A Tribute to Lynne
(4 minutes, 30 seconds)
“Good morning!” My 86-year-old friend’s voice practically sings into the phone as she greets me. I would know her Canadian inflection and crisp articulation anywhere. “Good morning!” I try to match her joyful tone, but my croaky, sick voice doesn’t escape her notice. “Oh!” she declares in the best of motherly manners. “You’re sick!” For five minutes or perhaps longer, she gives me advice about eating oranges, resting, saving my voice, and gargling with salt water, complete with a gurgling example from the other side of the phone! This beloved friend of mine is also my editor and a mother figure who knows she has the freedom to talk to me like her girl. I’m profoundly thankful for her.
Among other stunning qualities, my treasured editor Lynne is an accomplished pianist who practices every single day to keep her hands supple and her mind sharp. Remarkably, she also still teaches piano lessons to impressionable young musicians. Until very recently, she sang in the choir at our church. She also “holds the rope” for many of our missionaries and drives a needy friend to and from church every Sunday. She reads regularly, engages with her community, and invests deeply and consistently in her family, who are most precious to her.
For the last five years, Lynne has made time and space once a month to talk through edits for my writing, to mentor me, and to ‘mother me’ in my health.
One of my favorite and most memorable phone meetings with Lynne was the one where we discussed and edited my piece titled “The Trumpet Will Sound.” She had much more to say about that piece than any other. Actually, she had much more to “sing” about that piece of writing.
She tells me that her beloved Garvin, now with the Lord, once sang tenor in Handel’s Messiah. She has a recording of it, she tells me. Regarding the sound of the trumpet, she nudges, “You simply must look up Handel’s Messiah, number forty-eight,” enunciating the t in eighT. “Did you know that it wasn’t an actual trumpet as we think about today? Those weren’t invented until the 1800s,” she informs me. “It was a shofar. S-h-o-f-a-r,” she spell-instructs, adding that she hasn’t looked up the spelling but thinks this is correct.
Her inner teacher soars as she gives me a music appreciation lesson for the next 35 minutes, more than I got in a whole semester of Introduction to Music in college!
“To our great eternal gain,” she says, and I quickly start copying down her words, “we have this beautiful work from Handel.” She has already sung some of her favorite parts, and now she sings some more, ending with what I hope I can hold in my heart and remember forever. “Power and honor and glory… and BLESSING!” she sings, with an upward gusto that makes me grin from ear to ear and place my hand over my heart in adoration of this one who has become so precious to me.
She tells me I must also look up Handel’s Messiah, number 52, about the One who “makes intercession for us.” “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect?” she quotes with adoration.
“Worthy is the Lamb,” she sings on. Finally, she concludes, nearly breathless, “It’s glorious! Thrilling!!”
I ask naively if it was Handel who signed all of his work with “To God Be the Glory.”
“Oh, noo!” She’s still sing-talking to me. “That was Bach. He signed every piece with the Latin phrase Soli Deo Gloria.” She spells it out, and I get an abbreviated, helpful lesson in Latin and what each word means.
Later, I do a little research and smile. Handel did write “SDG” at the end of his Messiah manuscript. However, Bach made it his lifelong signature. I know that my teachable teacher would want to know this. I absolutely love learning from and with Lynne.
Our 45- to 60-minute meeting organically rolls into more than two hours.
Our special relationship began with Santa.
In the summer of 2021, I wrote “God, Who Never Lies.” When I wrote about “Santa Clause,” I misspelled his name and added an “e.” Lynne was one of my “Gentle Readers,” and as a retired English teacher, she later told me she was concerned that my misspelling of Santa’s name would distract my readers. Only recently did I learn that Lynne had waited over a week, laboring over the decision to call me and tell me I had a spelling mistake in my blog post.
I was grateful and glad for her call. She was relieved that I welcomed her call and gentle correction. Thus began a precious relationship between us. Our friendship grew deeper roots than merely grammatical corrections:
She invited me to her home to learn how to make an apple pie.
She gave me a teacup from her collection, one of my sweetest earthly treasures.
She has prayed for me, and with me, for my children.
She cried when I told her I had been diagnosed with chronic leukemia.
All of this, and I am completely inspired that my teacher is still teachable. We had an aha moment together recently. Continuing with our edits, she says, “Now, in the last paragraph, third line, you have a misspelled word.” I should feel scolded, but I never do, not by her. She says, “The word sovereign shouldn’t have an ‘e’ after the ‘v.’ It’s spelled s-o-v-r-e-i-g-n.”
This gifted woman taught college-level English, and when it comes to grammar, punctuation, vocabulary, and spelling, she is an absolute rock star. I trust her completely. But Sovereign Grace is my favorite music group, and I see their name regularly on my Spotify list. I’m pretty certain of the spelling. I ask respectfully, “Oh, maybe we could look this one up?” She’s already got her Webster’s in her hands.
She finds the word in her dictionary, graciously concedes, and bubbles with joy that she’s “learned something new today!” Then she enlightens me about a word I’ve looked at and used often. She points out that the word “reign” is right there, central in the word “sovereign.” This delights both of us, and we talk a bit about how wonderful it is that God, who reigns over all, is sovereign over all. Such is my deep, joy-filled, and edifying friendship with Lynne.
After many precious years of being mentored, educated, and lovingly guided, my wise and gracious teacher, now 86, is encouraging me to flap my writing wings and fly solo.
Lynne always said her corrections were so that you, dear reader, wouldn’t be distracted. Going forward without her, I can’t promise I won’t goof here and there on colons and semicolons, use words I’ve (accidentally) made up, start a sentence with the word “and,” or create paragraph breaks that make my writing choppy. But know this: many of my favorite things I’ve shared with you over the past years have sparkled even more because of my dear Lynne’s wisdom and guidance. She even graciously accepted the huge task of editing my first book. I promise you, when that book finally gets birthed into the world, some of the extra glitter, and every place where my errors might otherwise have distracted you, are evidence of her watchful eye and gentle heart.
I thank God that I didn’t know how to spell Santa Claus all those years ago! His sovereignty over all things, including spelling mistakes (of all things!), can lead us to some of the sweetest seasons and most treasured people in our lives.
Oh! The depth of the wisdom and knowledge and love of God! I’m forever grateful for His wisdom, knowledge, and love for me, and that He caused my life and dear Lynne’s to intersect. From Him, through Him, and to Him are all things. Soli Deo Gloria!