Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

I take great pride in keeping my home neat. It’s not always clean, but it is tidy. There’s a bright tablecloth on our little kitchen table, with a fruit bowl or flowers. Dirty dishes are placed in the portable dishwasher as soon as they’re used. David and I are the only ones here and the house is so tiny that it only takes a minute to make it neat.

However, last Monday we finished a long day and crashed. The tablecloth was dirty so I tossed it on the floor toward the laundry room. The dishwasher was full and in front of the kitchen sink hooked up to run. David wasn’t feeling well so he grabbed an old sheet and quilt then hit the recliner sofa. The week before, he moved to a new office and had pulled books off our shelves, sorting stuff in piles on the floor. Our house was unusually trashed.

Books were not the only thing to hit the floor that night. About 2am, he got so violently ill that his blood pressure bottomed out. I found him passed out on the bathroom floor and had to call 911.

As I jerked on clothes, described his symptoms to the dispatcher, and prayed my sweetheart wouldn’t die, I ran to turn on the porch light and open the side door. Lickety-split my little upside down house was filled with firemen and paramedics who do not know what a respectable housekeeper I am. Wouldn’t you know it! The one time…

This is where the wise person would tell you that none of that matters now that I know David is okay.

While that is very true…

The next day I found myself cleaning the house top to bottom, rearranging the bookshelf, spreading out a clean table cloth, washing all the linens, disinfecting the floors, and thinking of a reason to invite the emergency guys back for a do-over.

Perhaps if I bake a cake to thank them for their great efficiency and kindness…

This time the 911 call would sound like this:

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“Oh… no emergency. Is the same crew working that worked Monday night?”

“Yes ma’am. Is this the lady with the messy house?”

“They TOLD you that?”

“Yes ma’am. They were appalled. Apparently there was a pink striped sheet on a red sofa. Sounds hideous!”

“Could you please send them back? I have cake!”

“No ma’am. They said if you ever called again to tell you they would not return to such a pigsty.”

“But… but I have cake.”

“No cake in the world would entice them back. They also told us about your bedhead. Said you looked like a woman in a bad wig wearing clothes with yesterday’s coffee stains.”

“Sigh… it’s true. It was bad. Sorry I called…um… have a good night.”

“You too ma’am… because they are not coming back.”

Mama always said to wear decent underpants in case there’s an emergency.

You know… they did not even check our underpants!

Thank the good Lord.

By Lynna Clark

Fishing with much younger buddies at the Outer Banks, daddy lept over a steep washed out shoreline into the surf. Snatching up the twenty-two inch puppy drum which had fought its way off the hook, he made his way back up the embankment to the amazement of his friends. My brother-in-law Milton said he caught sight of daddy in mid-air as he took quick action not to lose the catch of the day. One of the guys asked, “How old did you say he is?” “Eighty!” he responded as they all shook their heads in wonder. Daddy’s a little bit amazing.

He called me last night and we had the best visit. He wanted to thank us for the Veterans’ Day card. I said, “Thank you daddy, for your service!” His reply was puzzling to me.

“I never have thought of myself as ‘serving.’ But I guess somebody had to do it. I was just on an aircraft carrier during the Korean War. I didn’t really see action.”

Everyday heroes are my favorite. Folks who just do whatever’s needed without any fanfare. Steady in the day to day, serving behind the scenes, making things easier on others.

Maybe you are that person.

Someone’s day is better because you made coffee. No big deal, except for the person who needed the coffee. [You may have saved a life or two!]

Your wife has a happy heart because you made dinner.

Currently you’re teaching your toddler where her nose is. That’s sure to come in handy one day.

Your pastor is not quite as weary because you gave him a word of encouragement.

The prisoner you know has a little speck of hope because you dropped him a postcard.

Everyday heroes are my favorite…even if they aren’t agile enough to snatch puppy drums from the surf.

My always interesting daddy!

“Lord, when did we ever see You hungry and feed You? Or thirsty and give You something to drink? Or a stranger and show You hospitality? Or naked and give You clothing? When did we ever see You sick or in prison and visit You?”

“And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you were doing it to Me!” –Matthew 25:37-40

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

What is your default setting? Where do you go when nothing is making sense? Do you have a “happy place” that re-boots your psyche? Christianeze would say, “Run to Jesus.” So how do you do that when the bills pile up, and the pain is great, and prayers go unanswered?

