Hover Boards and House Shopping

[Clayton is the 9 year old boy who lives in my house with his mom, Jenny.]

Last night, Clayton came home from his dad’s house, where he had been since our “Christmas morning” celebration on the 24^th. He left ecstatic about all the incredible gifts Santa brought him – books and DVDs, video games, a razor scooter, a hover board, even his very own .22 rifle!

When he came home from his dad’s all he talked about was how much better the hover board he got there was than the one he got at our house. This hover board is so much smaller than the one I got at my dad’s house. The hover board at my dad’s house talks and plays music…. I could see how his words were hurting “Santa’s” feelings, and it certainly wasn’t making her feel very enthusiastic about giving him any more gifts in the future.

I bluntly called him out – because he’s not my kid, so I can do that,

“Hey! If you keep being a dick about the gifts Santa brought you, he’s not going to bring you any good gifts next year. Every time you complain about your hover board, that’s another tally mark in the ungrateful naughty kid column.”

(Let’s hold off on the debate about whether or not the belief in Santa Claus is psychologically or spiritually harmful – that’s a whole other conversation – and I know there are conflicting views on all sides. But, given his current frame of reference, this was a language he understood.)

The next comment he made about his hover board was an enthusiastic, “This hover board is so much lighter than the one at my dad’s, so that makes it easier to carry around; it’s more mobile!”

Mission accomplished.

Now, I know Clayton and I know his heart, and in general, he is not an ungrateful kid. Quite the opposite. In fact, I imagine if he was aware from whom the gifts really came, he would never have uttered a single negative comment. He just needed a small mental check. A correction.

His words and his attitude got me thinking about times we all slip into moments or seasons of ungrateful-ness.

It was only a month ago I, myself, was convicted of being guilty of the exact same thing Clayton was doing.

Barry and I spent years – literally – shopping for a house. (God bless our extremely patient and gracious real estate agent Doug who accompanied us all over the city of Cincinnati in and out of several dozen homes.)

Our final and ultimate prayer was that God would put us in the house that would be best used to serve Him, that would be the biggest blessing to people He wanted us to bless. We made known the specific elements our hearts desired in a home, but trumping all of that, our deepest desire was that our house be used as a tool for Him. And because our hearts were pure in that, He would surely provide all of our preferences as an added reward.

When we bought the house we live in, it happened in such a whirlwind we wondered if we had made the right choice. It was only 3 days from the time it came onto the market til it was ours and the closing was set. We found ourselves whiplashed, Do we even like that house? What does it even look like, do you remember? We were only there 30 minutes!!

But our confirmation came soon enough.

Before we even signed the closing documents, we went to lunch with our friend Jenny after church. Jenny, a single mom, started telling us how stressed she was trying to find a place for Clayton to go a couple days after school because she had moved out of his school district and her nursing schedule did not allow her to pick him up those days. She was near tears about it while telling us she had been crying for days not seeing any possible solution in sight.

The house we were moving into was in his school district, and in a heartbeat, we offered that he get off the bus at our house those days. My husband and I both work from home when not traveling for our jobs, so it was settled and a provided sigh of massive relief for her.

Fast forward six months, Jenny and Clayton actually ended up moving in with us when their housing situation changed and they needed time (and a roof over their heads) while they shopped for a home of their own.

It has been so blatantly obvious to all of us, from the beginning, that if, for nothing else than Jenny and Clayton, this house was the house we were supposed to be in. Without question I knew that. In the deepest part of my knower.

Yet, for the last 18 months, I have done nothing but complain about this house. Not the house. I love the house – and the 5 acres it sits on – I just haaaate where it’s located. Hate.

I wanted to stay in West Chester, the part of town from which we moved. It’s an adorable bustling suburb on the north side of Cincinnati, conveniently located off the major highway and literally 5 minutes from every dining, shopping and entertainment option you could dream of or want for. Plus, it was only about a 20 minute from drive almost any other part of the city – Mason, Oakley, Monroe (where the outlets are), Historic Lebanon, even Downtown.

