Undertow: The Rip Current that Drowned mySELF and Saved mySOUL

By Nash Hudson

On the outside it appeared that Nash Hudson, an aspiring cruise director, had his life together. He was overzealous, headstrong, and extremely impatient while fulfilling his desires on his terms first, then demanding that God bless it all. Just as Nash skillfully shaped his next career steps, he was unexpectedly swept away by a current that would divinely reset his career trajectory and ultimately save his life.

In this inspirational memoir, Nash reveals how, with his dreams hanging in the balance, he was relocated from his childhood home while suffering from the internalized side effects of fatherlessness, childhood trauma he mistakenly believed was wiped from his memories, and an estranged relationship with God. As he chronicles his experiences, Nash offers a candid glimpse into the world of a broken man who hit rock bottom, discovered God was the rock at the bottom, and embraced the necessary waves of character transformation that would propel him into an unfathomable experience he could have never envisioned.

Undertow is the true story of one man’s experiences in unchartered waters as he surrendered rebellion and pride and courageously rode a wave that eventually brought him back home to God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798385022236

Nash Hudson

Nash Hudson was born and raised in Washington, DC, and has been traveling the world for as long as he can remember. His travels have taken him around the globe nearly three times, visiting every continent except Antarctica … for now. Nash lives on Long Island, New York, with his dog, Phoenix, where he shares many of the lessons he’s learned from his journeys on his podcast, The [URc] Space.

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Copyright © 2024 Nash Hudson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked AMP are taken from the Amplified® Bible, Copyright © 2015 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Scripture quotations marked AMPC are taken from the Amplified® Bible, Copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Scripture quotations marked MSG are taken from The Message. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

Author Photo by Ronald J. McCray

ISBN: 979-8-3850-2222-9 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-2224-3 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-2223-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024906241

WestBow Press rev. date: 04/23/2024

And I am convinced and sure of this very thing, that He Who began a good work in you will continue until the day of Jesus Christ [right up to the time of His return], developing [that good work] and perfecting and bringing it to full completion in you.

—Philippians 1:6 (AMPC)

For the young, ambitious, and overeager dreamers in us all. May we grow into embracing the unencumbered versions of ourselves—swallowing our pride, our ego, and losing sight of the world’s way—to welcome the undertow designed to get us in flow with our God-ordained destiny.

This book is for you.

The Current’s Flow

Introduction

Current I:

Jaded, Fading Dreamer

Chapter 1 Dreamy Darkness

Chapter 2 Closed-Soul Policy

Chapter 3 Care Enough to Care

Chapter 4 Baltimore Bound. Ego Rebound

Chapter 5 Realizing the Dream

Chapter 6 Secret Ambition

Chapter 7 Parking Lot of a Supermodel

Chapter 8 Forget My Number. Remember My Name.

Chapter 9 Unexpected Express Flight

Chapter 10 Dreamy Darkness Revisited

Current II:

Auspicious Number 17

Chapter 11 How Do I Sense the Tide Is Rising?

Chapter 12 A Raisin in the Sun

Chapter 13 Hot Dog of Hope

Chapter 14 Cruisin’ ‘n’ Groovin’

Chapter 15 Vitamin Sea Withdrawals

Chapter 16 You’re Not Yet Ready

Chapter 17 Enchanted Misunderstanding

Chapter 18 When God Does Not Pick You

Chapter 19 Desiring a Splash of Cranberry

Chapter 20 This Is Not a Drill

Chapter 21 Seain’ What I Wanted

Current III:

All American Reject

Chapter 22 Seasons of Change

Chapter 23 Scandinavian Plot Twist

Chapter 24 Through All of It

Chapter 25 Big Prestige. Bigger Mouth.

Chapter 26 The Process and the Promise

Current IV:

Elusive Communiqué

Chapter 27 Dreaming and Doing the Unthinkable

Chapter 28 There’s Nothing Like a Divine, New York Slice

Chapter 29 Triple Back on That Active Hold

Chapter 30 And Then …

Chapter 31 Are You the One?