A good friend of mine who struggles with depression will watch a funny movie. Another friend finds great solace in his deer stand. He can sit there in the cold, frosty morning and watch the forest for hours. David will take a long ride on his motorcycle through the quiet countryside. Me? Take me to the beach. Give me a day watching the waves and suddenly I’m good for another couple months.

The sweetest story is recorded in the last chapter of John. Seven guys were together after witnessing the horrible death of their friend. And even though they had seen Him alive, and had the realization that God had raised Him from the dead, their future was very uncertain. Unmet expectations, fear of the unknown and the lingering question of “What now?” made way for hurt and doubt.

Peter reveals his default setting with “I’m going fishing.”

His friends joined him. But after fishing all night their nets were as empty as their souls. With dawn breaking a stranger called out to them the ageless question.

“Catching anything?”

“We’ve got nothing,” was their reply.

“Throw your net on the other side,” came the familiar suggestion.

With nets suddenly full, memories of provision and care filled their weary souls. Once they hauled in the bounty, they made their way to the shore where Jesus was waiting. And He had a hot breakfast ready for them. Can He get any sweeter?

A HOT BREAKFAST!

Here is the Lord of glory, Who has just conquered death, Who understands their fear and emptiness, cooking breakfast on the sea shore for His weary friends.

He’s kind like that. It wasn’t enough to call out a greeting; or fill their boat with fish; or even just appear to them again in order to let them know everything would be okay. Nope. He cooked breakfast.

That is a picture of our Savior: Grace heaped upon grace.

Just when we cannot take another thing, He sends what we need to fill our empty souls.

Hold on my friend. He will be calling to you shortly. Don’t feel bad if you have to look to Him and reply, “I’ve got nothing.” He already knows.

And He’s cooking up something special that will be just what you need.

By Lynna Clark

My beloved mom-in-law passed away a few weeks ago. She was such a beautiful soul. And funny… oh my word! The things she would come up with. She had special names for certain things in her life; like the big white robe she wore in the winter. Often she warned us not to be alarmed if we saw a polar bear ambling around her house as it was just Big Bertha.

When she could no longer walk with just the assistance of a cane, she began using a walker with a seat. It had a little basket where she would load her gardening tools as she puttered around the yard. Inside the house she would load it with cleaning supplies or laundry for that long trip down the hall. She dubbed it her “Cadillac.”

She had a pink blouse which she always wore to the doctor. More accurately it was mauve, that dusty rose color which was popular in the eighties. Her daughters tried every way they could to get her to wear something besides that awful shirt as it did her no favors. However she always went back to it. Though mauve is code for ugly, she brightened it with her smile.

We’ve begun cleaning out her home of over fifty years. You can’t even imagine the treasures we’re gleaning. So far we’ve only gotten to the kitchen. We checked expiration dates on the foods in the pantry and laughed so hard at the things she hung onto. David suggested that if the date began with the words “In the year of our Lord,” we could probably assume it was too old to consume. In the back of one especially low cabinet was an unidentifiable figure. It appeared to be a dried corpse of an animal from yesteryear. David’s sister bravely pushed it into the floor with a broom. The four of us stood hovering over it trying to make out what it could have been. David finally scooped it up with the dustpan and took it outside. It was larger than a squirrel and had a funky shape. The sisters told me I could have it as part of my inheritance. I was more than thrilled.

Later as I thought again about the dried up mystery animal, I remembered bringing Nina some driftwood from the beach many years ago. She had expressed wanting a piece to put a little ceramic bird on that I had brought her the year before. Apparently the two treasures never met as she always had lots of projects in the works. In fact that bird is probably buried somewhere in her craft room which our middle daughter lovingly renamed Nanny’s Crap Room. It is an accurate description and we can hardly wait to go through the treasures there.

What I love about Nina’s kids, Jo, Gail, and David, is that they’ve been able to maintain their mother’s great sense of humor as we do the necessary things. No pushing, grabbing, or resentment; just working together to honor their mother’s last wish of having a happy home. The closest we’ve come to fighting so far has been over a pack of bacon.

Very graciously I have been included in the dividing of assets. Along with the driftwood shaped like a varmint, I’ve been given her cement pineapple which was always her southern symbol of hospitality. Though I do not share that same sentiment, I love that she did. I tucked it by my side entrance behind a large hosta lest anyone get the wrong idea. You know how I feel about entertaining visitors I do not know. All you “angels unaware” might as well fly on down the street to someone more Godly. However, if you do happen to knock on my door, don’t be surprised if I’m wearing a mauve shirt. Too bad it didn’t come with Nina’s sweet smile.

