Lynna Clark

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

By Lynna Clark

We lost two friends last week. Both men died after dealing with cancer for a number of years. Our friend Tim lived long enough to enjoy his grandchildren. Our younger friend Marc was in the middle of raising a son and a daughter and passed on his wedding anniversary. Both men were loved by many. Each had made peace with Jesus, trusting Him as his Savior, and knew his “graduation day” would come soon. So Marc wrote his own obituary. Tim drew his fishing buddy aside and told him what to say at his memorial service. It got me to thinking.

When David’s beautiful mother Nina passed, I was honored to write her obituary. She was so dear and so much fun that it was easy… except for the grieving part. Being a DIY person, I wondered if I should go ahead and write out my own obituary. It might make things easier for my loved ones. Plus I could say a bunch of nice stuff that they might not think of… like how humble I am. And I could quote my favorite songs of yesteryear.

“Her hands were calloused but her heart was tender.” Hmmm…

Redneck Girl might not be the most appropriate. The belt with my name on the back has long ago shrunk a few sizes. Besides, that song might be a stretch since my heart is more calloused than my hands these days. I realized that again a few weeks ago when I started to buy a fall sign to hang on the front door. It was beautiful and not terribly expensive. But it said “Welcome” and everybody knows that’s a lie. Though Nina’s pineapple still rests in my yard as a southern symbol of warmth and friendship, I do not share her gift of hospitality.  And I really try not to be a hypocrite in case I ever decide to invite someone to church. The daughter who was shopping with me confirmed what I was thinking. I might be a tad jaded at this juncture. Maybe I’ll just leave the obituary writing to her.

As I thought on our two friends who passed too soon, a verse came to mind that reflects both their characters. 1 Thessalonians 4:11 says, “Make it your goal to live a quiet life, minding your own business and working with your hands, just as we instructed you before. Then people who are not Christians will respect the way you live, and you will not need to depend on others.”

What a challenge! Both men were very hard workers with pleasant personalities. Marc was always friendly and generous. His giant smile continued even throughout his illness. As long as we’ve known Tim, his eyes have sparkled with something akin to mischief. Quiet kindness was his M.O.

In a day when the goal is to appear perfect and successful, how rare to find two such Godly men. Each lived a quiet life, minded his own business, and loved his Savior, wife and family.

Thank you Tim and Marc, for writing your own beautiful story by the way you lived. We miss you already.

Written in loving memory of our friends Tim Smith and Marc Collins.

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!