Chapter 32 Special with a Capital B

Chapter 33 Extended Key Access

Chapter 34 Marching into the Waves

Chapter 35 Tar Heel Trek

Chapter 36 It’s Time

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

References

un·der·tow

/ˈəndərˌtō/

noun: undertow; plural noun: undertows

≈ a current of water below the surface and moving in a different direction from any surface current.

≈ an implicit quality, emotion, or influence underlying the superficial aspects of something and leaving a particular impression.

(Google n.d.)

Introduction

I have come to discover life is a journey that will not always be fair winds and smooth seas. It took me a while to subscribe to this reality because in my perfect little world everything went according to my plans, and the only outcome was what I wanted. These pages share a glimpse into my newfound outlook about this voyage called life we are all on together. Initially, this book began in the direst of situations, with the worst of intentions, warped with the wrong mindset. It was supposed to be an attack on others from my hurt and pain, but as I began writing, I reconnected with my first love, and let’s just say my perspective began changing. I have come to learn I may not get to choose how my waves on this journey flow, but I do get to choose how I respond. I can either be bitter, angry, and blame someone else … or I can embrace the concept of joy, in which I can find true strength, healing, and wholeness. While I wanted this story to be about others, if this is to be an authentic offering from my heart, these pages needed to be about me—my lessons, my wins, and, yes, even my blunders, which you’ll have exclusive access to as you flip forward.

I thought I could share this journey with you in segments—sharing only the glowing parts, focusing specifically on the professional aspects of my life and leaving out many personal anecdotes I have never told others aloud. I would not be who I am today had it not been for what had happened to me. I think many of us can say that, right? Life has a way of making you stronger with every unexpected ebb and flow.

I found myself shipwrecked and shaking my fists at God, wondering why my world had come crumbling down when I wrote the first words to this book. I was wrathful with a fierce vengeance. But enter my mind for a moment here: Can you imagine having a dream for seventeen years—the only thing you lived, breathed, and, dare I say, worshipped—and then, without notice, had it ripped away from your grasp? I do not think I can precisely explain what my reality has been in the years I’ve spent writing Undertow, but I do know God has been beyond faithful through every moment—from the shores of Sydney, where I wrote from my greatest vulnerability, to the streets of Manila, the mountains of Virginia, the bay views from Maryland, and the cozy coffee shops in New York, where I wrote from my recovery. In each writing session, I was reminded of the testimony He had given me, and, the truth is, I am still unfinished.

My story was something I never wanted to share in a format like this. I was afraid of criticism, but divorcing myself from the opinions of others and the traumas of my past has been the most liberating of experiences (with this book helping in a big way).

Words are one of society’s most powerful members and can help as much as they can hurt. In full self-awareness, I acknowledge I’ve used my words in a way that has done both throughout my life, but my prayer for this very human attempt of word assembly is that this expression will be found in the banks of a restorative haven to be a gateway toward healing. I discovered while writing these words, in unearthing many things I never publicly discussed, new levels of restoration were there for me, line after line. I pray you feel them when you lay eyes on the words too. There is a possibility others may dispute their version of events, but this is my story, in my words, from my lived experience. For too long in my life, I allowed others to manipulate and control my words; I thank God this book helped bring a definitive end to that. I prayerfully sought the appropriate words to use in this memoir and hope they are found to be gracious and edifying. (I have concealed certain names, locations, and settings to keep the peace.)

