No Ordinary Soldier

Copyright © 2022 Jamillah McClendon Lynn

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Unless otherwise noted, all scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. All rights reserved.

Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Book Cover Design: Prize Publishing House

Printed by: Prize Publishing House, LLC in the United States of America.

First printing edition 2022.

Prize Publishing House

P.O. Box 9856, Chesapeake, VA 23321

www.PrizePublishingHouse.com

ISBN (Paperback): 979-8-9862969-3-7

ISBN (E-Book): 979-8-9862969-4-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022913757

Contents

Dedication

In Loving Memory

Acknowledgements

Introduction

19 Seventy-Five

19 Seventy-Six… (almost)

19 Seventy-Nine

19 Eighty-One

19 Eighty-Three

19 Eighty-Four

19 Eighty-Five

19 Eighty-Seven

19 Eighty-Seven still

19 Eighty-Eightish

19 Eighty-Eight still

19 Eighty-Nine

19 Ninety-Three

19 Ninety-Four

19 Ninety-Four still

19 Ninety-Five

19 Ninety-Five still

19 Ninety-Seven

19 Ninety-Eight

19 Ninety-Nine

2 Thousand

2 Thousand still

2 Thousand One

2 Thousand Two

2 Thousand Five

2 Thousand Six

2 Thousand Seven

2 Thousand Eight

2 Thousand Fourteen

2 Thousand Fifteen

2 Thousand Eighteen

2 Thousand Twenty

2 Thousand Twenty-One

2 Thousand and…

Dedication

This book is dedicated to:

Commander in Chief Edriece

My husband, Edriece, you have been my rock and shield, guarding my heart, loving me unconditionally, and doing an exceptional job of showing our children what a father looks like. The way you love me is proof that God is real. You know me more than anyone in this world, and I love doing life with you.

Drill Sergeant Bobbie McClendon

You raised and trained me to maneuver through life’s obstacle course. There are so many words to describe you. Being kind, loving, strong, and encouraging stand out the most. Thank you for showing me how to take pride in everything I do. I love you, Mom.

Specialist Imari

You started as my little sweet pea, and God has blessed you to blossom into such a bright and beautiful butterfly. You give me life with every beat of your golden heart. I can genuinely say that you are my favorite singer, dancer, writer, and female artist. I pray that you never second guess yourself. The sky is the limit for you.

Corporal Junior

It’s no wonder you are named after your father because you help me stay in step. I don’t miss a beat with you around. You amaze me with your technological skills. You show me that you can do anything you put your mind to. I never tire of seeing your bright SONshine. You make even the darkest moments appear SONny side up! As you walk with God, I pray that He guides your footsteps into a world of adventure.

Private First Class Eric

Eric, you make me feel so important and beautiful. Thank you for always complimenting me, making me laugh, and putting up with me as your homeschool teacher for nearly three years. Your name means leader. Continue to lead by example. I love you, Buddy.

Private Ella

You were a soldier, even in the womb. You continued to fight to survive against all odds. Your first name has the same meaning as my name – beautiful. Your middle name (Ma’Ry) means beloved and wished for child. You are named after both me and your father’s maternal grandmothers. That is why you are such a wonderful addition to our family. My wished for child, I love you so much. You have inspired me to believe in the impossible. My prayer is that you soar to the highest of heights.

In Loving Memory

-Fallen Soldiers-

My maternal grandparents, T.C. and Mary Smith

My paternal grandmother, Glendora McClendon

My godmother, Lucille Hailey

My uncle and aunt, Noah and Doris Richardson

My spiritual parents, Dr. Purvis and Ruth Givens

My cheerleaders, Cheloy Walker and Francine Williams

My former principals, Vicki Patterson and Gloria Luster

My friends, Yulinda Liggins and Betty Johnson

My heart, Terry Wilson-Lee

Acknowledgements

Ithank God for trusting me with this journey. Without Him, I could not have navigated through all the twists, turns, ups, and downs life had to offer. He is my reason for living, giving my life new meaning. I also appreciate Him for the ones He carefully placed in my life. I wish to extend my sincere thanks to my only begotten sister, Katrina. Thank you for making me laugh when I felt like crying and for all the sacrifices you made for me. To my battle buddy in Ft. Stewart, Tawana, you not only picked me up on the battlefield but encouraged me to be a soldier off the battlefield.

Finally, I salute everyone who has been a part of my life. You know who you are. Your name may not be written in this book, but it is written in my heart.

Introduction

My life is my story. This book is designed to help shed light on the making of me by sharing my upbringing and areas where I see the handprint of God over my life. Each chapter is a highlighted moment that helped prepare me for God’s greater purpose.

Since God is the author and finisher of our faith, my prayer is that my story will inspire you to trust the process of becoming who you are destined to be. I want to inspire you by being proof that you can live a good life even when being dealt a bad hand. Be patient and give God time to work in your life. He is still writing your story. Every chapter (the good, bad, and ugly) is vitally important. You’ll learn to feel better about the hard parts of your life when you realize hardships often prepare everyday people for an extraordinary destiny.

19 Seventy-Five

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

What was so unusual about July 11, 1975? Though it may not be such a special day, it was a unique year.

I was born on a hot, sunny afternoon in Phoenix, Arizona. There was nothing unusual about this particular day in July, except that it was on a Friday. Fridays are thought to be a special day of the week. I have heard people say, I can’t wait ‘til Friday comes! When this last day of the work week arrives, people shout, Thank God it’s Friday! In addition, some consider the numbers seven and eleven lucky numbers. Those with strong beliefs consider seven to be God’s number of completion. These numbers really shine when they are celebrated on a Friday. It is a day when most people get paid. For my mother and father, they hit the jackpot with the arrival of their second baby girl—me!

