Category: Lynn D. Morrissey

Thrilling Guest Thursday: Lynn D. Morrissey

 
Let the name of the LORD be praised,
both now and forevermore. 
(Psalm 113:2 NIV)
 
 
Please welcome, my friend and passionate lover of God, Lynn Morrissey. She waltzes through words with ease, always keeping us in step with the tune of God’s gracious invitation to live life fully no matter which season we find ourselves embracing.

(Lynn D. Morrissey, is a Certified Journal Facilitator (CJF), founder of Heartsight Journaling, a ministry for reflective journal-writing, author of Love Letters to God: Deeper Intimacy through Written Prayer and other books, contributor to numerous bestsellers, an AWSA and CLASS speaker, and professional soloist. She and her beloved husband, Michael, have been married since 1975 and have a college-age daughter, Sheridan. They live in St. Louis, Missouri. You may contact Lynn at words@brick.net.)
 
 
 
Now
(Lynn D. Morrissey)
 
Autumn is the season of urgency, the season that beckons us to behold breathtaking beauty and kaleidoscopic colors—now—before shifting winds and colder climes send leaves shimmying from limbs. They dance with abandon in the breeze before falling to the ground, where they’ll soon decay.
Autumn bespeaks glory, but especially glory that fleets.
Autumn proclaims,
            “Wake up.
Take note.
Time is short.
Life is short.
Live with gusto until a gust of wind blows you, too, to the ground, to your place of final rest.”
Now that my husband Michael and I have begun dipping into a decidedly autumnal decade, I have wondered if, like those vibrant falling leaves, we are dancing too—shimmying and shimmering with glory, relishing every magnificent moment, living colorfully and daringly; or are we clinging tenaciously to the status quo and to stifling stagnation? Our time here, our time together is evanescent. Are we making the most of our days?  Like autumn’s glory, I want us to go out in an audacious glow!
 
 
 
 
So, that brings me to the apple orchard. Two autumns ago, Michael and I were picking apples at a local orchard for luscious pie-baking back home. This has become an annual ritual, and while we could probably buy apples cheaper and certainly easier at the grocery, we love the thrill of driving carefree along the Mississippi River to the orchard and wending our way through a tangle of top-heavy trees, over-bent with bobbing crimson globes.
This time, and I can’t explain it, a sudden urge swept over me. I don’t know if it were the invigorating air, or the apples’ pungent scent, or the rows of trees queued up like a line dance, but I had to enter in. I had to dance—justdance, oblivious to how I looked, unintimidated by who was looking, uninhibited by what I feared. I longed to grab my partner’s hand and weave a waltz through a trellis of trees.
But Michael, my husband, by beloved life-partner through thick and thin, just wouldn’t dance. He wouldn’t enter into the moment, because he thought he couldn’t. And despite my coaxing, and my “It-doesn’t-matter-whether-or-not-you-think-you-can-dance-or-who-might-be-watching” plea, he was immovable.
Mike would. not. budge.
And it’s at that moment, that I knew this was more than an invitation to dance. I was daring him to enter a reckless adventure, to kick up his heels in delight, to abandon rules without thinking, to move without knowing the steps, to risk looking foolish when people gawked, to live far away from the guidelines and sidelines of life.
But Michael said no.
Then he was silent.
And in that pregnant pause, that muted moment, I heard soundless words crescendo like a clarion call from a buried heart-place:
I am your Partner. Will you dance with Me?
                                   
And I knew.
I knew that I had been sitting on the sidelines—at first, because God had called me there, away from a fruitful ministry, when it made absolutely no sense to me. I had obeyed; but at that moment in the orchard, I realized that I had stayed too long—longer than God had intended—and the sidelines had become barricades to growth, adventure, and joy. God had been calling me back into life’s dance some time before, and I was waiting like a wilting wallflower in the shadows. At this moment, He was extending His hand like a lifeline, beckoning me back onto the dance floor before autumn faded to winter. It was time to act now, or miss this opportunity forever.
I also decided to extend the opportunity to Michael one more time, and wrote this poem for him that Christmas.
 
