Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

Have you ever been so embarrassed that you wanted to crawl under a table and hide? Like the time when I was a young mother and my skirt fell off at homecoming. We’re talking church gym full of covered dishes and gloriously sanctified saints. This was in the eighties so picture a cute little yellow wrap around number that tied on the side. My darling middle child, who was about five at the time, poked a hole in the bottom of her Styrofoam cup with her pointy little finger. Red punch poured freely onto those nearby while she examined her homemade fountain with wonder. Being a young nimble woman, I jumped into action. Unbeknownst to me the knotted end of my skirt tie was caught in the foldy part of the metal chair where I was perched. In one fell swoop my skirt was left behind as I bounded toward the buffet line for napkins. Praise God for petticoats.

Fast forward to 2019.

We’ve been dealing with a health issue for quite a while. I say “we” because David, my better half for 45 years has journeyed with me through all kinds of treatments. A few weeks ago the pain increased to the point that we decided to consult our family physician. I’ve been through so many tests and “cures” down through the years, that frankly even though I love my new doctor and have the utmost respect for her, I’ve never actually talked with her about this mystery. I decided it was time.

Together we chose a medication that might relieve some of the pain. By the second week in, I could barely toddle without help. Thank the good Lord I haven’t had to be in a hurry to fetch napkins. Annyyywayyy…

At my urging, David took me to a baby shower. Since I really wanted to see our nieces and nephews and all the new babies they’re having, I assured him I’d be fine. We parked close to the door but as he helped me inside, the August heat hit full force. I stumbled and could not tell which way was up. I’ve never been so drunk in all my life. Suddenly I felt very old and feeble. It was even more embarrassing than losing my skirt at church. Later one of my sweet nieces asked if I’d like to hold her baby. I shook my head no then mumbled something about being on drugs. Seems like I laughed quite a bit longer than I should have. Thankfully though, I still had all my clothes on.

When we left, David led me to the car. I stumbled again and hung onto him for dear life. Bless his sweet heart. Like the gentleman he is, he took the drunk girl home. I settled into my recliner and had a good cry. A short while later his sister Gail sent him a text to check on me. Her kindness reminded me of several things.

We all go through embarrassment. Some events are still funny forty years later while others are too fresh to laugh at just yet. AND the people who love us are going to love us no matter what. So since I’m not quite ready to laugh at my current embarrassment, here are two quotes found on Facebook lately that relate.

One: “I can talk an awful lot of smack for someone who tips over when putting on their underwear. Two: “People who are chronically ill are not pretending to be sick. They are pretending to be well.”

By the way, I called a nurse to ask for advice. She was very kind and suggested three things.

One: Stay cool. Two: Move slowly. Three: Call her back if I pass out.

First of all, this is the August from Sheol if I’m not mistaken. Second, I can’t move any slower. I’m already in sloth mode. Third, if I pass out, surely someone else will call 911.

Update:

One month later it’s still hot. But thankfully I was weaned off the extra meds and got the bulk of my balance back. So if you were one of the many people who gave me grace during the questionable times, I love you. And someday if you find yourself staggering, I promise to give you the benefit of the doubt.

It’s just no fun falling down drunk without a party.

By Lynna Clark

We really enjoy watching the Atlanta Braves play. In fact we’ve been fans long enough to remember the days of Andrew Jones, Javy Lopez, John Smoltz, and long before that Dale Murphy. Now we appreciate all the new guys. I think what makes it so enjoyable is that the team is having a good time. They joke with the opposing fans and players. They laugh at each other and make fun of their own mistakes. I kinda love it. Plus all the winning is fun too.

The other night something terrible happened. One of our favorite players, Charlie Culberson, got hit in the head with a ninety-one mile an hour fastball. He immediately went down. As Charlie lay bleeding in the dirt, we waited… and prayed.

The third base coach, Ron Washington is a seasoned veteran who tends to treat each player as a son. As Charlie suffered, Papa Wash, as David dubbed him, kneeled in the dirt beside him. While medics attended his head, gently he patted Charlie’s leg as if soothing his son.

Eventually the medical staff was able to get our wounded player onto a cart. As they drove away Charlie lifted his head to search out the National’s pitcher Fernando Rodney. The men exchanged a moment of grace when Charlie simply gave him a thumbs up. Rodney was visibly shaken and struggled to maintain control when later he continued pitching.