By Lynna Clark

It was the first day of Spring. We had just received the terrible cancer diagnosis for my beloved mom-in-law Nina. The first surgeon she visited spoke words we were not prepared to hear. “I can’t do surgery because if I were to take all of the cancer out I would not even be able to close you back up.”

I began gathering photos of Nina in preparation for… I cannot even speak the word.

Anyone who knows her also knows that she hates having her picture taken. Therefore the task would not be easy. Oh we had plenty of pictures, but nearly all of them have her wagging a finger in the direction of the photographer with a death threat hanging in mid-air. This woman is not to be trifled with. I joked with her one happy day that if she didn’t stop putting the stink-eye on those trying to capture her pretty image we’d have to resort to using all those ugly photos at her memorial. That would teach her!

Beautiful silver hair frames her lovely face. Her skin is smooth and nearly wrinkle-free. She and her son joke that all the butter they consume keeps the wrinkles pushed out from the inside. She was able to attend the graduation of her granddaughter Desani where someone snapped a gorgeous picture of the two of them. She showed it to me and said, “When I die just Photoshop my head onto all those other bad pictures.” Note to self: Never try to teach Nina a lesson.

For those of us who live in Salisbury, Dr. Black is a household name. He and Nina go way back. He’s treated many members of her family for cancer starting with her husband. Even now while Dr. Black is in the midst of trying to retire he’s committed to treating Nina’s sister until the end. The only criticism I’ve ever heard her speak of him is that she cannot understand why he doesn’t wear socks. Something about his naked ankles has always been a little disconcerting to her. Nina has baked him and his staff many a pan of brownies. She was saddened to hear of Dr. Black’s retirement, but took right up with his associate Dr. Brinkley. Perhaps the fact that he wears socks gives him cred. She loved him immediately because he joked with her and understood her sense of humor. The three of them have a running disagreement on whether brownies should contain nuts or not. Dr. Black poked his head into her exam room one day and said, “Don’t you let him talk you out of putting nuts in the brownies!”

What will Salisbury do without Dr. Black?

What will we do without our beloved Nina? My heart grieves at the thought.

Last Spring I wrote a story called Daffodils of Hope which ended with a request that you pray for her. Here’s the rest of the story. Dr. Brinkley immediately started breast cancer treatment which has shrunk the tumors so much that everyone is amazed. Nina has had no terrible side effects, has not had to endure chemo or radiation. We had no idea such a hormone therapy existed. At this point it’s looking like she may not even require surgery. God willing, Nina will be celebrating her ninetieth birthday on Christmas day.

Never once did Dr. Brinkley treat her as though she were too old to hope. With each visit he listened intently as she and her children asked questions and relayed symptoms. In fact he listened so well that at times there was actual silence in the room as he processed our concerns. How rare is that? If you know the Clark clan you’ll certainly appreciate that abnormality.

Thank you doctors Black and Brinkley for treating her and many others so well. Thank you to all who prayed for our beloved Nina.

And thank You Lord that I won’t have to be learning how to use Photoshop anytime soon.

By Lynna Clark

My mom-in-law Nina gave us a little scare last week. She’s 86 and one of the sharpest funniest people I know. Her heart got out of rhythm and she had to go to the hospital. I told her she had been eating too many Javi’s Duros De Harina [chili and lime seasoned wheat chips]. She loves those things and stocked up when she found them on sale for a dollar a bag. No wonder her heart was doing the cha-cha!

Her nurse’s name was on the white board. What a beautiful young lady with a Jamaican accent, and she was very sweet to Nina. As she left the room, we asked Nina how to say her name. She said “It’s Hawa, as in Hawa ya?” Leave it to Nina to entertain us while she’s sick. Thankfully her hospital stay was short.

Lately she has also developed a painful knee. It sometimes gives out and causes her to lose balance. So she keeps her cane handy. I walked over to see her and she asked me to look for it. “I know I haven’t been outside today, so it’s got to be here somewhere!” She had hobbled all over the house looking.

After checking in all the obvious spots, then under furniture, and the places we’ve found it hanging before [on the back of chairs, kitchen cabinet handles, bathroom towel racks, etc.] I finally gave up.

The next day, her daughters came over to clean house for her since she’s still not feeling well, and they are giving Amanda a baby shower. Jo called. “You’ll never guess where we found mama’s cane. Gail found it in the refrigerator.”