Where we moved is a “developing” suburb (they call it) far out on the northeast side of Cincinnati. We are now a minimum of 15-20 minutes off any interstate in any direction, and the same distance or more to any decent dining, organic grocer, or any entertainment better than Redbox kiosks. The Kroger is tiny with no selection, there’s no Walmart “on the way home”, the Walgreens is on the wrong side of the road, my bank is impossible to get in and out of due to one way street signs and bad civil engineering, all of our friends are sooo much farther away, AND, you can’t even see the sunset from this part of town…..The petty complaints rolled on ad nauseam. (I feel really sorry for my sweet husband who endured all of this, with a positive attitude.)

One day, just a few weeks ago while writing in my prayer journal I had a revelation about just how ignorant I was being. How hypocritical. God had given me EXACTLY what I had prayed for. A house, first and foremost, to bless other people – which we were doing – in a huge way.

I had literally told the “God story”, about the house being so perfect for Jenny & Clayton’s situation, to dozens of people and given them goosebumps in the meantime.

But right out of the other side of my mouth, I spent that same amount of time criticizing the move to just as many.

I wasn’t disingenuous in my prayer from the start. I was truly, wholly heart-set on the house being a blessing to others first, and to us secondarily. But, my words and actions had not lined up with that prayer after-the-fact. Even though my prayer had been answered, in exactly the way I had asked for it.

Wow. Talk about conviction. Talk about missing it big time. I felt like such a fool. How did I not see that for so long?

I did a LOT of repenting that day, to God, AND to Barry.

I wondered what other things (blessings, opportunities) had been hindered in my life for the last year and a half because of my ungrateful and hypocritical attitude.

Like any parent, God certainly wasn’t looking to throw more gifts in my direction while I was running around like a spoiled brat about the ones He already gave me. I pictured Him up in heaven like, “HEY! If you’re going to keep being a dick about the house I gave you, I’m not going to hurry up in getting you the next one.” (Because God speaks to me in a language I understand.)

I got angry that I had been blind to my ungrateful attitude for so long. I could see how the enemy was intentionally shielding it from my view, because he wanted to keep me in the dark and off limits from the other blessings God had for me.

But in the end I was just thankful that my eyes were finally opened. That I can correct the behavior and catch myself if I slip into that place again.

It was such a gentle correction, it wasn’t harsh or condemning, and it only reaffirmed how loved I truly am.

Father – Thank you for loving me enough to use your Spirit to correct me when I need it. I pray that I would be more receptive to these corrections sooner in the future, and would spend less time operating in blind spots. Most of all, thank you for the grace that covers me when I miss the mark this badly! I love you. Amen.

My Old Kentucky Home

ridges2 (Originally published in the Grant County News Oct 13th, 2016)

Sherman Mt Zion Road. That’s where the Pennington’s live. All of them. Well, we used to.

My father, Donald Pennington, has 6 brothers and sisters, and I remember a time in my life when every single one of them and their families lived on our road.

We lived in the white brick house on the curve from the time I was born till the time I graduated high school and moved to Cincinnati. My parents sold the white brick house that Fall of 2003. They moved exactly one quarter mile down the road to the old red brick farmhouse that was my Father’s childhood home.

My mom started a greenhouse and then partnering with two other siblings, they started Country Pumpkins, a pumpkin patch and fall festival on the old farm. Practically the whole family is involved. After a few years, my mom was ready to retire, and wanted to be closer to her own aging mother in Somerset. So they sold the old farmhouse and moved south and Country Pumpkins relocated to my aunt and uncle’s dairy farm down the road.

Other siblings have moved away now as well, and us kids have moved north to Cincinnati or south to Georgetown or Lexington and have families of our own. But there was a time when we all lived in the same place, on Sherman Mt Zion Road, in Dry Ridge, Kentucky.

