Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

Currently there are two hurricanes headed for the Gulf States; twin harbingers of chaos and destruction named Laura and Marco. Twins are like that you know. My mom used to tell of taking us three girls to Noah’s Five and Dime in Landis when we were small. My sisters who are twins would immediately wrench their little hands from our mother’s grasp and take off in different directions. It was a fun game of cat and mouse… until mama got them home. This regular occurrence was not due to lack of discipline. Believe me, there was plenty of that. I think it was more about what my two younger siblings considered to be fun. Apparently they inherited our daddy’s talent for mischief. I remember one time coming back to the house from the garden with mama and finding the screen door locked with those two goobers inside. Like a couple spider monkeys they sat on the kitchen counter with a box of vanilla wafers, stuffing as many in their mouths as possible. Through the screen mama implored them to unlatch the door.

“Cain’t,” mumbled one of them. “Stuck,” mumbled the other. Eventually mama convinced them to use the broom handle to pop the latch off. It took a while as there were many cookie breaks between tries. Sometimes I wonder how mama held it together raising us three. Of course I was a lovely child never prone to wander. So at least there was that.

As David and I watched the weather channel the other night detailing the projected paths of the twin hurricanes, the weather person pointed to the map and a large red swath moving inland from the Gulf. With a solemn voice meant to relay the severity of the situation she intoned. “This is the cone of uncertainty.”

We looked at each other and laughed. “Really? So that’s what that looks like! Only shouldn’t it cover the entire world at this point? Or at least our whole country?” If you’re like us, life feels a lot like a big fat cone of uncertainty. Chaos and destruction are reported on every hand. You can’t watch a Braves game without Covid being mentioned a hundred times. At least the victory celebrations have gotten more interesting. Grown men dancing in the outfield approximately six feet apart is kind of fun.

For now, I think I shall relax in the uncertainty. Though I am not one who likes surprises I’ve learned. It’s not about what I like. We’ve lived long enough to have suffered loss of loved ones, loss of homes, loss of churches and health and jobs. When you’ve been through a few crap storms you grow to realize. There is only One Who knows the end from the beginning. He is not surprised or caught off guard at our current events. The important thing to do is to pray. Hand it all to Him. I’m telling you this from experience. Giving Him the load to bear and trusting Him for the outcome is the only way to navigate the current cone of uncertainty. That way, when the dust settles, the troubles we have are not of our own making; like ulcers from worry, high blood pressure from irritation, or guilt from an angry response. In fact, I think a vanilla wafer might be in order. Perhaps with a little peanut butter. The world can yell through the screen door all it wants. The Lord is in charge of me. He alone is faithful.

By Lynna Clark

Ahhh… summertime in my sweet home of North Carolina. Where it’s not only hot enough to fry an egg on the hood of a truck, but also a great time to try out the meatloaf recipe you can bake in your mailbox. Where construction crews are busy spreading molten tar but are kind enough to put up warning signs if there’s going to be a bump in the road. A magical time when children run through the sprinkler just to cool off; that is if you can coax them outside into this blazing Hades we call July. But first they must be coated with sunscreen compatible with the surface of the sun. A thick layer of bug repellent is also mandatory lest mosquitoes the size of chickens carry them off. Then of course it’s important to thoroughly wash all that off the moment they come back inside so the poison applied for protection doesn’t cause brain damage.

