Author: John Mark

This week, I scoured the city for foreclosures. If you’ve ever attempted this, you know it’s a bit of a shady scavenger hunt. A lot of driving around and slowing down, questionable inspecting from outside (if presumed empty), and walking boundaries. As usual, I interacted with neighbors to learn more about the houses. This time, I happened to be met with pretty direct questions: “Can I help you? Who are you looking for?”  The wealthier or more gentrified the neighborhood, the stronger the suspicion.

With the recent tragedies of #georgefloyd and #amycooper, I couldn’t help but wonder this week: if I was a black man hunting for foreclosures, would these neighbors have bothered to question me directly—or just called the police, iPhone in one hand and craft beer in the other?  I realized in that moment that even the ability to build my housing business stems from privilege. I can wander around abandoned property, unconsciously trusting my whiteness will help me explain my way through the situation to neighbors or police should the need arise. Unsurprisingly, one black friend admitted he wouldn’t be caught dead attempting this kind of shopping spree. If he wants to build wealth through real estate, he’ll find bargains another way. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve hustled to create and refine my unique business niche. From lawyer offices to plumbing breaks to learning how to clear title, I’ve done my time. The fact that I’m white doesn’t mean I haven’t struggled or worked hard to succeed; it just means that my race and ethnicity haven’t been one of the barriers to success I’ve faced. And because I don’t have to think much about my race in the process, it’s tempting to conclude that no one else does, either. When systems work well for you, it’s hard to see when they don’t work well for others. (Hint: that’s why folks are protesting this week).

All of this takes me back to buying my first house. I remember sitting in the historic title company across from the courthouse. The smell of paperwork and church coffee wafted through the high ceilings of the ancient building. As the closing went on, I became increasingly surprised at the mounds of documents and signatures required to purchase one simple asset. Attached to the large file of papers with assessments and comparables, inspections and lead-based paint disclosures was a former deed to the property. Among the covenants and restrictions dating back to the 1940s when the house was built was this one: Said property shall not be sold, leased, or rented to any person other than of Caucasian race.  

I read it again several times. There it was, in black and white. On a property I was buying. I felt my throat tighten. Ignorant of real American history, warm anger and disgust brewed in my 27 year old body. Finally, I questioned the title attorney about it.

“Oh, well…” he stammered, “of course that’s null and void now” he chuckled nervously, quickly waving it off and changing the subject. 

Racism has roots in this land. In housing, those roots go deep. 

In the The Color of Law, Richard Rothstein unpacks policy decisions passed by our state and federal governments over the past 100 years that promoted patterns of discrimination in housing that have enshrined racial inequality in the US to this day. 

The same decade my house was built, the Supreme Court ruled in Shelley vs. Kraemer (1948) to prohibit exclusion of African Americans or other minorities from buying property in sections of cities formerly forbidden. Kraemer, a St. Louis white man who lived ten blocks down, sued in an attempt to prevent the Shelleys from gaining possession of a property they’d purchased.  The court decided that private parties can create such restrictive racial agreements, but that state judicial enforcement of them was discriminatory. Through this semi-victory, you can see how race-based housing patterns proved hard to root out. 

Around the same time, African Americans and other minorities returning from World War II found the GI Bill’s low-cost mortgages and low-interest loans and financial support made overwhelmingly available only to their white counterparts. Fast forward a couple decades to the Vietnam War. Even as African-American and Hispanic members of the armed forces sacrificed their lives for the country, their loved ones back on American soil were still barred from purchasing homes in certain residential areas because of their race and ethnicity. This is a big deal, because homeownership has been one of the most powerful ways Americans have built and passed on wealth in our recent history.

Finally, the Civil Rights era brought the Fair Housing Act of 1968 which outlawed discrimination surrounding the sale, rental and financing of housing based on race or national origin. But the damage had already been done. Robust systems of affluence and disenfranchisement were set in stone. 

For white folks like me who were born into the benefits of this housing system, D.L. Mayfield reminds us of how blinding this can become: 

“The deep and dark tragedy of affluence is how it takes away curiosity; how it accepts the world as it is. How it conforms to the talking points of empire and pharaohs. It keeps us from wondering why people of color tend to live in concentrated urban areas with a lack of services; why white folks flock to the suburbs on the backs of subsidies—and then back to the cities when it later becomes profitable. Or why our cities remain segregated by class and race. 