source
Last Dance
“I don’t dance in apple orchards,” you say,
with a straight face, then a smile,
but all the while, my hand extends to yours.
“Come,” I say, “please dance.”
But you won’t bend.
 “I don’t dance in apple orchards,” you stress.
And then, you wink.
But dare I ask again?
I know that you are resolute,
and I know that life will end
in an absolute blink, in the time it takes
for these apples, weighty with August’s wine,
to loosen from limp stems in a gust of ruthless wind
and fall and bruise and roll and roil                                       
into bubbling decay.
“I don’t dance,” you say.
But if not now, then when?
And if not here, between these choreographed rows of
red-lanterned trees, festooned for plein-air dance
(like Sargent’s lanterned garden all aglow with twilight),
then where?
The painter highlights the evanescent hour,
and daily, feverishly dances transient light onto canvas,
knowing magic soon will end.
Is it possible to compress beauty?
Yes.
He does.
We must.                    
I dare to ask again:
Will you thrust yourself into my arms
and commence this pas de deux?
Don’t fret about the steps.                 
Let the magic lead . . .
All life’s a dance
begging you to enter in,
to move in its embrace.
Take your cue:
Trace how the apples dance from breeze-swayed boughs,
before they fall.
They whisper,
            “Now.
Please, now.
Please now.”

 

To what dance is God beckoning you to join Him
—now—before it’s too late?
 
 
(Copyright 2013. Lynn D. Morrissey. All Rights Reserved.)

 
 
Posted on by kelrohlf 11

Part Two: The Poem {Guest Post: Lynn D. Morrissey}

world trade center cross photo: World Trade Center Cross WTCCROSS.jpg
source


O Say, Can You See America?

(Lynn D. Morrissey)

O say, can you see by the dawn’s early light
a true-blue-welkin-dream:
streaming sun,
gleaming chrome,
flashing steel—
the city’s stellar towers rise—
peopled to the stars,
to the far-flung skies.
O say, can you see by the dawn’s early night
men’s blackguard schemes,
Gehenna’s teeming store unleashed:
vile venom, jeering jihad genocide—
soaring jets collide,
a city’s shattered pride.
By the towers’ red glare,
the planes bursting in air
gave proof at the sight that evil was there.
O say, can you see by the dawn’s early blight
the rabble’s rebel blow—
hell’s incineration
of unsuspecting “infidels,”
            bodies vivisecting,
massive desecration.
Twin towers twining,
rumbling,
babeling,
crumbling
                                                 like sandcastles.
O say, can you see by the dawn’s early might
on Ground Zero’s shores, men’s fortitude—
multitudes of “heroes proved in liberating strife;
who more than self their country loved,
and mercy more than life!”
Black-helmeted men wielding axes,
shielding fleeing masses,
mounting countless flights,
rising like incense with the flames—
consumed—
live sacrifice.
Black-robed men yielding crucifixes,
requiems,
extreme unction—last rights.
O say, can you see by the dawn’s early light
through heaven’s beaming sun—
streaming tears,
and hear stained-glass prayers’ recitation:
“Vene sancte Spiritus”—
bells’ tintinnabulation,
vaulted voices’ singing: “Kyrie eleison,”
vaulted voices winging,
soaring,
swelling,
imploring God:
“O say, can You see America—
heaven’s veil torn asunder,
frail skyline’s gaping wound—
festering dust-debris, the plunder
of humankind?
Are You sequestered—blind?
O say, can You weep?
Can You agonize?
Can You hear death’s thunder—
mens’ anguished cries?”
O say, can you see, America,
by dawn’s early light,
the empty cave—a blood-stained tomb—
forsaken graveclothes
of the One Who came to save?
He lives!
Can you see His nail-fresh wounds,
torn veil of flesh
rent for man?
Can you glimpse Golgatha wrath,
God’s fury spent on Innocence—
payment due culpability—extreme sacrifice—
to gain man’s liberty?
God loves.
He saw hell’s battle, Calvary,
heard curdling crowds shriek,
“CRUCIFY!”
and heard His Son’s death-rattled cry:
“My God! Why?
Why have You
Forsaken
Me?”
O say, can you see by the dawn’s early light
through malice’s maelstrom
and blighted tower’s dross
in roiling remains,
two beams stand erect like a cross.
O say, can you see man’s gain?
Can you feel God’s loss?

(Copyright 2013. Lynn D. Morrissey. All Rights Reserved.)


