Tag Archives: World Race

Love and Money



I’m a hopeless romantic.

Have I ever told you that?


My favorite tale is where the guy and the girl are best friends.

And they tumble into romance. Accidentally.


As if I’m surprised.



They end up together.


Since the month of July took its cue from June, I’ve been wrestling with the fear that there’s not enough for me. Ever.


When it comes to good men to date.

And all the good ones are taken.


When it comes to food on the table.

And all the best is already eaten.


As long as I’ve remembered, I’ve always feared there will never be enough of anything for me.


And, if it’s a necessity, I trust it’ll run out just in time for me to be in need.


Funny, isn’t it?


I live in America.


Homeland of the too-much.


Come on, Ash.

Wake up and smell the expensive hipster coffee.

There’s enough for you, doll.


This wrestling of mine has included the purge of the soul.

You know, that part where I evaluate my life and wonder where this notion of not-enough got planted along the way.


Honestly, I feel like an orphan—scrappin’ and scrapin’ for mine.

Mind you.

Both of my biological parents are alive and well.

We’re in relationship.

Heck, they still send me money to help out.

–I’m no Oliver Twist.


But, I sure am acting like one.

All. Day.


Working the system to make sure I have enough.


Work harder.

Make enough to find enough.


Strange thing.

I’m currently in a season of fundraising.

You know, the kind where I have to raise thousands of dollars for my organization in order to keep my job come October.

And, I’m coming up short.


And, in the midst of being in a deep place of need, I’m feelin’ generous.

I kind of want to blow my bank account.


Not on shoes.

Or on a better car.


But, on the people around me.


I want to give.


I want to bless til people get tired of blessings.

And, then I want to give more.



Getting generous in a season of need.

When I should be scrappin’ and scrapin’ like a pro.


And, yet.

I want to be foolish. And generous.


I’m confident some people would call me stupid.

Heck, I don’t budget well anyways.

I probably am pretty terrible with money.


But, why not?

Why not be generous when I am in need?

Why not help out when I need to be helped out?


It sounds backwards.

But, that good gospel is every sorts of backwards.

And, I’m not any good at being forwards, as is.


So, that’s what I’m choosing.


To be in need.

And to give.

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Traveling the World, Again!



It was sneaky how the idea of traveling the world surfaced again. But, unlike other major decisions, this one was made with more hesitancy—like the way that oil and water slowly decide they should in fact drift apart. I think I know the cost of this undertaking—of spending 5 more months in third-world countries.


Honestly, I’m not a great missionary. Mother Teresa can have her Calcutta. I’ll stay home and share the gospel here. With my clean water and Pringles.


But, for the past 5 weeks, I’ve had this tiny feeling simmering in my soul, ever so gentle and quiet, but bubbling nonetheless. I’ve come to realize that this tiny feeling is hope—a feeling that is as overlooked in my life as crumbs underneath a breakfast table.


This past season has been one of tumultuous change—that kind of change that leaves you with the same feeling as those first few hours after taking down Christmas: a barrenness and a faint melody of a song no longer appropriate. This has been a season where my words have felt bare, unable to twist and wrap around what I feel. It’s been a season of guessing more than faith-living. It’s been a season of fewer meeting of souls.


Instead, it’s been a very quiet season filled with candles, paintbrushes and hard truths. It’s been a season of demolition—of tearing down structure upon structure and removing the remains of the past. I don’t know if there was a lot of building up of new buildings in this season, but there is ground to build upon that was never open before.


Sometimes I think that’s all we need going into a new season, really: a little bit of hope that things will be different. We don’t need things fancy or sparkly, the way we all though college would be. We need different—a hope that the battles won will count toward our next season.


I don’t regret the depth of the struggles of the past season; they’ve spoken too much over who I am. I’m not a big fan of challenging and desperate times. But, they are much more valuable to me than the lovely soft places I’ve happened upon.


I think that’s what I’m banking on as I head back out onto the field in September: hope that the pain of this past season will be redeemed by the challenges of this new season. I am hoping that all those quiet moments will count.


So, my friends, here’s to hope!

Here’s to the moments not enjoyed, the songs still unsung!

Here’s to the long bus rides, and to not being home!

Here’s to Jesus, my love, and all that I know!


Here’s to hope, my friends. Here’s to hope!


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