I don’t know how it is in everyone else’s family, but for mine, when a child is born, they ask two common questions and three when it’s a girl: Who does she look like? How much does she weigh? Does she have any hair?

I didn’t look like my mother or father. I resembled my aunt on my dad’s side. To me, the fact that I didn’t weigh seven pounds and some change, but precisely seven pounds, is very unusual. I was a caramel baby with a few strands of hair, which my mom would try to slick down with baby lotion. I was definitely baldheaded. I came out darker than anyone in my family, born in the 7th month on the 11th day, weighing precisely seven pounds. Wow!

I was no ordinary baby. My parents named me Jamillah (Juh-mill-uh), which means beautiful. It also means elegant, graceful, lovely, and comely. If you were to ask my sister or cousins, they would tell you that I was none of these things growing up. I wish someone had told me, or even them, that it would take years and decades before I would be considered the full definition of my name.

No Ordinary Appetite – Hunger Pains

I was told I came out of the womb crying. It began when a loud noise echoed from the nursery. Inquiries of whose baby is that circulated throughout the hospital. My own mother questioned, Whose child is screaming like that from the top of their lungs? She soon received her answer when the nurse walked into her room, carrying me with my mouth wide open and screaming with a piercing cry. Every single ounce of me was more than ready to be fed. The nurses tried to give me a pacifier. I was not having it. They even tried giving me a bottle of what they called back in the day sugar water. Whatever it was, it was not the solution I was looking for. I wanted my mommy. The nurses and everyone on staff thanked God it was Friday and that my mom chose to breastfeed me. Not too long after she nursed me, I was hungry for more. This hunger pattern followed me throughout my life.

19 Seventy-Six… (almost)

I won’t let You go until You bless me! 

No one holds on tighter than someone who refuses to let go. There’s nothing wrong with fighting for what you trust is yours. At least that’s what I believed at nine months old. I had so much determination and persistence that I stopped at nothing to achieve my goals. This was the year God developed my strength. Of course, I was too young to realize it, but God blessed me to build muscle and develop a tight grip. I learned early how to hold on no matter what.

My mother had bought my sister a little toy puppy named Sherlock. It was a white and brown wooden Weiner dog with long, floppy ears. It was about the height and length of an average shoe box. It had four red wheels and a string in which to pull it. Whenever my sister would pull the string, the tail would wiggle and waggle. According to the babysitter, I would watch her do this repeatedly and was amazed. The babysitter noticed my excitement and asked my sister to bring the dog close so I could touch it. To her surprise, I immediately grabbed the tail and pulled it. My sister pulled. I pulled some more. My sister eventually let go after the babysitter told her to let me play with it. Unfortunately, when she did, the dog went flying and conked me directly in the middle of my right eyebrow, cutting it wide open.

It wasn’t the blood everywhere that caused the babysitter to panic. It wasn’t even the look of shock on my sister’s face. It was the noise coming out of my mouth. I had no ordinary cry. My mom described how I would have my mouth wide open without a peep coming out at first. It was because I was holding my breath. Then, after about thirty seconds or so, I would let out a sound piercing to the soul, just like I did when I was first born.

My poor babysitter didn’t know what to do. She did what anyone else would do in her situation—she called my mom to come to the rescue.

19 Seventy-Nine

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.

It’s true that closed mouths don’t get fed. That’s why I couldn’t blame anyone else for not exercising my voice. I learned in this year how to open wide.

At this age, I knew how to talk; I just chose not to talk. Instead, (according to my mother), I would point and expect everyone around me to know exactly what I wanted. It was like a guessing game. They would guess until I shook my head, "Yes!"

One day, after my mother had dropped me off on her way to work, she turned around because she had forgotten something. I was a child who was always hungry. I mean, who doesn’t get an appetite when they’re over at their grandma’s house? To top things off, my grandmother was frying my all-time favorite—chicken. My mom’s youngest sibling, Uncle Ricky, was there to witness this dramatic event.

Do you want this, Nuke? asked my grandma.

I shook my head, No!

I think she wants this. Do you want some chicken, Nuke? asked my uncle.

Before I could fix my head to nod, Yes, my mom came through the door and asked, What are y’all doing? Jamillah knows how to talk. She looked at me and said, You better start opening your mouth and asking for what you want. And you’re not getting any chicken until you ask for it! Turning aside to look at my uncle and grandmother, she demanded, Do NOT give her any chicken unless she opens her mouth and asks for it!

Those words were torturous as she left. That is way too much pressure to put on a four-year-old’s shoulders. I was Jamillah or Nuke (short for Nuka, which was even shorter for Nugget, but that’s not important). I was to be treated special. Granted, I wasn’t a baby, but being the youngest granddaughter (at the time) gave room for a little spoiling.

Even though I was no ordinary child, I was wrong! My Uncle Ricky cried tears of laughter as he explained how I continuously left out the kitchen and ran into the den three or four times with tears in my eyes. On the last go-‘round, I returned with a bag full of determination and yelled, I … want… some… CHICKEN!!!

No ordinary pre-schooler

Later this year, I exercised this gift of opening wide to my pre-school teacher. Since I only had her for a half day, I did my best to help fulfill her day with my continuous hand raises, taps on the leg, and constant blurt-outs of the all-time favorite Teacher, Teacher! Even if she was irritated with me and the other 19 or so students, she never showed it on her face.

I enjoyed playing in Pre-K, well, except when