Lynna Clark

By Lynna Clark

I got a call from my granddaughter Kianna the other day. In the midst of delivering pizza to NAPA, the auto parts store, she was verbally attacked by a customer. It seems because Kianna was wearing a mask the lady in line decided that my granddaughter was in need of enlightenment. She accused her of being brain washed by the media, questioned her heritage and political persuasion, then proceeded to tie everything together with a sound cussing.

Sorry. I exaggerated a bit when I used the term “lady.” The strange overheated woman leaned in close and coughed on my granddaughter in hopes that she would realize a mask could not protect her. Never mind the fact that Pizza Hut requires masks on all their personnel. So I did what any Godly grandmother would do. I tossed several shovels into the back of the truck and headed to NAPA. As Kianna and I continued to talk I asked her how big the woman was.

“I think we can take her,” my lovely granddaughter replied.

“Alright honey. Here’s the plan. I’ll whack her in the head with my shovel. You hit her again for good measure. I’ll take her arms, you grab her legs and we’ll drag her into the woods. Between the two of us we can dig a hole deep enough to cover her crazy. Then I’ll explain to her that germs, politics, and brain washing are not the only dangers in our society.” I imagined pointing my finger in her face to drive my point home. “Now you lay there and think about what you’ve done!”

Kianna seemed pleased with the plan. The only problem is that she lives in Illinois and I live in NC; approximately seven hundred and twenty one miles apart. Even as fast as I drive the woman would likely be gone by the time I got there. Oh how I wish I could shake her ‘til her teeth rattle and explain the futility of a life lived in anger. I mean really! What the heck? What she doesn’t know is that my granddaughter just graduated high school in a year that was less than ideal. The child works two jobs and saves every penny toward college. When she is not delivering pizza she takes care of a beautiful little girl with severe autism. Instead of answering her attacker, Kianna took a step back and celebrated the $5 pity tip the guy who ordered the pizza gave her.

I couldn’t get there in time to make good use of my shovel, so I offered a bit of wisdom instead. Since she is headed to New York for college I reminded Kianna that the Lord is preparing her for big city life. “He’s promised to equip us for the things He asks us to do. Maybe He knows you need to get used to all those swear words.” She nodded and laughed. “Then I should be good to go for a while.”

I don’t have any idea how to end this story. Maybe the moral is as mentioned earlier: Living a life filled with anger is futile. Perhaps we should all leave our sharp words and shovels at home. Maybe we could even tip folks extra good to help make up for some of the ignorance going around. Or maybe we could just take a step back and hope to God that crazy is not contagious.

By Lynna Clark

My mom-in-law used a handful of catchy phrases that she deemed appropriate for certain situations. For example: If someone thought they were “all that” and dropped the ball at church or a family function, she would remind us that “One monkey don’t stop the show.” If something hurtful happened she was quick to remind us that “What doesn’t kill us will make us stronger.” When plans changed unexpectedly we knew we could count on her to say, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.”

I think my favorite, and her wisest saying was that “Things won’t always be this way.” In 2020 after the year most folks have had, I believe we can all shout a loud “Halleluiah” to that!

I hear talk about our new normal.

Nope.

I refuse to let this become my new normal. I look forward to handing out all the hugs I want; to smiling without hiding it behind a mask; to watching television without all the fearful warnings and even better, without the political ads filled with lies and character assaults.

I think we’re better than this.

I think this year has been a wakeup call to remind us of how good it is to work hard, send our children to school to professionals who know stuff; to shop for groceries without looking at each other suspiciously; and best of all to worship without fear. Let’s return to THAT normal!

After all, what hasn’t killed us has surely made us stronger!

PS:

While the proverbs of my beautiful southern mom-in-law are very wise, she would agree that Scripture is wiser still. May the Lord strengthen us to rest in His promises.

“The Lord is good, a Stronghold in the day of trouble. And He knows the ones who trust in Him!” – Nahum 1:7

Amen!

By Lynna Clark

A few years back, David decided to sell his motorcycle. It just seemed like time. I knew he was sad about it. Except for it, the man’s never had a toy so to speak. Poor guy hardly had Pepsi money for years. Though it was a wise decision, it didn’t feel good.