Don’t tell anyone. But being the tired grandmother that I am, I’ve begun ditching the obligatory outdoor time. Instead I just toss them into a bath of lukewarm water where they can slosh and play all they want. It’s my idea of skipping the middle man. They’re not permitted to get bored until their little fingertips shrivel up like tiny raisins. Then and only then are they allowed to dry off and go to the next level of entertainment. I think to myself, “What a wonderful world!” Well… and also, “Legos don’t look so boring now do they?” MUWAHAHAH! This granny wasn’t born yesterday! [Obviously]

When their moms return from grocery shopping they are greeted by excited chatter explaining their Lego village. I stand amazed at the construction before me which easily rivals the Charlotte skyline. There are shops and vehicles and picnic tables and rooftop patios and even a little windmill suggesting a miniature golf course. Suddenly their moms are having a hard time getting them to leave. So a timer is set for thirty minutes of grace given for extra play. The adults retreat to the den with blankets and cups of coffee since the air is cranked up to a comfortable “granny level.” Though the timer has long ago sounded, everyone is quiet lest the spell is broken and playtime grace is ended.

When our three kids were small, they played outside all day. It was a necessary strategy in order to maintain my own delicate psyche. So at first I felt guilty for allowing my grands to play inside. But dang it’s hot! This happens every year and I’m just now recognizing this little bump in the road. Therefore I’ve decided: the kids can play outside this fall. And if they beg to come in, the reply on our lips shall be, “Sure! I’ve got a laundry basket full of socks to sort. You can help!” MUWAHAHAHA! Suddenly jumping in the leaves will look pretty fun again!

OH! I must go. I almost forgot to retrieve the meatloaf from the mailbox. Our mail carrier might think I’m nuts if I let that thing burn!

By Lynna Clark

If I were ever nominated for sainthood I’d have to decline the honor. I remember vividly one day years ago when our three daughters were young enough to toss into the tub together. We were in a very small rental and I was struggling physically. I thought that if the girls would play in the tub maybe I could sit in a chair and rest for a few minutes. When I stepped in to check on them the lovely green shag carpet squished beneath my feet. The floor was saturated with at least two inches of water.

“HOW DID YOU GIRLS MAKE SUCH A MESS?!”

[In case you’re wondering, the caps aren’t locked. I was screaming. Generally I’m not a screamer but at that particular moment I made an exception.] Three cherub faces went from exceeding joy to fearful explanation. “We were just playing Whoopeedaw.”

“WHAT THE BLANK IS WHOOPEEDAW?!!” [Yes I was swearing. Until that point the girls had only heard that word in Sunday school in the Biblical context.]

Tearfully the eldest explained. “You know… WHOOP-ee-daw! That’s when we slide to the front, then slide to the back, and a big wave comes and we yell ‘WHOOPEEDAW!’’ By then all three of them were sitting quietly trying to suck tears back into their faces. It’s funny today, but at the time I thought I might lose my ever-lovin’ mind. Along with this episode and a few others which shall remain unconfessed, I nullified my chance at mother of the year.

Have you noticed the current trend? On Mother’s Day we extol the virtues of those who’ve raised kids to near sainthood. But on Father’s Day, woe to the man who ventures into church. Typically he will be chastised and berated for defects he may or may not have. Sadly it’s much easier to spot the shortcomings of others than the failures in our own lives.

Another current trend is all inclusive blame. ALL democrats are blank. All Southerners are blank. All men are blank. It’s gotten so bad I feel guilty for being alive. Can we just stop it? What if we lived without condemnation and allowed others to do the same? I doubt seriously that any of us really qualify for sainthood. Remember that time YOU made a mess for someone else to clean up? Remember that time you said hateful words while you were angry? Remember that time you got aggravated at church and wished you were on the golf course? Yeah… me too, except I don’t play golf. Let’s take a step back and realize that in the grand scheme of things, we’ve got it pretty good; even if our green shag carpet is soaked beyond repair. The Lord, as usual, cuts to the chase with a few simple solutions. “This is what He requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” –Micah 6:8b

I think it’s worth a try. WHOOPEEDAW!

