Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

There is a nice young man outside going around our house in a very meticulous fashion. First he moved all my flower pots. Did you get that? He moved ALL my flower pots. Some of those suckers are fork-lift worthy. Then he watered them as a protection from the cleanser he was about to use on the siding. From there he sprayed soap over all the exterior surfaces of the house. Now he is power washing the old white siding until it shines. I feel so rich! And it’s not even my birthday!

We’ve always been do-it-yourselfers. That came naturally since we were way too poor to think of hiring an expert. It’s been the running joke with our daughters to spot something beautiful or crafty and immediately say in unison, “We could make that.” Sometimes it works. Other times not so much.

A few years back David and I rented a pressure washer and did-it-ourselves. By the time we finished I swore to never get sucked into such an adventure ever again. I was soaked and filthy down to my skivvies. Perhaps I stood too close to the house or something. But I’m kinda like a T-Rex with little short useless arms. The back spray was hefty. Two days later I was still finding stuff in my hair. Thanks to Mike of The Property Pal, that shall not be the case this time.

My friend Ann and her hubby are also used to doing everything needed around the house. Last month they HIRED a crew to trim some of their massive trees. She too felt rich, especially since she didn’t have to drag off the limbs. That crew even cleaned her patio with a leaf blower. OH! What frivolous luxury!

Mike is almost finished with our house. It’s taken him all morning and though the calendar says it’s fall, the thermometer begs to differ. What a hard worker. People like him are surely a rare breed. Folks tend to idolize celebrities and athletes, actors and actresses. I’ve actually never needed one. But I AM in awe of my plumber. Give me a waitress who pays attention or a man with plumbing skills, or a guy like Mike any day. These fine folks keep the world turning… and more importantly FLUSHING! For people like me who get to hire them, oh how incredibly blessed we are!

In fact, I’m feeling rather fabulous.

By Lynna Clark

My kids seldom ask for anything. It’s true. Our three grown daughters with children of their own seem very content with the life they live. It’s hard to get them to share a Christmas list. So they end up getting bedroom shoes or something exciting like that. Our middle daughter Amanda is much like me in that she cannot eat whatever she wants all willy-nilly. Both of us are fearfully and wonderfully made; actually more fearful than wonderful. So when she had a special request for her birthday I determined to grant her wish.

I had no idea she’d request a gluten-free cheesecake. She could compromise on the dairy and the sugar since it would be her birthday dessert. But what could I do for the crust? Besides, I’ve never made a good cheesecake in my life. My first attempt was lovingly dubbed the Chainsaw Cheesecake. It was not delicious. But it was memorable.

A later attempt was made when my sister Tamra gave me her recipe. It came out beautiful… until I removed the spring form pan. That thing ran right down the side of the counter into a puddle on the floor. I think I may have shed a few tears. The details are a bit fuzzy. It was not delightful.

This time David and I put our heads together and gave it another shot. For the crust we used toasted pecans and semi-sweet chocolate chips. Then using recipes from my sister and my niece Sara we gleaned enough to try again.

It turned out perfect!

However! Here are a few tricks that seemed to make a difference between this cheesecake and the others.

• First, set your cream cheese out early so it’ll come to room temperature
• Next spray or grease your spring form pan way more than you think you need to
• Bake the crust at 400 degrees for 10 minutes then COOL the pan for about 20 minutes
• Pour a little of the cheesecake batter onto the crust; smooth with a spatula then slowly add the rest; this helps the crust stay in place
• Tent the top of the pan with foil but don’t seal; this keeps the top from browning too much
• Add a pan of water [about one inch] on the rack below the cheesecake to prevent cracking
• Don’t open the oven while baking
• Leave in the oven overnight
• Chill the cheesecake before serving
• Pray

What? You mean you’ve never prayed over a dessert before? Me neither! Maybe that’s why this one finally turned out. Here’s the recipe. You’re also going to want to top this with homemade caramel sauce.

And we wonder why we waddle.

Crust:

Toast about 2 cups of pecans in a little butter in a skillet; salt very lightly; chop then add to bottom of greased 8 inch spring form pan; Top with semi-sweet morsels; bake at 400 for 10 minutes; cool 20

Cheesecake:               Preheat oven to 400; reduce to 300 when cheesecake is put into oven

Cream together:

• 3 blocks of cream cheese
• 1 c. sugar
• 5 eggs [one at a time]

Smooth batter over cooled crust; bake one hour; turn oven off but don’t open; let cheesecake rest in oven overnight

Okay, so I peeked at it a few hours later once the oven had cooled. But I didn’t move it… honest.