We decided together that a different “toy” might be a good solution. So he picked out a nice camera in order to take up a different hobby. One of our daughters bought him a book to go with it; Nikon D3400 for Dummies. He was not offended. In fact, one look at the camera told him he needed help.

Quickly he was able to set up his new toy for easy shots. But he knew there was so much more to the camera than that. So he hunkered down for several days in his spare time to study the book. When I asked how it was going he sighed. “I guess I should have gotten the Nikon book for Morons.”

Of course the word moron is pronounced “MO-ron” here in the south. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Like a lot of folks, the older we get the more we realize how little we know. Like why in the world would our bank change the way our online statement and bill-pay looks. Don’t they understand that if it is not broken, they don’t need to fix it? I just now got used to how things work. Then my phone updated and installed a different calculator. I know it sounds small, but I like a running total. I do not want to have to hit equal after every entry. Dang stupid update. Then I got my laptop repaired and that guy installed a different document program. Now spellcheck is gone. Word look up is not there. No dictionary or thesarasus is built in. I probably didn’t even spell thesarasus right. I had no idea how much I used those things until I couldn’t.

Aggravation!

I really don’t mind learning things unless it’s forced on me. Maybe that’s why trials are so hard. It feels a bit like being hoisted onto a 3000 pound bull and being told, “All you have to do is stay on.”

Okay…

So my prayer for today is from Psalm 90:12 and 17:
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” And while You’re at it Lord, please “make our efforts successful.”

That’s probably enough to ask for one day… especially when dealing with a couple MOrons.

By Lynna Clark

David opened the can and put it on the seat between us. His reward for going grocery shopping was a tiny splurge on cashews. We headed home when suddenly a little dog ran out into the road. David hit the brakes and screeched to a stop. Someone’s pet was spared that day, but the cashews slid forward and dumped head first, scattering across the floorboard. He looked at me and said, “Next time the dog dies.”

It’s like dropping toast. It will always land butter side down. I heard that if one were to strap buttered bread to the back of a cat they would spin indefinitely because cats always land on their feet. Could this perhaps be a source of alternative energy?
Why not? Who would’ve thought we’d use left-over French fry oil for fuel? Maybe someone should try buttered cats.
My apologies to animal lovers everywhere. I’ve just confessed that my husband loves cashews more than dogs and I would butter a cat to propel an engine if it would save me a buck.

Sorry.

Have you noticed when watching a movie like Quigley Down Under [which is one of my favorites] that the disclaimer at the end says “No animals were harmed in the making of this movie.” Never mind the poor guy being dragged behind the horse… or the Aborigines being pushed off the cliff. Just so you know the horse is okay.
I may sound mean and uncaring about animals, but I’ve been known to set a dish of milk out for a stray kitty meowing at my back door.

I wonder if she’d like a piece of buttered toast to go with that.

By Lynna Clark

The sturdy yellow wagon appeared in my neighbor’s yard. It makes me happy, for I know what’s coming.
Currently beautiful leaves are raining down on stiff autumn winds. Acorns pelt the metal awning so hard it sounds like gunshots. That’s not quite as lovely as the wildly spinning copper colored “tulip” in the flower garden. Too bad that can’t be used to harvest power. Maybe then I’d get a more positive report card from the power company. Not that I’m bitter… but I don’t like being told every month that we are inefficient. Look people. Our house is 87 years old. When you get to that age you’re going to have a few leaks too. How about you guys stop sending grumpy notes each month and see how much paper and postage you can save.

Like I said… I am not bitter.

Anyway, back to the yellow wagon. I know from years of happy observation that when it appears, abounding blinkage is soon to follow. Probably sometime after Thanksgiving a village of snowmen, a reindeer powered sleigh, Santa, and huge snowflakes will surround a manger scene celebrating the birth of our Savior. The lights will come on about 5:30pm each evening to enhance the beautiful venue. One year we even had a little dusting of snow to complete the look.

Oh how I LOVE it!

Another peek through the fall foliage between our house and theirs reveals the wagon is full now and about to be moved to the front of the house.