By Lynna Clark

Too bad the Corona virus hit during allergy season. Most of us don’t know if we have a week to live or if we should just take a Zyrtek. My poor husband was in line waiting to get into the grocery store during “senior hours” the other morning when he had a sneezing fit. He felt obligated to shout loud enough for everyone standing six feet apart to hear that it was just the pollen trying to get out of his head. Who would’ve thought that a sneeze would prompt dirty looks instead of the traditional Southern blessing? So I’ll say it instead. Bless his sweet heart. He’s doing all he knows how to lighten the mood when he has to go out. He’s friendly and makes funny comments about washing his hands so much that he no longer has fingerprints.

“Eventually that’s gonna come in handy since everyone is used to wearing masks, even to the bank.” I’ve begun to notice that his laugh is a little suspect. Silently I wonder if he’s got a plan to stimulate our own personal economy.

Our son-in-law finally found toilet paper at the Family Dollar. He didn’t realize it was lavender scented until his son informed that he didn’t much care for it. The general consensus is that the bathroom should smell like either flowers or poop but definitely not both at once. David found hand soap and bought it even though we don’t care for the floral variety. Like our grandson, there’s just something amiss about honeysuckle combined with certain odors.

I feel sure we’re all making do and learning new things during this funky time. I had my six month cancer check-up online last week. Somehow we opened a portal and the nurse practitioner, who was working from home, got to view my lovely giant head on her screen as she conducted the exam. She had to stop at one point to check on her kids. I was just thankful she opted out of the virtual breast exam. Praise God for small favors. My regular doc, beloved Ms. Adams, had her nurse Kourtney call to check on me too. These women are bound to be exhausted. But what kindness! Nobody has to shout “Bless you!” for me to know I’m blessed.

David’s learning to work from home during all this. He can make calls and set appointments through his laptop… unless the internet dies. For three days he struggled with lost signals, dropped calls, etc. until finally a nice guy in tech support tried to help. Though eventually Raul lost connection and David had to start all over, Rosette stepped in to rescue. Several hours later, access to the World Wide Web was once again at his fingertips. Like me when I figured out how to enter the Medical Portal of Wellness, the man was nearly dancing with joy over his accomplishment. When I asked how he got it hooked back up he shook his head. “I have NO idea.” I think if he could, he’d send Rosette flowers. Perhaps she would enjoy a virtual bouquet.

It used to be considered an act of kindness to rewind our videos from Blockbuster. Currently I think kindness is about realizing that everyone is going through an unusual set of circumstances, then doing what we can to lighten the load. Here’s to those of you going the extra mile. Please accept this virtual bouquet from my heart to yours. May God bless you even when you must sneeze the sneeze of shame.

By Lynna Clark

In the olden days we called them diaries. Now that we’re sophisticated we say we’re “journaling.” I don’t keep a diary or a journal. I probably should. But then again, no one would believe it. However, for many years I’ve written brief notes in my Bible so I would remember the crapstorms that so easily beset us. Little things like “Lord help us in our dealings with Horace and Doris; [not their real names thank God] Spring through Fall 2013.” I was so mad when I wrote those words beside Psalm 4:4 which says: “Don’t sin by letting anger control you. Think about it overnight and remain silent.”

Eventually their actions led to a great loss on our part. But as I read that passage this morning I was reminded. Even when the worst thing we can imagine actually happens, by God’s grace it all shakes out in the wash. Seven years ago we lost our house, filed bankruptcy, had a few major medical emergencies and THEN lost our jobs.

It felt like the sweet Psalmist of Israel read my mind when he penned,

“The ropes of death entangled me; floods of destruction swept over me. The grave wrapped its ropes around; death laid a trap in my path. But in my distress I cried out to the Lord; Yes, I prayed to my God for help. He heard me from His sanctuary; my cry to Him reached His ears.”

It’s a bit late for advice… or sympathy. So why rehearse all that to you now?

Think of the worst time in your life… the hardest thing you’ve ever been through.

Was it terrible? Were you crushed? Was your heart broken? And… did you live to tell about it?

Now think on the current situation. Is it really so bad compared to what you’ve been through? The media would have us flailing our arms and wringing our hands in panic. That’s why they love the term “Pandemic.” It’s a very scary word. Fear and drama make for excellent ratings.