Lynn D. Morrissey, is a Certified Journal Facilitator (CJF), founder of Heartsight Journaling, a ministry for reflective journal-writing, author of Love Letters to God: Deeper Intimacy through Written Prayer and other books, contributor to numerous bestsellers, an AWSA and CLASS speaker, and professional soloist. She and her beloved husband, Michael, have been married since 1975 and have a college-age daughter, Sheridan. They live in St. Louis, Missouri.

You may contact Lynn at words@brick.net.

Please feel free leave your comments for Lynn on this post.




Linking up with #Tell His Story, A Holy Experience and Hear it On Sunday, Use it On Monday

Posted on by kelrohlf 9

Part One:Writing through Tragedy {Guest Post: Lynn D. Morrissey}




The God of all Hope
—In Remembrance of Those Who Lost Their Lives on 911
​May we never forget them …
As an author, I make sense of my life—its trials and triumphs, its conundrums and convictions—by writing about them. Writing helps clarify my thoughts and allows cathartic healing when wounds are deep. Yet, somehow the terrorist attacks on New York City and Washington, D.C. in 2001 defied my feeble attempts to explain, examine, or exorcize them. Countless times I tried to journal my emotions, but I was at a complete loss, overcome by the evil of man. While I am a committed Christian and believe with all my heart in a loving, just God, it was difficult to understand why He had allowed such atrocities and the destruction of so many innocent lives.
As I often do when self-expression comes haltingly in prose, I began writing a poem. By permitting the music of language to pulse through my heart, a cataract of emotions spilled forth with a reeling rhythm all its own. My feelings crashed like cymbals onto the page in “O Say, Can You See America?”
As I grieved over the strident discord of 911’s mass mutilation—over evil’s blaring blast—the soft melody of hope began to sound, then crescendo like a clarion call: Never, never, never abandon hope! Hope never dies. It is no gossamer specter, but a mighty victor that conquers despair.
Despite the malevolence of a wicked few, countless courageous men and women rose to unimagined heights of bravery. Hope! For love of America and total strangers, heros plunged headlong into the towering infernos. Hope! Priests, clergymen, firefighters, medics, Red Cross and Salvation Army workers, and nameless, numberless volunteers trudged Ground Zero’s molten miles, in search of the dead and dying to offer last rights, medical aid, physical labor, food, clothing, Scripture tracts, prayers, encouragement, comfort . . . Hope! Americans gave blood and donated money to the injured and orphans.Hope! Many nations, some formerly our worst enemies, rallied as allies in the fight against terrorism, in the quest for peace. Hope! People of all persuasions, ages, races, and religions—even agnostics and atheists—gathered in churches, synagogues, stadiums, schools, and along the streets bowing their heads and lifting their hearts to God Almighty. Hope!
Hope never dies because God, Himself—the one, true, eternal God—is the God of hope (Romans 15:13).  He promises: “I know the plans I have for you . . . plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11).” God makes this promise because He is love (I John 4:16), and because He is good (Psalm 34:8; 119:68).
Yet He gives man free choice which includes the choice to sin. “When tempted, no one should say, ‘God is tempting me.’ For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does He tempt anyone; but each one is tempted when by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death (James 1:13-15).” The travesty that occurred on September 11th 2001 was a not a result of God’s doing, but of man’s sin—sin so grotesque that it literally spawned thousands and thousands of deaths. Yet did God care that people died? Did He feel pain?
I pored over Scripture for answers: “The Lord is not willing that any should perish . . . (II Peter 3:9)” “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints (Psalm 116:15).”  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him, should not perish but have everlasting life (John 3:16).” He gave His Son in death—He nailed Jesus to a cross. Imagine God’s agony and grief! Yet astoundingly “it was the Lord’s will to crush Him and cause Him to suffer (vs. 10)”—to suffer the most excruciating death possible because He loved you and me so much. Jesus, God Himself, was a “man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. . . . Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows (Isaiah 53:3,4).”  
O yes, God cared. O yes, He grieved. O yes, Jesus suffered, bled, and died. Despite the horrors and tragedies  we experience, we cannot escape the reality of the Cross—that  Jesus became man and willingly suffered for us when He did not have to! God’s loss was man’s gain. Because Jesus chose to suffer and die, and because He rose again, we who receive Him have the hope of eternal life. Yet God will punish eternally those terrorists who did not repent and receive Christ.
I saw a television report shortly after the attacks, which graphically depicted Ground Zero. Amazingly, visible among the towers’ smoldering skeletal remains were two sturdy steel beams intersecting like a cross. Even newscasters did not miss its significance: They proclaimed it a sign of hope—a sign from God amid such destruction. God lost His Son on the Cross, so we could gain Heaven and eternal life. We will all die someday, whether of natural or disastrous causes. The question is: On what foundation do we base our eternal future? “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. . . . On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand; All other ground is sinking sand.”
Please come back tomorrow to read my poem called “O Say, Can You See America?” It depicts the horrors and hope of 911. May we never forget what happened, and may we ever honor the memory of those who lost their lives. They did not die in vain.