A fastball to the head is serious. Most likely Charlie is out for the rest of this season. If bones are crushed near the eye socket his entire career could be over. I remember years ago when a player was hit with a similar pitch. Because of a shift in the position of the bones around the eye, the man no longer had the depth perception he needed to play. I’m sure both men were aware of the severity of the injury. Yet one simple gesture said in essence,

“It’s okay. I know the ball just got away from you.” 

I felt almost as sorry for the pitcher as I did for Charlie. I wanted to hug him and usher him away from the field. Like Papa Wash I wanted to kneel in the dirt by Charlie. Like the man on the cart holding a towel on Charlie’s head I wanted to put an arm around his shoulder and tell him I’m proud of his reaction toward Rodney. Had I been there I would have tipped my cap and saluted the Washington fans for the silence they gave to the moment and later for their standing ovation as Charlie was carted away.

The Braves announcers were so sickened by the moment that Jeff Francoeur could hardly continue. Chip Caray chose his words wisely and promised us updates. He too expressed sympathy for the pitcher and even the manager of the opposing team.

I know.

None of them are perfect. But I love the Braves. They reminded me of something valuable. People are hurting all around us. May we kneel in the dirt, pat someone on the back, or gently speak a word of grace.

No matter where life takes us, may we do our best to walk worthy of our calling.

By Lynna Clark

Did you hear about the incident at the East Rowan Library? It was all about me. Yeah… apparently I am a big deal. My friend Brittney who works there invited me to speak about my vast experience in writing. The media got wind of it. A crowd gathered. Authorities were called. As we approached the venue with great anticipation, emergency lights flashed in the distance. David pulled our vehicle to the right side of the road so they could lead us through the mob. Evidently Rockwell paparazzi can get pretty rowdy. I guess I need to get used to it. The life of a famous writer can be rather intense.

Did I mention that I write fiction?

So what really happened was…

A few friends shared the event on Facebook. As we traveled toward Rockwell the person in front of us drove at the rate of 25 mph the entire way. But that’s perfectly understandable since he was busy texting. The joy I’d claimed earlier in the day turned to a fervent, heartfelt prayer.

“Lord Jesus, please help me not cuss…”

Apparently someone keeled over at one of the fast food joints and needed emergency personnel. As lights flashed in our direction we pulled to the right. Though I encouraged my beloved to pass the dude in front of us as soon as the ambulance cleared, he is not that guy. David does not bend the rules of the highway. The man is so righteous that he slams on breaks for caution lights. It’s a wonder our marriage has lasted so long.

Texting dude slowly made his way back onto the road, making the star of the show late. Well, not actually late. I guess I should say later than I wanted to be. David always leaves early enough to account for such aggravation.

When finally we got there, the place was packed! We had to park across the way in the gravel lot by the dentist. There were at least thirteen people there… if you count me and David… and the two librarians who hosted… plus my best friend and her husband… and the two who walked out during my riveting presentation.

Dang Millennials. Hey… old people know stuff!

Annyyywayyy… a good time was had by all. I got to meet Michael, who I called Matthew several times. I met Judy and Brenda and Brooke the hugger. My friend Vickie stopped by even though she had groceries in the car. Randall asked good questions which sounded pre-planned, except that I didn’t have answers. But I will next time.

Did I say next time? What I meant was… if I can work another event into my very busy schedule. I’m kind of a big deal.

Someday I’m going to invent a sarcasm font. Folks with my warped sense of humor would certainly benefit.

PS:

The next big event is this Saturday in Lexington, NC. Missions Pottery and More is hosting my new book release from 9am – 4pm. I’ll bring copies of all my books. No pre-order necessary. I’d love to meet you!

By Lynna Clark

Happy Happy Joy Joy!  My new novel The Weakest Reed is about to be released on Amazon! I hope you love it! So many things happened to prevent the publishing. But the Lord graciously did for me what I could not do on my own. I love His kindness! If you’d like to read a snippet, see below or go to Amazon. If you buy the printed version the ebook is free. As always, I really appreciate your encouraging comments, likes and shares, and especially your reviews. They’re so important! Thank you! Can’t wait to hear what you think!

Here’s a preview:

There once was a lovely girl who was the delight of her parents. She was obedient almost to a fault. Often we wondered if she’d ever think for herself. When she finally did, one poor choice changed the entire direction of her life.

As her father I watched helplessly as she struggled to overcome the odds. Her natural personality as an introvert became exaggerated. Fear took over and became her closest companion. Seldom did she smile and rarely would she leave the house.

So we prayed.

Night and day her mother and I lifted our daughter up to the Lord. She seemed broken beyond repair. I held tightly to a promise in Scripture and did my best to believe it.