Don’t fall for it. I would suggest following our local man of integrity David Whisenant on Facebook. He does a quick informative video on weekday mornings giving the latest updates. He is honest enough to report the facts, yet wise enough to relay the positive things going on in our community.

Another place with an honest perspective is the book of Psalms. “Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for I pray to no one but You. Listen to my voice in the morning Lord. Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.” Psalm 5:3

Write out your fears so that later when all this blows over, you can remember the time the Lord took care of you.

Then someday you can pass your valuable experience down to your grandkids. And your story won’t even involve walking to school in the snow uphill both ways.

By Lynna Clark

We might be nearing the end of the current pandemic. David’s been saying all along we’d be able to tell that it’s almost over when we not only FIND toilet paper, but are able to purchase the SOFT rolls of choice. Well, yesterday he hit the jackpot! He commented to our friend Natalie at the grocery store how pleased he was with his good luck. She advised him to go buy a lottery ticket.

Poor man. Since I’m a delicate flower and currently going through another season of pain, he’s running all the errands plus doing the grocery shopping. He found a few paper face masks in our paint supplies but was afraid to wear one lest he be chastised for mask hoarding. But he promised not to kiss any cashiers or lick anything whilst he was out among the teaming masses.

Our Illinois daughter Stephanie, hoping to lighten the mood wore a mask left from Halloween while she shopped for groceries. Instead of laughs she received more than a few suspicious looks. But it sure helped with social distancing. Everyone seemed to be afraid to make eye contact. If they had, they could tell by the girl’s sparkly eyes that she really is smiling behind her mask.

Our granddaughter Kianna will graduate high school this May. Celebrations have all been cancelled. We wanted to encourage her with a card. But apparently graduation cards are not on the essential list. However, David found two random cards so we could at least mail her a check. As he showed me the one with the pig in a saddle [which advised the recipient to live high on the hog] he advised, “Just mark out Happy Birthday. Or if you like this one with the dog better, mark out the ‘I’ and make it ‘we.’”

I chose the dog card because obviously it was much classier, and corrected it to say “WE’ll always be there for you.” It still didn’t make sense so I marked out the ‘t’ in ‘there’ because technically we can’t be THERE, but we can be HERE. Looking at the edited mess, I included the sentiment, “We love you way more than this card would indicate.” Hopefully the gift will reflect our heartfelt sentiments better than the jacked up card. I’m just glad David remembered stamps at the grocery store. Bless his heart. It only took three weeks.

Two of our local grandchildren came by one day and hung out of the windows of their truck to throw me “air hugs.” They see me in pain often and their mother always warns them not to hug too hard. Jesse nearly made me cry when he commented with his air hug, “This way I can hug you as hard as I want!”

Yep, surely we’re nearing the end of the crisis. I am really looking forward to being hugged as hard as I want.

By Lynna Clark

I say a lot of things I shouldn’t. Try not to judge. I’m working on it. The other day I heard words tumble out of my mouth that I don’t ever remember saying before. It surprised and saddened me.

Generally speaking, I’ve always prided myself in being able to make something out of nothing. I love getting creative using whatever I have on hand. David and I fetched a few boards, a grapevine wreath from the shed, ribbon leftover from a wedding and white spray paint from another project. I could tell my strength was going fast so I commandeered my beloved to saw the boards and fashion the creation I had in my head. For some strange reason he could not read my mind. Usually he has no problem. This time however he couldn’t catch the vision. I worked until I used up every ounce of energy I had then collapsed in a chair. Stupid mystery illness. Once again the pain took over and would not be silenced. That’s when I said it.

“I give up. I can’t do it.”