I hope you are ready because this is the undertow you were warned to fear when in the waves. It will not be a pretty experience, and we may lose some elements of ourselves in the process, but I dare you to release every single thing (REST) in the current, and we will meet on the other side of the shore. Initially, I was adamantly resistant to the undertow’s pull, but I discovered embracing it, and its transforming work, would be one of the best lifelines I would ever receive. Will you feel and say the same? Let’s go and sea …

CURRENT I:

JADED, FADING DREAMER

CHAPTER 1

DREAMY DARKNESS

I could hear the wind whisper with a boisterous curl on the base of my earlobes as I swiftly ran across what was becoming a terribly busy parking lot. The weather had a bite to it. The darkness merged with the earlier-than-usual sunset as I absorbed visual cues, which signaled it was a time of transition—not just on the outside but within. Something was changing. I could hear the crispy autumn leaves tumble and feel the warmer-layered clothes but that was where my senses stopped. I was merely existing, going through the motions, getting myself through the day moment by moment. Even though I wanted the predictability of life as I knew it to remain, things were not feeling like the same old same old. I was feeling a life-changing decision looming on my horizon. I’d have three choices: get in, get out, or get run over (and none of those options made me warm and fuzzy inside). The rhythm and beat of my life was transforming. While I heard the sounds indicating such in the distance, I do not remember being fully in sync with the cadence inviting me to join.

Seasons. I was never a fan of winter. For some reason, it was the time of year I got in the most trouble, which did not always translate well when Christmas is a wintertime staple and my birthday eleven days on the heels of that. November was making its annual greeting, whether I wanted to welcome it or not. Trepidation began to bubble within me. I was anticipating getting into trouble at some point, as history only repeats itself, but this year I had artillery in my back pocket to combat those forebodings. I had a lot to be excited about, but as the dark night wrapped around me this distinct evening, I was overwhelmed. I was weeks away from walking across the stage and graduating with my undergraduate degree in hospitality management. There was so much uncertainty in my mind as I sat there on the fourth row of Princeton Memorial Chapel in Northern Virginia. The night was unsettlingly somber.

I had a lot of homework I needed to complete. Being more than an hour away from campus without all the materials I needed caused some anxiety but it also caused me to lean into pulling the senioritis card, saying, It will get done when it gets done. I was trying to focus on the meeting I was in, but my mind would not allow me. Like many who sit in church at some point in their lives, I was distracted when my compartmentalized mental anguish, which found this inconvenient time to show itself, came to the surface, unraveling an intersectional, sidetracking brain dump. I was trying to think about my future, plotting how and if I would be able to get back to campus that same evening with a late-night ride down the interstate and then figure out what the game plan would be about that homework. Oh, and what was I going to eat? I was in town by convenience, but I do not think my placement at this church service was a coincidence.

Hours earlier, I concluded handling business dealings for my professional future. While I should have been excited about what was to come, there seemed to be no joy beaming from my soul, and I could not pinpoint the reason(s) why. I should have been elated to be a graduating senior and pursuing my dream job, but for some reason, there was not a firework to ignite. I mean not a one. I secured a rental car to make the trip as I did not own my own vehicle at the time. Plus, rentals were always fun because it was like car shopping without having to buy. I tried all sorts of makes and models in my rental history, and that weekend I was booked in a gray European sedan. It had a black-leather interior, and I felt super cool riding around in it. I mean what do you expect a not-so-rich college student to say with no set of wheels of his own? Your boy was stylin’ and profilin’ … but nonetheless in the dark.

I kinda skipped school to get a security credential for a job I had accepted just the month prior. And I say kinda because I did give notice to my professors that I would not be in class, but it was certainly no asking for permission or dropping a kind FYI in my correspondence—I had a different approach. This is what I am doing. Thank you in advance for your support (or lack thereof). See ya in the next lecture. A bit brash and bold but not disingenuous to who I was that day. That was how I operated and navigated through life: This is my plan, get onboard with it or I will never see you. I was frustrated with my university because there was more than one challenge after another for me. I’ll spare you the laundry list, but the fact that I was weeks away from attaining an earned degree was a miracle in itself. Months prior, in late August, I was on the verge of dropping out and walking away from it all, and this was not my first choice. Would you believe me if I told you I had voices encouraging me to do it too? No, I was not going to leave college nine weeks before graduation because I had a genius, groundbreaking business idea, which could be the potential solution to a massive worldwide problem. I was Black kid from an urban area attending a predominantly White institution who simply did not have the money to make it to the finish line. Oh, you want to know more? Keep flipping forward, and let’s scenically coast through the entire story because this is only the beginning.