“He will not crush the weakest reed nor put out a flickering candle. He will bring justice to all who have been wronged.” –Isaiah 42:3

This is her story.

Our beautiful Laurel… the weakest reed.

By Lynna Clark

This is my gardening bench, patiently waiting for Spring. Pots are ready. Dirt is on standby. Spades long to be picked up and used for good. Nearby chairs rock slightly with the winter wind. Even though the sun is shining, the calendar reports that it’s only February. Wait we must.

I could force the issue. My indoor starter plants beg to keep my potting table company. Roots of sweet potato vines and Wandering Jew would feel much more at home in dirt than in the bottles of water on my windowsill. Sunshine can be a deceptive friend. She calls out, “Come! Why wait? Let’s take charge of this day!”

Experience warns that sooner is not always better.

So we wait.

And pray.

Lord, please fill these hands… these pews… these hearts… this table… my empty bed… my life… this crib.

The hope we once had disappears behind the dark cloud of disappointment. And we continue to wait. And pray.

“I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!”*

Then one day, winter becomes a distant memory.

“I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the LORD never ends. His mercies never cease.” **

Dear sweet Lord of heaven and earth, please strengthen us in the waiting. Help us give You glory, knowing You love us and care about our lives. You have given us the desires that wait in our hearts. You’ve told us to ask and never give up.*** Thy will be done. We love and trust You ever more.

*Mark9:24

**Lamentations3:20-22

***Luke18:1

By Lynna Clark

A gardening rule I’ve come to appreciate is this: When combining plants in a large container always use a thriller, a filler, and a spiller. The thriller is the plant that stands tall and gives presence. The filler is usually understated and fills in the gaps. The spiller flows gracefully over the sides adding beauty. Here’s a little example from my porch. What I really love about this combination is that it was all free. The tall bromeliad was a gift from my sister a few years back. It bloomed a giant red blossom and I hear it’s still got the potential to bloom. Right now, I’m not so sure. It seems to be content with just standing tall in the background.

The middle plants with the dark purple and gray stripes are Wandering Jew. My friend Ann broke off a few sprigs of that and I kept it indoors in a bottle of water over winter. Now it fills in the gaps nicely.

The bright chartreuse vine in the front is a sweet potato plant which also lived on my windowsill over winter. Together in the beautiful pot my daughters gave me, the combination is kinda pretty, especially for no money spent. Don’t you love making something out of nothing?

Some of us are still waiting to bloom. A lot of us are just glorified weeds. Some feel completely unnecessary. But the lovely blue pot wouldn’t be nearly as attractive if any of the parts were missing. I think it’s the combination of different strengths and weaknesses that makes the prettiest bunch.

Whether you stand tall, fill in the gaps, or spill over gloriously showing off God’s goodness, you are a beautiful part of the garden of grace.

“How strange a body would be if it had only one part! Yes, there are many parts, but only one body. The eye can never say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you.’ The head can’t say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you.’ In fact, some parts of the body that seem weakest and least important are actually the most necessary.”

-1Corinthians12:19-22

The Inheritance

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 godawful 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.

Living Off the Land

by Lynna Clark

Did you miss the holiday? No, not Mother’s Day. You can’t miss that if you watch television at all. Every jewelry store on the planet makes sure to remind us. Last Saturday was not only Cinco de Mayo, the day for which we stock up on limes and avocados and don’t know why. It was also Naked Gardening Day… according to our cousin Michael. The event seems to be an important one to him as he always reminds us of it on Facebook. Thankfully we don’t live near the man as we choose not to observe the holiday. Our garden is not that big. We did however get our binoculars out and keep them handy in case our neighbors decided to celebrate.

Though we didn’t observe any tiptoeing through the tulips, we did discover a family of groundhogs. The daddy is huge and looks like a bear when he stands on his hind legs. Not like a Kodiak but more like a miniature brown bear with a long tail. His fur is reddish and fluffy but I was not fooled by his cuteness. A few summers ago either he or one of his cohorts stripped the leaves off my mom-in-law’s tomato plants leaving only a naked stalk. The daddy groundhog’s wife is gray and smaller. She tends to make her way over to our yard when she notices the truck is not in the carport. The ground there is soft and dusty and she seems to enjoy rooting around in it for some reason. I nearly soiled my undies the other morning when I stepped outside unaware of her presence. She stood on hind legs as if questioning my being in her space. So I did what any normal person would do. I barked like a dog until she waddled home on her short chubby legs.