Slowly I made my way into the house and had a good cry. As the pity party picked up speed, I wondered why it was such a big deal to put an Easter wreath on the front door.  I take great pride in showing off Jesus. But this seemed to be about something more. I guess everyone likes to feel strong and independent. A bit later David came inside holding the creation that had caused the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. The man does many things well. But creativity involving junk from around the house is not his strong suit. Apparently he had not only read my mind but had also figured out how to put the parts together without the proper plan or tools. It looked good.

As I rehearsed the situation later I realized something. I’ve dealt with pain for many years. It’s been a matter of pride to keep on keeping on no matter what. Then I heard the key word I’ve used in this little story.

Pride.

Pride in my own creativity, resourcefulness, strength, and ability has become a part of my life. When I look on the homemade addition to our front door it reminds me of the simple truth of Resurrection Sunday. Pride will get me nowhere. Until I realize that I can’t do it myself, the cross of Christ means nothing. His sacrifice gained Heaven for me when my hands were empty. “I no longer count on my own righteousness through obeying the law; rather I become righteous through faith in Christ. For God’s way of making us right with Himself depends on faith.” –Phil. 3:9

When you think of standing before the Lord someday, what will you trust? He demands righteousness. In a world where DIY is king, may we learn to rest in the only One Who holds eternity in His hand. That is an area where no matter how capable we are, we cannot do it ourselves. For if we could, Christ truly died in vain.

By Lynna Clark

So, what have you been doin’? During the current pandemic, some of you are working harder than you’ve ever worked in your life. Sincere thanks to all who are keeping groceries on the shelves and vital medical services in place. If you’re like us though, you may have more time on your hands than usual. David has done all kinds of things around the house, like moving my bottle tree to a place I can see it from my writing room. He also wrapped the base of the bluebird pole with chicken wire in hopes of deterring snakes. Since he’d been hankering for a homemade banana pudding I made him one like Grandmaw Pittman used to, by cooking the pudding on top of the stove. It was awfully sweet (not me, the pudding). Even though I had my reading glasses on, apparently I mistook the 1/3 cup measure for the 1/8. So instead of having half cup of sugar, we ended up with a cup and a third. It’s really not my fault though. I had to cancel my eye appointment because of the whole social distancing thing. I was really looking forward to seeing again. But it can wait. Extra sweet banana pudding probably won’t kill us.

We also find ourselves watching stuff on television that we would have never seen. Since the Braves aren’t playing, Peter Rabbit became a viable option. It was pretty good. Or maybe we’re just desperate. All that counts is that we laughed. We also found The Zoo episodes on Animal Planet. Currently we’ve been visiting the Bronx Zoo. Now I know how a variety of exotic animals procreate. Their Komodo Dragons probably won’t be having offspring any time soon. The female nearly ripped the arm off her suitor when he got a little too friendly. Apparently they’d been shut up in the same space for too long.

But he probably didn’t move her bottle tree or fix her bluebird house.

The other pastime of choice is cooking and therefore eating. Our doctor, Caroline Adams, is not going to be very pleased with us if we ever get back in for our regular checkups. I bought David a gas flattop griddle for Christmas. He’s been trying all kinds of yumminess on that thing. Last week, he made homemade dressing, like we serve with turkey. Then he smashed small portions of it on the hot surface and fried it up crispy like savory pancakes. I found a can of cranberry sauce in the back of the cabinet and purposely ignored the expiration date. He made sausage gravy to smother the dressing and we called it supper. Happy quarantine to me!

Except for the necessary grocery run we are able to stay hunkered down. Being an introvert makes it easy for me to embrace this happy lifestyle. In fact I’m kind of loving being “non-essential.”

So, what have you been doin’?

By Lynna Clark

2019 would be the year. I was determined to read the Bible all the way through. I came close. But no cigar. A year and two months later I have one book left. Sweet, holy Jeremiah! Can you be any sadder? Bless your heart. Every day I trudge amongst your words as if mucking my way through the Great Dismal Swamp. Lord, I know You needed to warn Your people, and us too. But for crying out loud… literally, can we please be done? I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Reluctantly I picked up where I’d left off the day before. There it was; Jeremiah’s prayer. The tenderness of it was so near to my own heart that it was as if a rare flower bloomed in the night of despair.