♫ I fell asleep within an autumn flow

I never knew I’d drift so far from home

While I was wading in the undertow. ♫

—Nick Kingswell Undertow

Senior-Semester Slump

Back in the summer, I had to enroll in an internship course that was essentially an online module—there were no online lectures or virtual gatherings. It was basically a chronicle report where seeking another alternative was not possible. Before graduating, I had to secure around six hundred hours of hospitality-industry experience, with this summer course being a key component. It made no sense to me why I had to pay for a course over the summer, which meant the price for class was elevated to show I knew how to pour wine, give a proper hotel check-in, and set a table for fine dining. I fought it because I thought this course was a bunch of trash, but at the core of it all, I knew I did not have the finances to pay for it, which was why my bark was so loud in frustrated protest. No matter how much I fought, I was inflexibly told, If you want to graduate, you have to take this course. I left deflated and perturbed. I knew my reality. I couldn’t say that I couldn’t take the course because I couldn’t afford to pay for it, but I did not have enough courage to lead on if something was not right in my world. My ego was more complex than my name. I had to make it look good and show the outside world everything was under control—even if it was not.

I kept chugging along, going through the motions, without sharing the reality of this impending bill to a soul—I didn’t even tell my biological mother. It was always hard for me to speak to her about certain things, especially finances. Growing up, I learned conversations regarding money caused great stress. If I did not bring anything up concerning money, it would at least keep that trigger from being pulled and setting someone off. It was not only money conversations that would cause tension between us but other topics too—some of which I could not control—but this one I thought I could manage to keep to myself. I chose to conceal it as my little, but heavy, secret. I kept the news to myself and believed God would make a way for me. I did not know how or when, but I knew God would surely come through for me. He had to. That’s what I heard Him as being—the Way Maker. I had my plan in place. I only needed Him to bless it so my life could continue moving the way I wanted.

That summer passed—including the course that made no sense—and my not-so-little secret caught up with me when I returned to campus for my final semester of instruction. I was called into an office where I had a feeling questions would soon arise. When I took a seat at the circular cherrywood desk, I knew those questions I did not want to hear were coming my way (and I was not interested in answering any of them, because I knew the moment I answered just one of them the truth about me would be exposed). There was always a dissonance between the administration and me. I could never put my finger on it. I believed in my heart the vibes were giving slight racism, which I do not understand how you can only be a bit racist without being fully racist. But I think I wanted to believe, at the core, they had good intentions. At least one couldn’t hold such power without having a good heart, I thought. I always want to believe the best in someone, even when the demonstration of character may allude to a different tune.

I did not always carry on in my college days as a bona fide believer, but I remember learning about the love of God and knowing in all instances that love always believes the best. (See 1 Corinthians 13:6–8). So while I wrote the administration off as being only a tad racist, the way they looked and spoke made me reconsider the whole love believing the best concept. Their tone and demeanor made me shrivel up and feel terribly insignificant. I mean smaller than a mustard seed. And as much as I tried hoping the questions would not come, the room began to fill with them: So, we need to ask you a question, Nash. You are no longer on the roster of any of your classes, yet you are still in them, which is a direct violation of university policy. What is going on?

Did this individual think I was naive? I knew they knew why. I was overwhelmed but took a deep breath and said, Well, I could not afford the summer class, as I mentioned at the conclusion of last semester when we spoke. I owe the university for the course price, and until then, I cannot be added to any of my classes.