Caramel sauce: [From the Pioneer Woman]

In a saucepan on medium heat melt and stir together

• 1 stick butter
• 1 c. brown sugar
• ½ cup cream or half and half
• ¼ teaspoon salt

Stir until smooth; cook 2 minutes after it starts to bubble; whisk until smooth; cool before tasting or you will scorch the roof of your mouth; don’t ask me how I know.

David also made homemade whipped topping from heavy whipping cream… because obviously this dessert needed more yumminess. It was a little bit decadent.

May your dessert turn out lovely! May your birthday wishes come true! And may you never have to cut your cheesecake with a chainsaw.

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

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.

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.

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.

A couple of friends talked over the events of the last few days as they walked along. Sadness was written across their faces as they admitted, “We had hoped…”

Hoped, past tense.

As in, we used to hope, but not anymore.

Have you been there? Have you gone through something so hard that your soul is crushed beyond repair? Someone you love has suddenly been taken… and way too soon. The spouse you trusted tossed you aside like an old shoe. Something you planned and even dared to dream about died, leaving you…

Hopeless.

That’s the feeling of the friends who traveled down the road together. Having witnessed the horrible death of the Person they had closely followed, their hopes were just as dead.

Where do we go from here? How will we ever recover? Is all we’ve believed in been wrong?

A few miles later, they realized they were in the very presence of the risen Lord!

That first Easter morning changed everything.

The powerful Son of God stepped from the grave to prove the hopeless wrong. Since death cannot defeat Him, how could anything else? What could separate us from the love of God?

Our fears?

Our loss?

Our worries?

Things changed in an instant! The moment He was raised from the dead, hope was forever restored! Do we dare to trust Him?

“O death where is thy victory?! O grave where is thy sting?”

Thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ!

All creation shouts with joy on Easter Sunday morning! Our Creator lives, and reigns with power over any circumstance that brings suffering to His beloved ones. With the strong arms of a Shepherd, He reaches out to pull us close to His heart as He gently leads us home. Not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love as we walk in the presence of the risen Lord!

Praise His sweet holy Name! Our conquering King lives!

And there is hope!

He looked through the woods as we drove. “Easter comes early this year. I wonder if the dogwoods will be ready?”

Like him I hoped so. They are such a beautiful picture of grace.

Have you noticed how much Jesus loved visuals? As He spoke of worry, He pointed to wildflowers. Instead of just saying that God would provide, He referred to the birds. I bet it gave Him much pleasure to create the dogwood.

Look at this stunning visual of His sacrifice. Each cross shaped blossom displays blood stained “wounds.” Each center exhibits a “crown of thorns” as if the very heart of God shouts, “This is My Beloved Son in Whom I am well pleased!”

Let’s fall to our knees and worship this God Who draws us to Himself.

All heaven and nature point to Him.

How can we do less?

“For God made Christ, Who never sinned, to be the offering for our sin, so that we could be made right with God through Christ.” -2Corinthians5:21

“O God be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.”

Our firstborn lives in the Midwest. We visited by phone one morning on her way to get groceries. When she stopped for gas, I heard her say to the screen on the pump as she pushed the buttons, “NO, I do NOT have a rewards card. NO I do NOT want one. NO I DO NOT care about saving money. YES! I need a receipt! What? Now you’re out of paper and I have to go inside? Do you not know it’s 3 stinkin’ degrees out here? STOP with all the questions! Just give me the gas for crying out loud!”

Her door slammed and her voice returned to her normal pleasant tone.

“Hey Mama. How are you? How was your week-end?”

“Are you freezin’ Darlin’?” I laughed at her misery. According to my phone it felt like negative 11 in Ramsey, Illinois where she lives.

“It’s so COLD!” she confirmed as she cranked up the heater hot enough to singe the hair off her legs. Except I’m pretty sure she was wearing several layers of britches.

“It snowed the whole time we were in church yesterday. Our cars were covered when we got out. Then last night we had a fellowship meal and wondered if anyone would come. We had a great crowd and a really good time!”