Bless her heart. Nina had been cleaning out her fridge and had hung it there while she worked. Then it just blended in with the metal racks.

I love this woman.

As bad as she feels, she is determined to host the shower. In her thinking that includes waaayyy more than one might think. She’ll make about 50 tiny bows to pin on guests for a game. She will wrap small gifts for prizes and a blue hydrangea must be purchased for the guest of honor. Doilies will line the plates. Flower pots need to be painted. Blue sheets must be ironed so white lace can cover them and the tables. She is also hoping her blue and purple irises open in time for the guests to enjoy them. What a production.

David couldn’t get her on the phone the other night so he decided to walk over to check on her. There she was outside planting pansies in the dark.

I can’t imagine life without her.

By Lynna Clark

I love my little town. Salisbury, NC has so much going for it. Sure, that includes some crazy but don’t you think every family has a touch of crazy? It keeps things interesting. Sometimes folks refer to us as “Smallsbury” in a derogatory fashion. That’s okay. I think small is a good thing. In fact, someday when I write my book I might just title it that. Smallsbury, USA.

Many neighborhoods still exist here where we look out for one another. The other day I was standing at the kitchen window when I noticed a cop car slowing down. It proceeded to pull into my mom-in-law’s driveway. My heart just stopped. I alerted David so we both moved to the front window and peered through the curtains like Gladys Kravitz on Bewitched. What is going on across the road?!!

We checked our cell phones to make sure we hadn’t missed a call. As we watched to see what was afoot, David grabbed his shoes so he could run interference between the police and his eighty-nine year old mother. Not that we needed to warn her in case she was smoking pot or something. We just wanted to be there if she was going to be arrested while “Bad Boys, Bad Boys” played in the background.

However, before David could get his shoes on all fear was gone. The policeman turned out to be our nephew. Since he was in town for court, he decided to stop by his grandmother’s house to check on her. Then every cop’s worst nightmare happened. His grandmother sent him across the street to our house with a box of doughnuts. Talk about stereotypes. Bless his heart. 

This would not be Nina’s first brush with the law. She was driving home from serving Meals on Wheels one night years ago, when she made a right turn beside a vehicle which was stopped for a light. Since there was no turning lane, the police pulled her over. When asked for her license she realized her purse was locked in the trunk. Exiting the vehicle into a night filled with flashing blue lights, there she was, guilty before God and everybody. As she opened the trunk she was sure that all who passed thought she’d been busted for drugs. Nervously she retrieved her purse. Suddenly matters got even worse. Dropping her pocketbook, as we say in the South, she watched as the contents spilled across the pavement. No telling how many tubes of lipstick rolled into the gutter that night. As she stood there mortified, two nice policemen chased down the contents. Her lifetime motto has always been, “Lipstick makes everything better.” That night might have been the one exception.

As you know, things aren’t always as they seem. The policeman knocking on her door was not there to interrogate. The cop carrying doughnuts across the road was just doing his grandmother a favor. And the lady in the blue light was not being busted for drugs. In Salisbury though, we already knew that. Word travels fast here because we’re all standing at our windows, peering out checking on our neighbors. I especially love that small town living includes policemen who love their grandmothers, deliver doughnuts, and chase lipstick for nervous women.

God bless Smallsbury!

*Special thanks to my beloved nephew Jason Hinson who allowed me to take his picture while in uniform holding a box of Krispy Kreme. What a man!

By Lynna Clark

My mother-in-law has the best humor. She is also very determined. Once she gets an idea in her head there is no talking her out of it. She lives across the street from us and last month she had gravel, or “crush ’n run,” delivered to her driveway. It’s something she’s done for fifty plus years. The truck comes, dumps a big ol’ pile of rock and she is as happy as if she has good sense.

We knew this had become a current priority because she had mentioned it to us several times. “Get ready! Gravel is coming!” she would say.  For my husband, [her son] that was like saying, “Just so you know, the gates of hell are about to open.” Her idea of a good day is hauling gravel by the wheel barrow load to its designated spot after shoveling it into her wheel barrow. But before the gravel comes, it is important to dig out under the carport so ground level is not too high. Then you have to wet everything down real good so it packs tight. It’s a very important process.

After mentioning her plan several times, and how important is was to get some crush ‘n run, because she had not had any delivered in about thirteen years, her son said, “So mama, how are you going to get the gravel spread?” She replied with a head wag, “I will spread it myself!” Son says, “Mama, the last time you did this you were young, like still in your seventies. Can we figure out a different way to do this? I’m not as young as you are.” For he knew he would not be sitting across the street watching his eighty five year old mom haul gravel.