Silence. Then words would rejoin the atmosphere. But before they did, I could see in this individual’s eyes I was in a powerless position. Life never dealt me a winning hand. My story did not have to be known nor the world from which I came, from which I was certain paled in comparison to this individual’s. It seemed like the individual had seen this sort of thing before and was already prepared with how to respond because the silent pause seemed staged.

Well, Nash, you cannot attend these classes unless you are enrolled in them. You need to know if you do, you are in violation of the university policy.

Great, now I must be spoken to like I do not understand how this all works. They did not understand, and I did not know to whom I could have turned to for help. At that moment in my life, I did not have a favorable grasp of my DNA, making the reality of family nonexistent. To say I walked out of that office stressed would be an understatement. I had no words for the uproarious emotions trying to surface, but I knew I did not want to be seen by anyone. That little secret, which held a heavy weight, began drowning me with every heartbeat I felt lub dub inside my chest. I had to figure out a way to make it happen and wound up in another office, just down the hall, on this quest.

CHAPTER 2

CLOSED-SOUL POLICY

There stood a door open in the beige and reddish hall; no other students were around, and because this office always boasted an open door policy I walked in, took a seat, and asked if they had a moment to listen. I explained my financial situation, and the response shook me: You know you can always take a break and come back when you have the money to pay your way. Of course being overwhelmed with the pressures of life, I did not hear it coming from an empathic point of view.

Excuse me? I am weeks away—not semesters … or even years—from graduation, and I’m being encouraged to essentially drop out? You are not proposing exploring other potential options that may be out there? Nothing. They gave me exactly what they could, which was all they had: NAST—not a single thing. I thought educators were supposed to care. (Maybe this was the way in which some cared, though?) I drew my own conclusions from the lens of what life had taught me: they, like countless others in my life, had given up on me. I had always wrestled with this uncomfortable experience that dealt with issues related to abandonment from my childhood. I found it to be exhausting. What made me so disposable to others? There seemed to be this reoccurring theme on my journey where I felt people thought it was easier to give up on and walk away from me (with this instance reinforcing that train of thought, to remain in the halls of my mind and heart).

Whenever I faced a roadblock like this, I felt as if it was too hard to help me, and I would often ended up on the other side of the story, being seen as the one who wouldn’t survive. That baggage of life had me only able to see my pain, my woes, and my problems—always asking, What about me? While the building weight of rejection was gaining intensity in my heart, with this being another notch in my belt, I knew there were not many places I could turn. I knew someone who had not given up on me, never gave up on me, and never would; and while I went to plot and stress about my situation, He already had a plan worked out according to His will. (It would just take some time for me to get the memo.) I guess Mariah Carey was right when she wrote the lyrics to Hero. For some reason, they could faintly be heard in my moment of despair, whispering, in ascension, with all the dreams I had for my life.

♫ Lord knows dreams are hard to follow

But don’t let anyone tear them away, hey yeah

Hold on

There will be tomorrow

In time you’ll find the way. ♫

—Mariah Carey Hero

I could not get past the next few minutes, let alone this tomorrow Mariah melodically sings about coming. (And let’s not mention believing the line about finding a way in time. It sounds good on the radio, and even live in concert, but in real life, ehhh, not so much.) I remember storming out of that office, where I was being convinced to drop out, rehearing my history with this particular individual thinking, I thought an advocate was there in my corner. I remember when they started working at the university. We had several things in common—the most prominent being we came from demographics that were not commonplace on campus. They spoke with an accent, and many students gave them a hard time because of it. I engaged empathetically, standing up for them and giving subtle reassurances in lectures that I could understand if no one else could—because as a Black man, I get what it feels like walking into certain spaces where you are not the expected arrival. Our rapport was noticed by different peer groups, which made me believe they were a confidant and ally. We had a professional student-professor relationship. And just like that, when you’re extending the olive branch to help another—a stranger mind you—the branch gets burned. Without looking back, I left their office and walked as far as I could, straight into the downtown district of the college town where I lived. One of the many life lessons I would later embrace was taught to me that day: if you accept someone too soon as a trusted source before seeing what happens when things get difficult, you’ll always be left alone to burn. Trust others, yes, but after seeing how they encourage you when you’re walking through difficult times (or how they don’t). I did not want them to jeopardize their career, but I was certain greater advice would have come from that blandly adorned office.