Affluence hears all of the statistics and then looks around at its own neighborhood. ‘Everything seems to be going okay. Everything seems to be working out. It must have been all that hard work. It must have been deserved.’ To be curious about any other answer is to open wide the door of responsibility, of kinship, of strings that connect our well-being to the well-being of everyone else.”

You can tell I’m not a historian, but getting curious about my inheritance in America’s housing history has helped put today’s racial frustrations into context. But even with this data, that curiosity doesn’t come easy. If you’re a white American like me, you can accept these historical facts and still struggle to believe that structural racism exists today. Many of us were taught to recognize racism only in personal prejudice toward someone of another skin color, and not in these created systems that generationally favor some groups and marginalize others. From policing to housing to incarceration, we can’t afford to be in denial about systemic racism any longer. It’s not going to just go away. Since the day that brown bodies were brought to this land as enslaved peoples, we’ve enshrined it as one of our original sins as a nation.

Today is the day to lift the blinders of affluence and look truth in the eyes, raw and unsettling. Today is the day to get curious. When our brothers and sisters of color tell a different American story than the one we’ve experienced, today is the day we must learn to listen. 

P. S. If you’re keen to take steps toward repairing the damage caused by economic and racial inequality in your city, check out Homegrow a Housing Business For the Greater Good. In this toolkit, I share my unique model for creating a profitable small business that empowers people who have been marginalized to flourish through homeownership.

I dream about my old life. The coffee stops, neighborhood bonfires, and weekend trips. I never thought I’d admit this, but I’m dying for normal rhythms again.

Banal as they seemed, I long for the days where you make a pour over on the way out the door, run an errand en route to work, catch up with a friend for a beer after, then take your kids (those dear creatures who have, in the past month, tested everything you say you believe) to the park for a moment before sunset. Now, it’s all in your living room—the coffee, your office, happy hour on Zoom, and the jungle gym. When will this end?

For now, we wait.

I want to get back to normal, too. We’re all holding our breath as we lose income, relational connections, and health—many physical, some mental. As much as it stings, I’m convinced this struggle could be an important inflection point in our stories. If we stop and search our hearts in the middle of this—between the cracks and chaos of trying to find new rhythms—normal again may be selling ourselves short.

Pivotal moments of suffering force us to re-evaluate. St. John of the Cross so well describes the soul’s “dark night of loving fire” that purifies and frees, bringing us into new places. From a spiritual angle, I invite you to reflect on this question: what might you need to let die?  If this season has caused you to sense deep down that something must or will or maybe even has already changed permanently, then spend some time with this question. And beware distraction as you do. The master narrative of consumer capitalism is a powerful force, already gearing up to regain our loyalties and push us back to “normal” levels of distracted, consuming frenzy as soon as possible.

But what if there’s something more than normal for you on the other side? Perhaps this lockdown marks the beginning of the end of something—a job you’ve outgrown, an unhealthy relationship, some economic practice or ruinous habit.  It’s tough to embrace endings and to see them for what they might truly be—new beginnings that insist we grow. 

So, I ask again: what might you need to let die?  Sit alone with that question, if you dare. 

Again, watch out. When we starve our idols to their death, they cry out in protest. They’re known to leave a painful vacuum in their wake. But, in the Easter season, the hope of something new is here. Death can lead to resurrection life. 

As You Wait, Celebrate

To be honest, I want the results of this new life, but without the tough refining tasks required to get there. But there aren’t any shortcuts. In this in-between time of waiting, a pox on passing these months shut-in and angsty. What does it look like instead to grow through hardship and to practice new creation life, right now?  

On the historic Christian church calendar, Easter is not just a day—like Lent, it’s actually a 40-day season. Slipping into Lent was fitting this year. Whether quarantine took your job on day 8 or your mental health on day 23, the Lenten lament has been a close friend.

