Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

Mama was especially thrifty. Not stingy. There’s definitely a difference. Nowadays they call it frugal, cost efficient, or even “green.” Mama was all of those and then some. For example, there was always a half a Q-tip in the Q-tip box. She’d use one end, and the other end would still be clean, so she’d break off the dirty end and pitch it out, saving the clean end for some small task at a later date. I remember daddy saying, “Claudia. If you’re gonna use just half, why not use up some of the halves already in there?” She’d respond with a look that said, “Don’t mess with me!”

She made a chicken pie from scratch with only a small amount of chicken. There were no vegetables for in the pie, so she used sliced boiled eggs instead. We always seemed to have eggs. She made biscuits for on top out of flour, oil and milk. These she placed over a homemade sauce. Baked up golden brown, this was the picture of comfort food. It has always been one of my favorite meals, I think mostly because mama could make something wonderful out of very little.

My junior year in high school, I needed a dress for the Christmas dance. We shopped for the perfect pattern, and picked a silky fabric of purples mingled in a beautiful tie dyed design. She made the long version for the dance then shortened it afterwards so I could wear it to church. I loved that dress. It fit perfectly, and was way prettier than anything I could have found in the department store. Mama helped me to look and feel as special as any girl at the dance, even though times were very hard.

Not too long ago, we had the difficult task of going through her things. She died of a rare disease, and the Lord took her in a matter of only two months. It’s still hard to believe that she’s gone. She was the youngest, strongest, and feistiest seventy-two year old I have ever met, except for maybe my daddy. As we went through her scarves, there was that beautiful purple tie dyed pattern. She had saved the bottom of that dress and made a lovely scarf out of the scraps. What a sweet reminder of my mom, who could always make something very special out of nothing, and who passed that joy down to me.

And yes, I have a dish in the bathroom with Q-tip halves if you ever have the need.

Happy Birthday Mama! I sure do miss you. I miss the fun you always planned for us on holidays, like getting little flags for all the grandchildren on the 4^th of July. And your Cherry Yum-Yum made to look like a flag with blueberries in the corner; I laugh when I think of the time our new son-in-law Jeff ate all 50 states in one fell swoop. Or the Halloween you and daddy dressed up like old people and came trick or treating.

I miss how you organized our beach trips and fed about a thousand of us for only $50 per family. I miss being able to call you for advice on sewing or cooking or kids.

I miss hearing you sing with the grandchildren songs like “Two Little Eyes” and “Little Red Box.”

I miss watching your excitement at hiding Easter eggs even when our kids got old enough to turn the hunt into a full contact sport.

I miss going to your house and watching you and daddy banter back and forth until you called out “Seabert!” to him which signaled you had had enough.

I miss getting cards in the mail addressed in your handwriting, knowing you and daddy had laughed so much in the Hallmark store you feared getting kicked out.

I miss hearing you talk about church and the hot dog sales and how much hamburger it takes to make chilli for a hundred.

I’m sorry I can’t bear to visit your grave. But I know you understand. You’re not there anyway. I’ll see you again and we’ll catch up on our visits. I think of you often, especially when I use a permanent marker, or a piece of your Tupperware with Claudia written on the bottom.

I miss your pretty white hair and your beautiful smile and your cute little ball cap with Myrtle Beach on the front. Actually I have it, but I can’t wear it because David mistook me for you one day and nearly had a heart attack. He especially misses you when he makes pancakes like ya’ll used to do together at the beach.

We all miss you mama. Enjoy your day. And know that we love you.

By Lynna Clark

Looking forward to a day at the beach, we were greeted with this sign:

Oh dear. Suddenly I don’t feel much like relaxing. You mean there could be a tsunami? And when it comes, am I supposed to run like the little man in the picture? What if I can’t get out of my chair fast enough? What if I am busy watching the water, wondering why it is suddenly pulling away from the shore? What if I can’t find my flip flops? What if I jump up and run as fast as my short legs can carry me, but it’s not far enough? How far will a tsunami go ashore? Should I get in the truck and hope it just washes over everything, then recedes, leaving me a nice air pocket, while setting the truck upright on all four wheels? What if I can’t run to the truck, get it unlocked, climb in, and shut the door in time? What if David has walked down the beach with the keys in his pocket? Maybe I should just plan on swimming it out. I used to be a pretty good swimmer. I earned all the badges at the YMCA as a kid except the last one. I bet that’s where they taught you what to do in case of a tsunami. Oh why, oh why didn’t I take that last class? Seems like I had strep throat but I could’ve toughed it out. Why didn’t I come prepared for this? Now here we are at the beach without a plan.

“Don’t worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank Him for all He has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” –Philippians 4:6,7

Thanks Lord. I needed that.

By the way, Lord, will you punish the people who decided to spell tsunami with a “t?” That is just wrong.

By Lynna Clark

“I like your big panties,” my sweet friend said. Everyone at the table stopped talking. The look on my face said, “Holy cow! Did I forget my britches?”  I stammered out the only reply I could muster. “I thought I had those covered up…” and of course I had to gesture the wide unfurling of a parachute sized pair of underwear.

“Your big PANIES” she clarified. “Did you grow them?”

“Ohhh…. my Pee ON eeze. Yes! They came from my backyard.”

Our British friend at the table spoke. “I think it’s pronounced Peon EEZE.” As he spoke the word flowed beautifully off his lips like honey. What is it about a British accent that immediately garners respect? Maybe that’s why all the movies about Bible stuff have Jesus speaking with a British accent.

I wonder if a portrayal of the Sermon on the Mount would sound as wise if it were written by a Southerner. The young man playing Jesus would speak while sitting on the back of a pickup truck. The hair and beard would be the same, but that accent would NOT work!

“I know it’s hard bein’ poor, bless your hearts. I have been there ‘n done nat. Ya’ll know I’z born in a barn? But doncha worry none. Your daddy in heavin is makin a real nice place for ye.

And a lot of ya’ll are hungry rite now, but someday you’ll be fullerna tick. Some of ya’ll are sheddin’ some tears up in here. But sumday ya’ll gonna be laughin yer heads off.”

The feeding of the five thousand would’ve seemed less of a miracle too. Southerners never forget to bring food, and that’s about the same number that attend homecoming.

Then if Jesus went with His disciples out on the lake, they would’ve been in a real nice bass boat. His question of “Did ye bring any bread?” would’ve been answered with, “Yep! We got biscuits and cornbread and hushpuppies. Take yer pick!”

After they fished all night and didn’t catch anything, Jesus might have advised, “Change up yer jig and throw over in ‘at buncha grass growin’ up air inna cove.”

Peter might’ve shouted, “Oooowee! Look et all ‘em bream, and catfish, and crappie! Man, at the bass! They’re all keepers! We are gonna have us a fish fry to NITE!”

We probably won’t see that version at the box office any time soon, praise God.

As I carried the big bouquet of peonies into the memorial service, I passed a young man who spoke his admiration as well. “Wow! What beautiful roses! Did you grow them yourself?”

I guess a peony by any other name still smells just as sweet.

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.