On my passionately charged stomp to the bank, I lost it emotionally. I was off campus, no one was around, and there, in the middle of the street, I broke down and cried, letting out the loudest sounds, which my body demanded. I tried stopping, but it persisted to break forth to the surface; it did not happen once but in continuation as I took one step after another. I could not be controlled or consoled. It felt as if I were a breathing volcanic eruption, destroying the calm, quiet street where I was walking.

In my bout of despair, I managed to pick up the phone and call another student who I thought I was close to at the time. After I explained what was happening, they too were silent and at a loss for words. I was angry. I blurted out some choice words to describe those powers that be, and after spewing my vocal magma, I was calm enough to feel my heartbeat come to a somewhat normal rhythm; my feet were walking across the parking lot of my bank. I hung up the phone, knowing I had to get myself together before walking through the double doors before me.

I took a seat and allowed the air conditioning to usher me back down to ground level as I took some more deep breaths. There, an individual greeted me and asked what he could do for me. While I was grateful to have been acknowledged there in the bank’s lobby, I was hoping, in this moment, to have another person help me. I still hadn’t shaken the fresh sting of being talked down to. I felt the only remedy was to engage with a softer, nurturing personality. As I was never affirmed as a man, I always held precarious emotions when dealing with matter-of-fact personalities. I knew this individual was at no fault for the most recent exchanges I had had, but certainly, they looked and sounded a lot like what my body could not handle at that moment. It wasn’t their fault I had unfavorable relations with certain personalities built up over decades, but you couldn’t convince me otherwise that day. But this was where my steps were ordered, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

If I was walking into that bank seeking salvation and refuge, I was in the wrong building. But if it was financial help I was seeking, I was right where I needed to be; and when pondering this, it was my only reason for wanting to speak with someone. I just had to push through my emotions and not mess up this potential opportunity for help, even if I did not know how.

$1,400.00 on Pump 14, Please

After going through the predictable exchange of information one typically does at a bank, I found myself completing a banker’s form, where I explained I would like to discuss obtaining a loan. The initial banker who greeted me went away and then returned with the message I was hoping they would not: they would be assisting me. Oh man, here we go again, I thought, Lord, please, could someone else be here to help me? Nonetheless, I uttered a prayer and said, Father, You can use this man’s knowledge to meet my need, and if it can be met after this meeting, I would be most grateful. It is so interesting how prayerful you can become in desperate times.

We headed toward his office, and before he could speak, I felt those persistent and inescapable emotions, which I thought were subsiding, creeping back to the surface like a massive thunderstorm making a slow approach from afar. We landed at his office, and he went to grab his seat while I was trying to think of everything except the pain overwhelming my soul. This was deeper than paying an outstanding university bill. This was speaking to the issues with rejection I never dealt with, which made all these emotions overflow from my being. The uncontrollable spectrum of emotions was too much for me to mentally process. This bank is a lot larger than it appears on the outside, I thought. That at least kept me from wanting to cry as I began accounting for every plant and hard-wooded surface within my vantage point, scanning the room from left to right. I think he knew something was about to go down in his dated, stale and country-feeling office, so he hurried to shut the blinds as I moved like a slowly wound-up toy soldier into his office. I felt the banker close his office door, which quickened me, and I sat in one of the two seats there. He hesitantly asked how he could assist me with both of his pale hands standing at attention atop his desk, which also kept his body posture from leaning toward me—as if he was already braced for impact on a turbulent flight. I explained my situation with a few tears to accompany the story, not to pull on his heartstrings but they were real. I did not want to cry, but sometimes you must let emotions run their course (whether you want them to or not). It was not a show. I was beginning to feel hopeless—something I had never felt before and it scared me—and I did not know what else to do but cry. Despair surrounded me like a violent tornado, the forceful winds too great to bear on my own, and finally, while telling him my situation, the heaviness was dispelled for a moment and a lightness came in my midst. He grabbed some tissues for me, and as I got myself together again for the I-don’t-know-what-number of times that day, he began asking me a list of questions as he typed into his computer.