And though this season still feels like mourning, how can we celebrate during these 40 days of Eastertide? To do what Yahweh told Israel to do while enslaved—to plant gardens, have children, throw wedding parties—even under oppression?  There must be a way to celebrate life—for Easter, as N.T. Wright reminds, is our greatest festival.

In my household, we’re giving it a shot in simple ways this Paschal season. We’ve adopted 3 hens and built a raised garden. We’re making backyard omelets and growing arugula and eggplants for the first time.  Though our modest little house and yard can feel like their own exile, I am seeing spots of joy in slowing down. There is so much to explore in one tiny plot of land—as children will remind you if you put your phone down and pay attention. The worms in our compost entertain them and feed the chickens for hours—as do the pungent wild onions springing up.  They never tire of sampling the perennial herbs and adding them to bouquets of cream and mauve grass flowers.  When nature runs out of tricks, you can have a lot of fun with a bottle of vinegar and a box of baking soda. (I owe you one, Heather!)  For a weekly delight, we light a candle on the eve of the Sabbath, then take to something joyous—baking cupcakes, venturing out on a picnic or hike, or blending up smoothies. Simple felicity. 

This year, the season of Eastertide runs until the end of May.  Against the gloom, what practices of hope, life, and joy can you infuse into your days? As you juggle your coffee, office work, and relationships within new limits, how will you celebrate through the waiting and hardship?

P.S.  As you wait, consider planning a global pilgrimage to welcome new beginnings. You can use the steps in my toolkit, Pilgrimage for Pennies, to start dreaming before the skies open back up. Or, perhaps you’re ready to diversify your investments as the economy shifts. Check out my video toolkit: Homegrow a Housing Business for the Greater Good to learn clear, adaptable steps to help your savings and your neighbors flourish through housing.   

P.S.S. Many thanks to the Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission and to Catherine Parks for working to publish a version of this post in their Christian Living column.

I’ve been hoodwinked. Flat out robbed. 

There are no bruises on my face. I have all my teeth. My threadbare wallet is still around here somewhere. But a thief has cleaned me out. I’ve been cheated. 

Can you relate?

Situations may differ, but we all feel something has been stolen. Thanks to this pandemic, all plans are foiled.  Here’s where I am. After 12 years at my job, I put in a request for a 4-month Sabbatical—a time of leave to do intentional, deep interpersonal work. My employer kindly granted this time and it was going swimmingly. It started in February after a final work trip to Honduras. I was settling into my plans to read a stack of books, seek mentorship, take long afternoons of exercise, and pass many slow hours with my wife and kids. 

Then, boom. Suddenly, after just a few weeks, COVID-19 flushed away this hopeful new rhythm. Clouds of uncertainty and limitation loom over each day that feels endless, shut-in, unproductive and restless. Ugh. There’s no other way to say it: I’m pissed. 

I drip with privilege writing this—I’m not (yet) affected economically or health-wise from this pandemic, plus, who gets a 4-month leave of absence from their job, anyway?  But, I have to process, too. This is my life and reality. As a friend reminded me this week, we must each pass through our own stages of individual grief as we endure this collective global loss. And this pandemic certainly doesn’t discriminate between the haves and the have-nots, does it? Whether you’re losing dollars in your 401k or hours of sleep about how you’ll pay this month’s bills, we are all dealing with our own burdens from this surprising new season.

I’m passing through the stages of grief pretty consistent with how psychologist Elizabeth Kübler-Ross defined them. The first week, I couldn’t admit this was real. I was in shock and denial. The second week felt like a frustrated, angry haze. I remember almost nothing. This, the third week, I’m probably bargaining—yep, here I am, trying to tell my story and make sense of it all. I’m desperate to believe deeper learning and growth is in this mess somewhere.  

Help my unbelief. I’m still mad. This is not the way any of us wanted to start 2020. As I wrote at the beginning of the year, to really see the world, you have to learn to stay home.  If only I’d known what that would mean for this new decade that seemingly brimmed with hope. 

The irony of this coming at Lent isn’t lost on many of us this year. Though we didn’t plan on giving up our entire lives in this season of restraint, what better time to have begun this kind of inner dialogue—to slow down to face ourselves and our questions?  While answers are sparse, I’ve been given some tough ones to address. Let me share a few about travel, work, and relationships. 