Apparently tis the season to be jolly.

Okay… so forget what I said about about the power company.
For without them, there would be no abounding blinkage.

Right?!

By Lynna Clark

David opened the can and put it on the seat between us. His reward for going grocery shopping was a tiny splurge on cashews. We headed home when suddenly a little dog ran out into the road. David hit the brakes and screeched to a stop. Someone’s pet was spared that day, but the cashews slid forward and dumped head first, scattering across the floorboard. He looked at me and said, “Next time the dog dies.”

It’s like dropping toast. It will always land butter side down. I heard that if one were to strap buttered bread to the back of a cat they would spin indefinitely because cats always land on their feet. Could this perhaps be a source of alternative energy?
Why not? Who would’ve thought we’d use left-over French fry oil for fuel? Maybe someone should try buttered cats.
My apologies to animal lovers everywhere. I’ve just confessed that my husband loves cashews more than dogs and I would butter a cat to propel an engine if it would save me a buck.

Sorry.

Have you noticed when watching a movie like Quigley Down Under [which is one of my favorites] that the disclaimer at the end says “No animals were harmed in the making of this movie.” Never mind the poor guy being dragged behind the horse… or the Aborigines being pushed off the cliff. Just so you know the horse is okay.

I may sound mean and uncaring about animals, but I’ve been known to set a dish of milk out for a stray kitty meowing at my back door.

I wonder if she’d like a piece of buttered toast to go with that.

By Lynna Clark

My friend Ann called with an idea. She knows how much I hurt. Apparently she is trying cherry yogurt and it is really helping with her aches and pains. I thought on it while she extolled the virtues. While she explained I went over the list of no-no’s. Through the years, like fifty plus, I’ve tried all the cures. Apple cider vinegar and honey made into a tasty drink three times a day. That one has come and gone throughout the years. In fact, one of our daughters, who’s identity shall not be revealed,  came out rather hairy. I couldn’t help but wonder…

I’ve tried extreme doses of pycnogenol, the extract of grape seeds. No deal. Long before gluten free became a thing, we tried that. Of course sugar was eliminated long enough to make me grumpy, but still in pain. We removed night-shades from our diet. That includes tomatoes, peppers, white potatoes, and eggplant. Okay, so the eggplant removal didn’t cause a lot of anguish. But tomatoes? I love lasagna, spaghetti, and meatloaf… with a side of mashed potatoes. So David, the cook in the house, bless his heart, tried to substitute beets for tomatoes. He made a thick hearty sauce with lots and lots of herbs out of canned beets. Not pickled. That would just be weird. It was pretty good… except our noodles turned pink. Instead of potatoes, he boiled radishes and tried to make them similar to new potatoes. With lots and lots of butter. And guess what. They tasted just like warm radishes. But we kept at it for months. I declare the man has tried everything. And I just keep on hurting. Heavy sigh.

You’re probably right. It’s obviously all the sin in my life. And a great deficiency of faith. Don’t laugh. It’s been suggested… and considered many, many times. Insert whiny voice here. So when my bestie suggested cherry yogurt, my ears perked up. This I could do. I’d have to make sure it doesn’t contain red dye, or artificial sweetener of any kind, and hope it included yogurt made from the milk of happy cows. Will I eat it or slather it on my body?

Then the word Y caught my ear. As-in YMCA. Apparently the woman is trying chair yoga. Dang.

All this time I thought we’d landed on the cure. Not something involving stretching… in a chair, like exercise. The closest thing to that I can get is when I do a fast waddle on the way to the bathroom. Of course that happens often enough to count as a workout. Not to mention the lowering of the posterior onto the… chair. AND unlike chair yoga, this is a 24/7 activity so there’s that. And all this time I thought the cure was out of my reach! Now I know that I just need to keep doing what I’m doing.

And maybe get my hearing checked.

By Lynna Clark

David opened the can and put it on the seat between us. His reward for going grocery shopping was a tiny splurge on cashews. We headed home when suddenly a little dog ran out into the road. David hit the brakes and screeched to a stop. Someone’s pet was spared that day, but the cashews slid forward and dumped head first, scattering across the floorboard. He looked at me and said, “Next time the dog dies.”