(Copyright 2013. Lynn D. Morrissey. All Rights Reserved.)

Lynn D. Morrissey, is a Certified Journal Facilitator (CJF), founder of Heartsight Journaling, a ministry for reflective journal-writing, author of Love Letters to God: Deeper Intimacy through Written Prayer and other books, contributor to numerous bestsellers, an AWSA and CLASS speaker, and professional soloist. She and her beloved husband, Michael, have been married since 1975 and have a college-age daughter, Sheridan. They live in St. Louis, Missouri.

You may contact Lynn at words@brick.net.

Please feel free leave your comments for Lynn on this post.

Linking up with Multitudes on Monday
Posted on by kelrohlf 7

Guest Post (Part 2): Lynn D. Morrissey {and Random Journal Day}

 
For I am about to do a brand-new thing. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness for my people to come home. I will create rivers for them in the desert! 
(Isaiah 43:19 NLT)
Join us today, for more heart insights from Lynn as she works through a life transition by using collage-journaling.
 
 
Collaging My Transition
(Lynn D. Morrissey)
 
Note: If you have not read my post yesterday called “Art of My Heart” about how I began collage-journaling, I’d suggest that you read it before reading this post. 
 
 
 
In an online journaling class I attended about life transitions, one of the assignments was to collage and write about what stage I was currently experiencing.
This was a fun and fascinating process for me. Because I am such a perfectionist and had a collage collection of forty-million magazines in the basement from which to choose, to save time and curb my perfectionism, I decided to limit myself to four used magazines I had recently purchased from the library. What intrigued me is how God used these limited resources to speak to me in a powerful way.
In a journal write, I described my current state in “butterfly”terms. At this time, I was metamorphosing (transitioning) from full-time mother, author, and speaker to journal facilitator. I explained to the class that I was still in the chrysalis, but it had split and the butterfly was ready to emerge. The butterfly, fully formed, revealed my true colors: my passion for teaching journaling. I needed finally to shed my chrysalis to which I was still clinging and to pump up my wings with God’s blessing: my skills (álà the online journaling course), courage, business savvy  etc. I also needed to shed bad habits, attitudes, and sins which were impeding my flight.
I had no idea how I would depict this phase of my transition through collage images, because I didn’t expect to find butterfly life-cycle photos in the magazines. But interestingly, other pictures emerged which powerfully represented this phase of my life and informed my next steps. I have no doubt that God led me to these particular pictures and words at this particular juncture.
I found an image of what resembles a red British telephone booth. The woman had one arm and leg inside the booth, and the other arm and leg were forcefully breaking through. What a perfect image for my “emerging” mode. So I glued a big E (which stood for *emerge*) onto the booth (my chrysalis). I realized that God had revealed my purpose to facilitate journaling classes and that part of me was moving forward; yet, oppositely, part of me was lagging behind and clinging to my comfort zone and bad habits.
Interestingly, just days before when I had been prayer-journaling, I told God that I had met a wall of resistance in some areas of my life, and I needed a breakthrough. When I serendipitously found the telephone booth for my collage, I realized that I had found a “red wall of resistance,” which the woman was breaking through! This definitely conveyed significant spiritual symbolism and meaning for me, and confirmed to me that God was speaking.
Then, of all places, in a women’s magazine (!), I found pictures of cups labeled with words for sins referenced in the Bible: wrath, envy, pride, lust, gluttony, greed, and sloth. I realized that I had committed those sins at various times and was still struggling with some. I knew that if I were to have a “soul revolution,” I needed to ask God to help me to empty the poisonous “contents” of those cups through confession and repentance. (You’ll see in my collage that I have pasted those words above the cups). At the bottom of the page, I had fun juxtaposing the words from two different magazine ads to make my own slogan. “Let the secret” + “of passion” + “out of the box.” As I began to emerge into my purpose, I wanted to let the secret of my passion (for journaling) out of the box. I knew that “There is a side of [me] destined to be revealed.” Yes!
 