Like many of you, we had travel on the books this year—multiple getaways to see loved ones that are now cancelled. We’d just scored a free Companion Pass—just in time for all travel plans to be nixed. Like I unpack in my Pilgrimage for Pennies toolkit, quality experiences win out of over quantity every time. Perhaps it’s time for me to reconsider my own advice—to prune back adventures even further, staying rooted and reflective in this season. What does “pilgrimage at home” look like? (I don’t know yet, but we’re starting with a couple urban chickens).  

I’ve also been thinking about global travel and my interdependence with the created world. Even as the earth begins to repair during this massive pause on human movement, it begs the question: what is my responsibility to limit movement in the future? For example, I justify travel with airmiles multiple times a year by telling myself that those seats are leftover airline inventory that would have been empty anyway and don’t increase consumption quite the same way. Fair or not, all of this begs a deeper reflection of my habits and their impact on the environment. As our normal travel patterns grind to a halt, what should they look like when the skies and roads open back up to us?

For many, our work has been completely disrupted. Here we are—forced into an economic pause on a massive scale.  Whether this means losing your job completely or working by video from your laundry room (kids melting down outside the door), we’re all facing uncertainty around our work. In this realm for me, I have a rental house that I’ve struggled to fill. We’ve hustled hard for a solid year to get it in top shape—and of course, the downturn hits now while potential customers have low confidence and buying power. As I search myself on this, the word ruthless keeps surfacing. Perhaps, this ruthlessness with which I expect to maximize efficiency has become a sort of god. “Better one handful with tranquility than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind” Ecclesiastes whispers.  What does a flourishing work life look like—one where I work hard and well, but then rest fully too, trusting God will decide how successful or efficient my endeavors become?  This key to contentment is woven throughout Holy Scripture, yet I constantly take it back into my own hands by attempting to maximize efficiency and control outcomes.

Finally, what about our communities? As we’re all forced into isolation and social distance, our relationships have suddenly been changed. Some of us will suffer great loss as loved ones fall prey to death during this pandemic. Others of us will grieve with those who do. Many of us will suffer from too much emotional distance and others from too much proximity. My wife and I have been discussing how to give each other increased space to personally lament during this time—now harder than ever to do well when we’re in each other’s physical space much more closely. (Hat tip: Gena Thomas).  In most all of our other relationships, social distance is particularly tough during spring and at Holy Week.  No picnics in the park with neighbors as the trees bloom. No Seder dinner with wine, lamb, and reclining. No kids waving palm branches. No extended family feasts.

Will I be patient to learn from these new relational dynamics—the endless hours with my children, the requirement to intentionally reach out to loved ones and ugh…talk at them through glowing rectangles, the opportunity to creatively love neighbors in need even at a social distance?  It’s hard when you can’t name the purpose or the end of this pandemic. If I’m honest, even my faith can’t make meaning of it. It’s humbling to admit, but perhaps it’s not supposed to.  Instead of trying to assign purpose, it may be time to simply lament—a season to collectively mourn. This is particularly hard for those of us from the USA to accept—we’ve been brought up on triumphal, future-oriented, upwardly mobile stories of what’s next.  It’s tough to embrace an extended season of lament, but if we will, I’m convinced we’ll discover an opportunity to grow something new. A dear friend and mentor invited me this week into Pope Francis’ prayer: Let us not waste these difficult days.  If we lean in and listen throughout them, perhaps this thief who has cheated us may become our greatest teacher. 

P.S.  During this downtime, check out my video toolkit: Homegrow a Housing Business for the Greater Good.  As financial pressures on low-income families increase during this pandemic, you can use these clear, adaptable steps to empower people who are marginalized to attain stable housing and create a sustainable side hustle in the process.

I can’t believe 2020 is here.  For me, the past decade has been full of paradox. One of the greatest is that I’ve become both more locally rooted and more globally connected than I could have imagined. Nostalgia hits me in waves as I reflect on 10 years living in the unique neighborhood where my housing business came to life and where I’ve met scores of wonderful people I can’t imagine how I’d know otherwise. 