After his last question, he had some news for me and took the time to assure me I needed to simply take deep breaths. I sensed the distress of my disposition was very sincere in his eyes, and he felt there was nothing counterfeit about the display. He told me he could help me garner an application for a credit card with the bank and the maximum amount I could charge on it was $1,400.00. OK, that was part of the amount I owed, but what was I going to do about the rest? I did not want to come off as being ungrateful, but I immediately circled back with him on my original intent: securing a loan for the full amount covering the bill I needed to pay pronto. I was not too concerned about repayment plans or interest rates and what that entailed, because I thought if I could get the money up front, I would figure the rest out later. I needed only to make this looming bill go away.

He shared with me that I simply did not qualify and had too high of a debt ratio. Bummer. But for some reason, that did not discourage me. This always seemed true in my life: no matter how bad the reality of things were, I always believed there would be a way. For me, it always existed. My goal was to always find the way and make it happen. I truly believe when I was born, a God-birthed seed of resilience, to never give up, was planted within me. I cannot describe it, but I have always had the will to persist and press on despite the craziest of circumstances. I knew with the amount on the credit card, I would be almost there and was already thinking how I could plead my case with the financial-aid office back on campus to see if making a payment of this amount, $1,400.00, could at least grant me a temporary stay in my classes so I could graduate; and I could add additional funds to my outstanding balance as the semester progressed, before I was to walk across the stage in December. How? Again, I had no clue, but like Mariah sings, … in time, I’ll find the way …

The Blind Emailing the Blind

The walk back to campus to hail the bus that would get me back to my apartment felt a bit lighter than my storming fit from that other office only hours prior. I was not as overwhelmed as I had been on the walk to the bank, but I was not fully on cloud nine either. I had a plan in place-ish, but more work needed to be done. I was thinking long and hard about what I could do to gather the remaining funds. I was already taking an eighteen-credit course load for the semester, and I had no time to study for the classes I was taking, but even then, I wrote off the idea of trying to get a part-time job to salvage my undergraduate hopes and dreams. I had no idea how I would be able to get the money. My mind was all over the place—I considered donating plasma, toted around the idea of making a one-time drug deal, and, yes, adult filmmaking seemed to even be an avenue, but my faith would not let me go that far. When you’re desperate and feeling disconnected from God, all options are on the table.

I knew better, and if I was going to believe God would make the way and provide, I did not need to help Him out like Sarah did with Hagar and Abraham. (See Genesis 21.) God made the promise to Abraham that he would be the father of many nations, having a host of descendants—more than the stars in the sky above his eyes and the grains of sand between his toes. Abraham and his wife, Sarah, were both up in age, and it seemed like God needed help to fulfill His promise. So Sarah had the bright idea to let their concubine, Hagar, sleep with her husband because she did not fully believe God would use the barrenness of her body, in her old age, to bring forth a never-ending generation as He had promised. Hagar got pregnant, and Sarah hated her for it (and then the hot-mess express choo-chooed on throughout history). In that situation, there was nothing but regret, and if history is prone to repeat itself, I did not want to have something so dire and drastic haunting me the rest of my life.

That was when the idea came to me to swallow my pride—and it was a big mountain of pride, believe you me—and ask my friends for the money I needed. Bold. Daring. Humbling. It was the only place I could safely land without having regret. No one should ever regret asking someone for help; not asking for help and inviting permanent consequences based off a temporary feeling can be reconciled and made whole, if God allows, but I did not want to have to go down that road. The idea of asking for money from