Biblical point of view. Jesus Christ is above all earthly authority. Perhaps I should trust Him.

By Lynna Clark

Lynna wrote this for Easter… It comes from the story of the women finding the empty tomb….

Considering what the women had just witnessed, this little side note seems a bit far fetched. Matthew 28:8 says “they were frightened but also filled with great joy.” Yes Lord! I am afraid too. Please fill me with joy so that I can truly rest in You. For Your joy is my strength!

By Lynna Clark

“WE! Out of all creation became His prized possession!”

-James 1:18

By Lynna Clark

For this world is not our permanent home.

“We are looking forward to a home yet to come. Therefore…

Let us offer through Jesus a continual sacrifice of praise to God;”

-Hebrews 13:14,15

By Lynna Clark

I was in the midst of changing clothes when my beloved walked in. “It still looks a little jiggly,” he stated. My head came up and my mouth flew open. “I beg your pardon?!”

“The pie,” he said. “The timer went off, but I think it needs more time in the oven. It’s still a little jiggly.” He turned to go before I could hurl a shoe at his head.

I guess we’ve all been misunderstood before. Especially now with so many words flying around on social media. It’s almost like we have to dissect every comment we make to be sure we don’t offend someone. While that’s not a terrible thing, it would also be nice to experience a little grace. There’s a word used in the old KJV that I love. Forbear. I had to look it up because it’s a bit outdated. Wait. I DID NOT say the King James Version is outdated. What I meant was, the word forbear is not used in everyday speech that often. But its meaning is sweet. Forbearance is “out roofing” or covering for someone when they need a bit of grace. I get the picture of standing by a friend in the rain and covering them with an umbrella. I like it. I know I need that grace an awful lot since I’m such a wordy wordsmith. In my limited understanding it seems to be like giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Instead of suspecting ulterior motives, just assume the better option.

When I was telling my daughter about her father’s untimely comment, she asked, “What kind of pie?”

I shook my head and thought, “So that’s the part you picked up on?” It was a strawberry custard and turned out delicious. While I am struggling health wise, David is learning to bake. He’s always been a fabulous cook, but now baking too? What a man. Perhaps that’s why some of us are a bit jiggly.

Annyyywayyy… here’s the recipe.

Right now, while strawberries are coming in from not so local places, they need a little forbearance. So slice and sprinkle them with sugar. While they rest, preheat your oven to 425 and make the custard.
Combine and beat with a whisk until frothy:
3 eggs
2 c. milk
1 t. vanilla
1/2 c. sugar
1 T. cornstarch
pinch of salt
Drain strawberries well so your crust doesn’t get soggy. Spread berries into two unbaked pie crusts; Pour custard mixture over berries. Place pies on cookie sheet for easier movement to oven, then bake at 425 about 15 minutes; reduce heat to 325 then bake 30 or so minutes more. Insert a knife to see if the custard is set or if it is still jiggly.

In the meantime, let’s practice this:
“With all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love;” -Ephesians 4:2 KJV
“Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.” -Col. 3:13 KJV

Like strawberry custard, forbearance is a sweet treat; especially if you don’t mind things that jiggle.

By Lynna Clark

I have two sisters who are twins. If I can get this wonky techno crapola from Gehenna to co-operate I’ll include a picture of them. But no promises. They are the best. My sisters that is. Each loves the Lord, diligently studies Scripture, and teaches God’s Word regularly. But best of all, when the rubber meets the road, they take care of the family. Our daddy is eighty-eight and probably the most healthy man you’d ever come into contact with. So strong, he is diligent about his healthy lifestyle. Until recently he was still walking three or more miles per day. He started noticing a change in his breathing. Turns out he needed an aortic heart valve replacement.

Wait… what?

It’s bad enough when someone his age needs a knee job. But heart surgery? The thoughts of it scared the life out of me. Another factor in the situation is that while my daddy is the picture of health for his age, I am not. I knew when plans were being made that I would not be able to help take care of him. I won’t lie. He can be a bit ornery, so I wasn’t terribly devastated. However, I worried about my sisters handling all that; especially since one of them lives in Virginia. Our local sister Janice stepped right up. She took care of all the preliminary doctor visits, all the calls and plans, plus she communicated the information to us. Since her husband had recently had heart surgery, she knew the right questions to ask and even understood the med-speak tossed around as-if we do this kind of thing everyday. She took him to the hospital on the day of surgery and sat with him through recovery. That alone was an all day sucker. Once he was moved into a regular room, she fed him dinner while he remained flat on his back. I can’t imagine what that looked like. Hopefully they didn’t have spaghetti. While Janice handled everything, Tamra our Virginia sister, and me held our breath and prayed. It was all we could do. So far, daddy seems to be fine and is supposed to go home today. Depending on his recovery time, Tamra and Janice plan to take turns helping him. Once again, I’ll be home praying as I really have no strength. As I thought on these things this morning, our sister verse came to mind.

“Three are even better, for a triple braided cord is not easily broken.” -Ecclesiastes 4:12b
For years we’ve held to this as we’ve gone through things with our children, the loss of our mama, and other trials. Each of us has our part. This is the first time that all I could do is pray. Thankfully my sisters get that, and even speak often of the value of my prayers. Rather than resent me, they lift me up. I think that’s the gist of the sister verse: each lifting the other until the cord is strong. Having the Lord woven in makes it even stronger. I hope you have someone you can weave into your life along with the Lord.

For a triple braided cord is not easily broken.