I remember running through backyards to play baseball with my cousins and skipping rocks in the creek behind Mamaw Lucy’s, we spent Summers splashing in the pool at my house, we would fish in the ponds down on the ridge, and climb trees and barn lofts anywhere we found them. There were a lot of us – so you always had someone to play with. We worked on the farm when the tobacco harvest came, or early in the season when it was time to plant. We worked together, we played together, we all went to church together, we ate together. The older I get, the more I realize how unique and special a childhood I had in that small town, on that country road.

In high school, all I could think about was getting out of that town and into the big city.

I used to go back and visit a lot to see my parents. But since they moved to Cumberland four years ago, our visits have become fewer and fewer, till they are almost none.

Just this past weekend, we drove south those 60 miles on I75 and pulled onto that road. We were headed for an Autumn excursion at Country Pumpkins. (Mainly, I was just looking for new, seasonally-appropriate profile pictures.) But as we drove down that road, I found myself pointing things out to my husband, things I’m sure I’ve told him about a hundred other times. Every turn held a myriad of old memories.

As the sun started to set, I stood next to that old white barn on my parent’s farm and looked over the valley of wildflowers to the next ridge freshly trimmed and bailed. I could see more ridges in the distance with various crops on them and the whole scene was awe-inspiring.

I had forgotten the beauty of this place, or maybe I couldn’t even see it before, because it was so familiar. But now, it was like I was seeing it for the first time and it was breathtaking.

I thought to myself, how could you look upon landscapes like this and ever doubt there is a Creator?

I didn’t realize how much I missed the peace and the calm until I was standing there soaking it all in again.

It’s amazing how different a world exists just an hour away. A place where my life is hurried and scheduled and jam-packed with work and commitments. And here, everything right down to the wildflowers are settled and relaxed, with a peaceful assurance that everything is just as it should be.

The wildflowers essentially rival the hundreds of dollars-worth of perfectly manicured landscaping I pay for at my house in the suburbs. They, like I, are trying so hard to achieve what these field weeds just are. Living comfortably in their purpose. Existing to please those around them and most importantly, their Creator.

No striving, or straining, or stressing. Just being.

I am learning the incorporate rhythms of rest into my hectic life right now. In the midst of working full time, while launching a blog, a book, a public speaking career and a ministry all in a year’s time, rest is not a luxury I feel like I have time for.

Home is always the best place to rest. When my parents moved away, I told my husband I felt like I no longer had a place to “go home” to. But this weekend I realized home was never a house, it’s these fields and these hills and this family on this road, this place is still home.

I don’t know if I will ever live on Sherman Mt Zion Road again myself, but it sure makes for a refreshing place to visit and rest and feel at home. And I feel like we will be doing that a lot more often.

The Day I Was the Sun (Metaphorically Speaking)

The mid-afternoon sky was cluttered with ripples of brush-stroked clouds that day,
But the sky was still light.
Splashes of bright blue broke up the cream and grey colored bodies of dirty air.
The relentless sun made her best effort to escape the shadows.
Beams of luminescence escaped small pockets in the puffy clouds that crowded the yellow ball.
She danced along the outside of their darkening hues – making them three dimensional against their fixed backdrop.
Bright white glowed along the edges of each one,
Hindering their intimidating discoloration.
In all their might,
The clouds tried keeping her hidden that day,
But she was far too tenacious to be averted.

The air was chilled.
Crisp.
As it usually was that time of the year
In the city.
The short-lived days of eighty degrees and sun-filled expanses had passed on,
Giving way to the cooler days of the impending season change.
There was no rain,
Although the clouds looked anxious to deliver.

Despite all the opposing elements,
There she was –
Spilling out beyond the clouds;
So that every eye could see her still
Among the grays that faced the earth’s surface.
She saw the brightness
On the back side of the clouds
That others could not yet see.
And the sun, she shined on.

-2006