It’s like dropping toast. It will always land butter side down. I heard that if one were to strap buttered bread to the back of a cat they would spin indefinitely because cats always land on their feet. Could this perhaps be a source of alternative energy?
Why not? Who would’ve thought we’d use left-over French fry oil for fuel? Maybe someone should try buttered cats.
My apologies to animal lovers everywhere. I’ve just confessed that my husband loves cashews more than dogs and I would butter a cat to propel an engine if it would save me a buck.

Sorry.

Have you noticed when watching a movie like Quigley Down Under [which is one of my favorites] that the disclaimer at the end says “No animals were harmed in the making of this movie.” Never mind the poor guy being dragged behind the horse… or the Aborigines being pushed off the cliff. Just so you know the horse is okay.
I may sound mean and uncaring about animals, but I’ve been known to set a dish of milk out for a stray kitty meowing at my back door.

I wonder if she’d like a piece of buttered toast to go with that.

By Lynna Clark

The sturdy yellow wagon appeared in my neighbor’s yard. It makes me happy, for I know what’s coming.
Currently beautiful leaves are raining down on stiff autumn winds. Acorns pelt the metal awning so hard it sounds like gunshots. That’s not quite as lovely as the wildly spinning copper colored “tulip” in the flower garden. Too bad that can’t be used to harvest power. Maybe then I’d get a more positive report card from the power company. Not that I’m bitter… but I don’t like being told every month that we are inefficient. Look people. Our house is 87 years old. When you get to that age you’re going to have a few leaks too. How about you guys stop sending grumpy notes each month and see how much paper and postage you can save.

Like I said… I am not bitter.

Anyway, back to the yellow wagon. I know from years of happy observation that when it appears, abounding blinkage is soon to follow. Probably sometime after Thanksgiving a village of snowmen, a reindeer powered sleigh, Santa, and huge snowflakes will surround a manger scene celebrating the birth of our Savior. The lights will come on about 5:30pm each evening to enhance the beautiful venue. One year we even had a little dusting of snow to complete the look.

Oh how I LOVE it!

Another peek through the fall foliage between our house and theirs reveals the wagon is full now and about to be moved to the front of the house.

Apparently tis the season to be jolly.
Okay… so forget what I said about about the power company.
For without them, there would be no abounding blinkage.

Right?!

By Lynna Clark

Have you noticed the current trend in menswear? Grown men in tapered pants. And tennis shoes. Kinda gives off a Micky Mouse vibe. When we were in high school the guys wore bell bottoms. Who would purposely wear pants that wouldn’t move unless you took a few steps to let the material catch up? So I guess every generation has its crazy. But men in skinny britches? Even sportscasters in expensive suits have fallen prey. As long as they’re sitting behind a desk, all is well. But let them stand to converse or point out a play on the big screen… just no. And now the problem is compounded by the addition of tennis shoes. With a suit. So wrong. I already had issues with them wearing light brown dress shoes with dark suits. But tennis shoes? In white? Not good.

One guy shook things up. As a guest commentator on Fantasy Football, he appeared wearing a rock band t-shirt layered with a loose unbuttoned over-blouse situation. His jeans were tattered and his arms were heavily tattooed. I have no idea what was on his feet as I never got that far. His long hair was pulled back in an updo and his scraggly beard would’ve made the men on Duck Dynasty proud.

“Look honey. He wore his church clothes,” I commented. Together David and I haw-hawed like the two old guys on the Muppets in the balcony.

Maybe it’s a good thing. Perhaps it’s best that nobody cares about that stuff anymore. Truthfully I am the last person on earth who should throw stones. Thank the Lord you can’t see me right now. Besides, that verse in 1st Samuel 16:7 is still there. “Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” Probably when He looks for mine, all He can find is sawdust. I can see Him now slowly shaking His head. “Nothing here but an old Muppet in a housedress. Bless her heart.” Then comes the grace. “But at least she found something to laugh about. Those pegged leg suit pants with tennis shoes really ARE funny.”

Thank God when He looks at me He has a sense of humor too.

Obviously.