“I know LORD that our lives are not our own. We are not able to plan our own course. So correct me LORD, but please be gentle.” –Jeremiah 10:23,24a

How many times I’ve made plans and failed.

I WILL have more faith! I WILL be strong! In fact, I will mount up with wings as eagles! I will run and not grow weary! I will walk and not faint! I will buy a throw pillow that says “Dream Big!” and a poster that shouts “I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me!”

Then once again, my plans fail.

I’m too weak to fly, run, walk or shop for the pillows of spiritual unction.

So I pray with my new friend Jeremiah. I think he would understand.

“I know Lord that my life is not my own. I cannot plan my own course. So correct me Lord, but please…

According to Your tender mercy…

Please be gentle.”

Lynna Clark lives in Salisbury. Read more at LynnasWonderful Life.wordpress.com

By Lynna Clark

Currently we have three local grandchildren, all seven years old. I had the bright idea to host a sleep-over a few weeks back so their parents could have date nights. The kids get along great so I wasn’t worried at all about them. But my old bones do not function like they used to. Right now I’m going through a season of pain. I knew it would be hard to keep up.

At bedtime we put the two boy cousins in the guest room and our granddaughter was given the privilege of sleeping with her grandmother. David was blessed with the recliner. I think he was happy to make the “sacrifice.” After much giggling, adjusting of covers, lanterns and flashlights I passed out on my side of the bed. The next morning everyone was up and at ‘em long before me. David had the kids at the breakfast table as I toddled that way. When I came around the corner I heard sweet Marie say, as if sharing a secret, “Did y’all know Grammy snores?”

“HEY!” I startled her. “You’re not supposed to rat out your Grammy!”

The three of them laughed and began saying how next time they were going to switch places. It seemed nobody wanted to sleep with Grammy. Jesse looked at me with pity, moved from his place and put his arm around me.

“I’ll sleep with you Grammy,” he said in a sympathetic tone. Marie held her ground. But Able noticed and came to me as well. Hoping my feelings weren’t hurt, he too promised. “I’ll sleep with you Grammy.”

Jesse piped up. “You first!”

I thought David might snort Aldi-O’s through his nose.

These kids. They bring me so much joy. Seven short years ago we wondered if God would ever hear our prayers for little ones. Able was due to arrive the following May, but his brother Aven had died before birth. We had reason to be afraid when Able was born ten weeks early.

Our youngest daughter and her husband had been on the adoption waiting list so long that they had to go through another home study. That fall God saw fit to bless their home with two babies at once; a boy and a girl, three weeks apart.

Seven years ago at Christmas our home was quiet… well, except for the snoring. That’s been a lifelong… situation. There was no pitter-patter of little feet. There were no hand-crafted fingerprint gifts made for the mamas. I had no reason to count batteries or shop for Legos and Lite-Brites. But now!

Oh be still my heart! Everyone’s fighting over who gets to sleep with Grammy!

Maybe this season for you is not so jolly and bright. Perhaps this is not the most wonderful time of the year in your world. May I offer a word of hope?

Speak to the Lord the longing of your soul. Cast all your care on Him, for He cares for you. Then watch as He brings you through this season and into the next. He alone is faithful and true.

Just remember that His timing is always wiser than ours. So many things had to work out before we got our little ones. And this mystery illness still plagues me though we’ve begged Him for years to take it away. The pain grows greater each passing day. Yet I know He hears the longing of my heart and will continue to bless us “in due season, if we faint not.”

“He that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him freely give us all things?”

May the Lord bless you and keep you in His wonderful care, no matter the season you’re in.

Resources:

Galatians 6:9; Romans 8:32; 1 Peter 5:7