Collage 1
On the second collage, I depicted not just the emerging, but stages of what would become my flight in progress. Amazingly, I found a slogan which read, “What will happen to the emerging?”under which I included another phrase:“How do you get all the nourishing?” I was also stunned to find the nourishing phrase, because my teacher had asked our group how we would nourish and nurture ourselves during this transition. It was delightful for me to see three groupings of words about nourishment in the very magazines I was poring over. This, too, was no happenstance. You’ll see these phrases near the bottom of the collage: 1) “Nourishment is savoring every bite” (I wanted to savor my journaling coursework, bite by bite, and not just be a quick, thoughtless consumer). 2) “Nourishment is forgetting perfect” (I definitely knew that I needed to leave perfectionism behind; it was hindering every aspect of my life). 3) “Nourishment is laughing out loud” (I love to laugh, but I knew I needed to do it more; perfectionists can be far too serious). I realized that I needed to make some conscious efforts (which you’ll see in other words I captured in the collage, like: “I will live brightly”and exuberantly (I can be prone to depression, and so I wanted to focus on joy). I will “pump it up”! I can’t believe that I found those words that directly applied to “pumping up my wings”! I will “do everything I can to help my dreams come true.” I also added that “small steps take me from where I am to where I want to be.” Because I am a perfectionist, so often I won’t start needed projects because I think if I don’t have time to finish them, I’ll need to wait to start when I do—and then I never do! (Perfection + procrastination = passivity and paralysis!). So this is a very crucial reminder for me. There is really nothing small about small steps. They add up to big ones.
Finally, I created a new definition for “journal change,” all because I found words that leapt out at me from my magazines. I simply played with and rearranged them. This is not what the magazine ad said, but this is what my heart knew: “Journal change is something beautiful about to happen.” So often, I dread change. So suddenly to see a little tearing-and-pasting exercise transform a word of dread into a word of hope was nothing short of miraculous for me. I added the word “journal” to the words “change is,” because I think that “journal change” is a true transformational catalyst. Whenever I pick up my pen and/or collage pieces to seek the Lord for insight, change, self-knowledge, and guidance, I can anticipate that “something beautiful is about to happen”! Every time I journal, I change. And that’s beautiful!
As I completed my collage assignment, it was my hope that as I fully emerged from the chrysalis waiting period into my new beginning as a journal facilitator that my life and my purpose would become a work of art!You’ll note that phrase at the bottom of the collage.
 
 
Collage 2
 
God continues to use collage-journaling, this art of my heart, to give me insights into my soul and ways that I can grow, change, and rejoice in Him and His purposes for me.
How has He used collage to do the same for you? We’d love to hear!
(Copyright 2013. Lynn D. Morrissey. All Rights Reserved.)
Lynn D. Morrissey, is a Certified Journal Facilitator (CJF), founder of Heartsight Journaling, a ministry for reflective journal-writing, author of Love Letters to God: Deeper Intimacy through Written Prayer and other books, contributor to numerous bestsellers, an AWSA and CLASS speaker, and professional soloist. She and her beloved husband, Michael, have been married since 1975 and have a college-age daughter, Sheridan. They live in St. Louis, Missouri.
 
You may contact Lynn at words@brick.net.
 
Please feel free leave your comments for Lynn on this post.

 
 
Linking up with Random Journal Day over at Beneath the Surface: Breath of Faith with Dawn and Susie.
Posted on by kelrohlf 17

Thrilling Guest Thursday: Lynn D. Morrissey

. . . and if you call out for insight
and cry aloud for understanding, 
and if you look for it as for silver
and search for it as for hidden treasure , 
then you will understand the fear of the LORD
and find the knowledge of God. 
Proverbs 2:3-5 NIV

Today, we return to the journey of finding nourishment for our souls through words, art and the practice of journaling.  