Sorry. I have no right to make fun of anyone’s short chubby legs. [Yet another reason to refrain from observing Naked Gardening Day.] I must add she was surprisingly fast for such a plump creature. She scooted her fluffy body under the neighbor’s shed and peeked out at me. Even with binoculars I couldn’t see through the lattice where she hid. I envisioned her gathering her one pup near her side and warning that if a person acts that strange, especially in broad daylight, they probably have rabies.

Hopefully she will not be back. This is the first time David has tried having a little garden in a long time. All he wants is a good tomato sandwich, a few cucumbers for pickling, and a couple zucchinis to make bread. Is that too much to ask? It only cost us $537 to build a raised bed, haul in good dirt, pay the kid next door to help us unload it, and buy the few plants.

Oh and cages for the tomatoes. It makes me laugh at how tall they are compared to the tiny plants inside. David looked at them the other day and spoke with his dry humor. “Somebody has high hopes.”

Yep. We are determined to eat something from our backyard this season… living off the land and all.  I just hope it’s not groundhog.

Home Sweet Salisbury

By Lynna Clark

My friend Ann picked me up in the Red Rocket. She’s a sturdy ol’ gal. I’m speaking of the 1995 convertible. Bless her heart. She’s got a lot of miles on her but she’s still so much fun.

We tooled down the road toward another friend’s new home out in the country. When we realized we were on Old Concord instead of Faith Road, my driver whipped the car around in the road. The Red Rocket was now pointed in the opposite direction.

Soon we came to a four way stop. Remembering the wisdom of Kent Bernhardt, Ann prepared the universal sign of displeasure while I locked eyes with the man to our right. Of course we’d arrived at exactly the same time. Technically he had the right of way. But something Kent forgot to include in his instruction is the Southern Gentleman Factor. The nice man politely nodded in our direction.

“Punch it Margaret!” I directed my driver. She did so never having to deploy the recommended sign. For that I was thankful. Since we didn’t have the top down and my current medication gives me terrible power surges, suddenly I was hot: and not in a good way.

Dang hormone therapy.

Okay… so it’s old age and my glasses fogged up. I sipped the ever present Gingerale I carry due to my “condition.”

“Can I have some air?” I asked as I fiddled with the buttons on the dashboard.

She stuck her finger in a hole and tried to turn the missing non-knob. I’m just glad the hole she tried was not a cigarette lighter or her glasses might have fogged up too. Anyway, after a bit we decided to roll the windows down. Apparently the Red Rocket is not used to such hot women.

It felt good to visit our friend who is building her new house. Ann and I yacked like a couple old hens all the way there and back. She confessed that she just found out she has a cataract. Silently I thanked God that when things get foggy for me I can still take my glasses off.

“There’s Brandon!” I pointed at a truck sitting at a stop sign. Once again Ann whipped the Red Rocket around in a very questionable U-turn. She is related to my son-in-law and wanted to catch up. “Call him!” she directed.

“Uh… he’s a plumber. I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk to his mother-in-law in the middle of a busy work day.”

Ann continued to follow the black truck with the big silver tool box making at least six turns behind him into a new development. Before I knew it we were parked beside of him with our windows down. I looked at the man who was now blocked in his truck by the Red Rocket.

“OH! Sorry…” I mumbled.

He wasn’t Brandon.

“Punch it Margaret!” I instructed my getaway driver. She did so and we found ourselves at a muddy dead end with very little space to turn around. That small fact did not deter my friend. With the skill of a NASCAR driver she eased between construction vehicles and somehow pointed us once again in the correct direction. A few moments later we rode past the stranger in the black pickup with the silver tool box… again. He looked at us rather oddly.

I can’t imagine why.

I just hope the story he tells his wife includes something about two hot chicks in a red convertible that chased him down. Though we were not in a flatbed Ford, perhaps he will envision himself on a corner in Winslow Arizona. If I were him, I’d leave out the part where neither old lady could see past her nose.

Yep, we’ve got a lot of miles on us. Thank God we still know how to have fun.

By Lynna Clark

What’s your default setting? Where do you go when nothing makes sense? Do you have a happy place that re-boots your psyche? Christianese would say, “Run to Jesus.” So how do you do that when the bills pile up, the pain is great and prayers seem to 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 in the forest on a cold, frosty morning for hours. David will take a long ride on his motorcycle through the quiet countryside. He calls it therapy. 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. Even though they had seen Him alive, and realized 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 nets 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. There He had a hot breakfast ready for them. Can He get any sweeter?

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