Finally, after numerous conversations like this, she mentioned to one of her daughters her plan.  Her firstborn replied, “If I hear tell of you shoveling gravel, I will make a speed bump out of you.” This is her calm daughter. Usually we depend on the younger daughter to take care of such issues. But this time offspring number one made her opinion clear in no uncertain terms.

When mom-in-law called to tell me to watch her driveway for speed bumps, I told her to make sure to lay down parallel to the drive instead of crosswise; and if she didn’t mind, to position herself in the middle of the drive so she wouldn’t create too much trouble for us to get in and out.

Not to be outdone by all the instructions from well-meaning children, she asked before she was made into a speed bump, if she could at least roll up and down the drive. That way, she reasoned, the gravel would be packed down so tight it would resemble concrete.

I love her humor. I love how sharp she is. I love how everyone has her best interest at heart and how we all instruct her, even though she really does know everything. Seriously. She has been through so much life, that there isn’t much she does not know. Oh to be that sharp and fun at eighty-five!

I heard the beep, beep, beep, as a gravel truck backed into her drive. It deposited two huge piles of the coveted crush ‘n run. Shortly after, a grandson with a blade pulled up and leveled the drive. Mom had previously, probably under cloak of night, dug out under the carport to the desired depth.  A hard rain began to fall as the grandson finished spreading the crush ‘n run. The driveway is leveled and packed. Later mom waters the gravel under the carport to her heart’s content. No mothers or offspring were harmed in this production. All is well in her corner of the world. Now if we can just figure out how to keep her out of the creek.  Because you know, that when the rocks get moved around, water gets still and mosquitoes breed, and… the saga continues…

The Firstborn, Jo, Nina, and the Middle Child, Gail

By Lynna Clark

I have a framed sign in my house that I love. It has held true for many years. Come to think of it, I probably should dust that thing. I love it even more especially now. It simply says, “He is faithful in every season.”

Nearly everything in my life changed the day I lost David. No longer do I hang the stockings while thinking of how to get the Zero candy bars he loved so much. In fact, for the first time ever, there was no reason to hang stockings. He sure isn’t out hunting down all the chocolate covered pretzels he can find for me. Last year I found the last bag in the pantry in April. Praise God for airtight packaging! What a treat. I even shared them with him though his appetite was already failing.

Thankfully we stopped putting up a Christmas tree several years back. We decided long ago we’d need that space for people instead. Last Christmas he bought me an obelisk; a pretty wooden pyramid structure that fits well in the flowerbed by the door. The kids twisted bright colored bulbs around it and it works just fine in lieu of a tree. And David used to grill steaks on Christmas Eve for the whole family. This year Shane is smoking pork in his new smoker. Just another sign of the new season. David also used to make a foot tub of Scrabble as his mother would say. I found his recipe for Chex Mix the other day and hope to do the same. But there’s no way it will be as good as his. He’d also make white chocolate clusters with pretzels then give me the speech about how he couldn’t get real white chocolate anymore, only the candy coating. Our Christmas experience was always enhanced by the speech. I won’t hear it this year, but it’s okay. I’ve got it memorized. His other Christmas speech involved something about not touching my gifts from him until Christmas morning. I’ve got it memorized too but this year it doesn’t apply.

The point is I’m in a new season. It truly feels like everything has changed. I’ve never in my life lived alone. It’s so weird. I think of things I need to ask him, then realize… he’s not here to tell me the guy’s name who does the Salsa in the endzone. I wonder about our year-end offering that we used to pray about and always, without fail, came up with the same number. I reach for him at night, but he is not there. The light I left on for him in the bathroom stays on all night just so I feel like he’ll be to bed soon. Everything has changed.

Except this.

The Lord is faithful in every season. As the old hymn says, “Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not. Great is Thy faithfulness!” His mercies are new every single morning. For many years I’ve enjoyed the fact that the Lord gives so abundantly. Now He has taken away. Dare I say it? Yes I will. For He is ALWAYS faithful!

“He gives and takes away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

PS: If you are grieving this Christmas, try reading A Decembered Grief by Harold Ivan Smith. My kind friend Karen gave me a copy and it has been such a help. Also, the verses I quoted above are found in Lamentations 3:23, Hebrews 13:8, and Job 1:21. The angels called Him Emmanuel, because He is with us, no matter how alone we feel.