Join us today, as Lynn shares how God introduced her to collage as a catalyst for expression and transition. This is a two-part series, so come back tomorrow, to view some of her collage work and the discoveries behind her process.

<!–[if supportFields]> SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1<![endif]–><!–[if supportFields]><![endif]–>Art of My Heart
(Lynn D. Morrissey)












Collage for me is art-of-my-heart, my soul made visible in living color on the journaling page. I love its vibrancy and free-wheeling whimsy, its colorful playfulness and startling juxtaposition, its generating of spiritual insights and soul surprises.

But I didn’t initially gravitate to collage. I thought it was silly at best and occult at worst. I’d heard so many Christian warnings, whether from Puritanic admonitions against idolizing images or from Bible teachers’ concerns about name-it-and-claim-it visualizing techniques, sometimes called manifesting or the Law of Attraction.

But just days after my beloved father’s death, God used the art-form of collage as a significant means of launching my healing journey from grief.

Shortly after Daddy died, I attended a poetry-and-journal intensive in Denver. One of our assignments was to collage a cover for a new journal. It was at the end of a long day, and I was physically and emotionally depleted from the pain of grief. The *last* thing I wanted to do was cut pictures out of old magazines that I never would have read in the first place, in an attempt to make (so-called) art. It seemed like just about the most ridiculous Mickey-Mouse undertaking I could imagine. Though I know now that my grief overshadowed my attitude, it still wasn’t the kind of activity that remotely appealed to me.

But because I had invested so much of myself, time, and resources into the seminar and because I knew that Daddy would want me to pursue my journaling-facilitator dream, I chose to cooperate in this learning experience. I took a stack of magazines back to my room around 5:00 p.m. and didn’t emerge until the next morning!

After eating an early dinner alone in my room and getting ready for bed, I began leafing through the magazines, page by glossy page, randomly cutting or tearing out pictures, words, and slogans that seemed to speak to me. As I underwent this rhythmic process of slowly scanning and cutting, something happened that even today I cannot fully explain. The process calmed and soothed me, and my emotional pain momentarily subsided. Words and images of hope, beauty, and comfort emerged that resonated on a deep heart-level. I had not set out to find them, but God knew just what I would need to see. As I began arranging and rearranging the extracted words and pictures that I would later glue to my journal covers, it was as if God were using them to rearrange my broken heart into a multi-layered mosaic of meaning and hope. The juxtaposition of a kaleidoscope of words, colors, shapes, and images registered somewhere deep in my soul that even journaling my angst at that time couldn’t do, because my despair was beyond articulation.

Since that time I have gone collage-crazy and consider myself a Christian-Collage Poster Girl. I want to be clear to say that God speaks through the Bible, and nothing—absolutely nothing—replaces His Word for providing direct, inerrant revelation of His character and will. But God can also speak to our imaginations (which He gave us!) through Creation, art, song lyrics, books, poetry, friends, and the circumstances of our lives. One significant way He has spoken to me is through collage. God has used collage-journaling (where I collage onto journal pages and write to Him about what He shows me) to spark my creativity, help me solve problems, teach me insights and truths about myself, help me to set goals, and implement dreams.

I am not worshiping images, but God who speaks through them, the God who speaks at times through the art of my heart.

Question: Have you ever tried to use collage as a means of artistic creation and self-expression or to explore your “inner landscape”—translation: what God is showing you about your life circumstances, thoughts, dreams, goals, memories, conflicts, etc.? What were the results? How have you made collage-journaling a part of your spiritual practice?
                                                                                               
Please come back tomorrow and read about and see my “transition” collages and my thought process behind creating them.

(Copyright 2013. Lynn D. Morrissey. All Rights Reserved.)
Lynn D. Morrissey, is a Certified Journal Facilitator (CJF), founder of Heartsight Journaling, a ministry for reflective journal-writing, author of Love Letters to God: Deeper Intimacy through Written Prayer and other books, contributor to numerous bestsellers, an AWSA and CLASS speaker, and professional soloist. She and her beloved husband, Michael, have been married since 1975 and have a college-age daughter, Sheridan. They live in St. Louis, Missouri.

You may contact Lynn at words@brick.net.

Please feel free leave your comments for Lynn on this post.

Posted on by kelrohlf 11