I smiled at my daughter’s cheery disposition, well… minus the whole gas pump thing. She is one of the most positive and encouraging people I’ve ever known.

Her oldest daughter had a wreck last week in South Carolina where she attends college. Thankfully it was not her fault. Someone ran a red light and did several thousand dollars worth of damage to her vehicle. Stephanie was saying how thankful she was that Mykaela was not seriously injured.

“She’s pretty sore, and very shook up. Her car isn’t drivable, but they gave her time off from work. The other person’s insurance has been amazing and very helpful. It could have been so much worse.”

I glanced out the window as she told me about the things on her plate for the next few days. To me it was overwhelming. She’s writing a VBS curriculum, planning her sessions for a ladies retreat, and putting the final touches on a Girls’ Conference hosted by her church this week-end.

I looked at the mud that’s puddled up all around our house. The yard is so squishy it’s hard to get to the bird feeder, or anywhere else for that matter. It poured down again last night. I hate all this rain and silently wondered if it would ever end. Her words broke into my thoughts.

“Jeff and I spoke at a couples retreat for pastors and their wives this past weekend. It went really well, even the games. I came up with a Jenga game where we told something encouraging about our spouses and churches according to the stickers we drew. It was so much fun!”

Personally I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than play games which also require sharing my soul. I hate to admit it but I may be entering the early stages of Crudmudgeonry.

Another glance out the window revealed tiny birds taking a splash in the puddles under the feeder. They seemed as happy as-if they had good sense.

Cheerfully she informed, “I’m at Aldi’s in the parking lot. But the Jeep is really warm now. We can keep visiting if you’d like!”

I couldn’t help but smile as Stephanie continued. One can learn a lot from birds… and daughters… especially when they bring their own sunshine.

March 4, 2019 by Lynna Clark

I really hate whining. When our kids were little I’d stop them in mid-crisis to inform: “Mommy can’t hear you when you whine.” One of them commented when she had her own children, “I think I was an adult before I realized: you really COULD hear me!”

Now that I feel the need to whine, I’m not sure what to do. I try to keep my writing as genuine as possible. So I need you to know. I am hurting. Even a gentle hug is painful.

Did I ever tell you that I have a mystery disease? Pain grips my body at times with such fierceness that I am knocked onto my ample rear end for days. Last week was one such time. I was in so much pain I had to have help getting out of the recliner. I don’t know why. This ailment began over forty years ago when I was just a kid in high school. At least that’s the first time I remember being in unusual pain for no particular reason. I grew up around water where we jumped in the murky depths of Lake Norman from the family pier. One particular day when I sank into that cold water I really thought I might die. Slowly I climbed back onto the pier and rested in the sun. It seemed to help. Since my parents also had a “no whining” policy, I never said a word. Later when I went off to college things got worse. By the spring of my freshman year I was in such terrible pain I could hardly get home from south Florida. A doctor there gave me some pain killers so I could make the sixteen hour trip. And I figured if one pill was good, a couple more would be better. My fiancé David and his buddy Barry loaded up the Camaro, checked on the girl passed out in the back seat, and drove me home. I landed in the hospital for two weeks of tests. Frankly I was glad. Finally we’d get some answers! They took x-rays, spinal fluid, did an experimental test called a myelogram where they shot dye into my spine and searched for anything abnormal. Nothing showed up. According to them it was all in my head.

As I said before that was over forty years ago. That’s a long time to wander in a desert wishing for an end to the painful journey. During those years I’ve experienced every kind of emotion a person can have. Last week the full gamut of feelings hit once again. Tears, anger, exasperation, self-pity, you name it. I could not function. I was so mad I threw things. Okay, so it was another cancer bill I was sure I had paid, but clearly I was not the picture of style and grace.

In case you’re going through something painful too, I want to give you permission to whine. Even as I write that I cringe. I still really hate whining. However, God knows your heart. He’s a great listener! Plus He gets it. He knows that you and I are just dust. And if nothing else, some of us are going to enjoy heaven waaayyy more than others. Maybe then He’ll smile as He whispers, “Finally child! You’re in a place where whining is not only absent, it’s no longer necessary!”

Then He’ll hug us as tight as He wants. And it won’t even hurt!