Over this decade, my career and personal travels have also taken me far from home—all over Asia, Europe, Africa, and Latin America. From Burma to Uzbekistan to Panama from where I write, I’m incredibly privileged. Most of history and even present day people will never experience such opportunities. Friends mean well when they ask me: how many countries have you been to?  I’ve always dodged the question with slight embarrassment, and I’ve come to understand why. Checking countries off a list isn’t my aspiration—as if they were a collection of bucket list items or passport stamps. Rather, they are more like unique friends that you grow to love and appreciate—each one different, none superior to another, not to be consumed or exploited, but treasured for all the joys and struggles that make them what they are. 

It might sound contradictory, but after all of my travels, I’ve actually found that real global perspective comes when becoming deeply present, rooted, and committed in one community at home across time. In our culture that promotes endless options and mobility for the middle and upper classes, we’re sold the promise that we’ll be happy if we choose individual fulfillment over the constraints of place. David Brooks so perfectly names this irony in examining the cultural success story underlying one of the beloved Dr. Seuss books we read to our children: 

This is the lie books like Dr. Seuss’ “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” tell. In adulthood, each person goes on a personal trip and racks up a bunch of experiences, and whoever has the most experiences wins. This lie encourages people to believe freedom is the absence of restraint. Be unattached. Stay on the move. Keep your options open.

In reality, the people who live best tie themselves down. They don’t ask: What cool thing can I do next? They ask: What is my responsibility here? They respond to some problem or get called out of themselves by a deep love.

It’s so true. The more you know yourself—not just as an individual living in your personal consumer bubble, but as a community member whose well-being is bound up with others—the more content you’ll become. This is by nature limiting, but it’s the best life—the only way to deeply know and be known. “It’s the chains we choose that set us free” Brooks declares in great irony.  

After so many years of globetrotting, this resonates profoundly. You can’t meaningfully appreciate other cultures unless you are rooted and known in your own context.  I’ve learned this the slow and hard way in the work of poverty alleviation I’ve dedicated my life to. It’s shallow at best—impossible at worst—for me to be of any help solving problems cross-culturally if I haven’t done that same hard work in my own place.  If I don’t look at issues plaguing my own country in the face—hyper individualism, mass incarceration, the opioid crisis–what makes me think I’ll ever be able to meaningfully recognize and respond to the realities facing people and cultures that aren’t my own?  

I haven’t fully sorted through this tension between being rooted and roaming. Until I do, I still want to discover the world, to enjoy my precious years of youth and health.  To, as the ancient wisdom of Ecclesiastes tells us, “follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see in the days of young manhood.”  In great paradox, I also insist on rooting myself more deeply. I want to share stake with neighbors in one place, pouring myself out to seek the peace and welfare of my own city. 

So, to those living in the same tension, who want to see the world, I say: go. Whatever your fears, go anyway. Explore with intention. Do your best. Be free of the guilt of your privilege.  Let your travels form you, as much as humanly possible, more into the image of God. And bring that image home. Home to your less than perfect city. To your complex colleagues. To your own sheets, creaky wood floors, and porch swing that still needs to be refinished. To your own neighborhood, to your loved ones and those who are hard to love, to those people you long to see smile and those you’d rather avoid. And lean in hard.  This decade, invest in community over opportunity. Root yourself deeper—and discover the joy of being fully alive. 

P.S. If you’re itching to thoughtfully explore the world in 2020, check my video toolkit: Pilgrimage to Any Country for Pennies.  Here I lay out clear steps for how you can plan and create an unbelievably affordable, meaningful experience that you can bring back home to bless and know your community in a deeper way.

When you grow up with four boys in the house, the chaos doesn’t stop. The fun is endless. It’s also over before you know it.  Before long, the youngest of all four of us will turn 30. Where did the years go?

I admire each of my brothers uniquely – we’re all very different from one another, but we fit together like a puzzle of surprisingly divergent pieces. We don’t agree on everything, but higher than our own opinions, we retain a larger sense that we’re part of each other and of something greater than ourselves. In a world where the individual is increasingly king, that is one of my greatest treasures.

Although we all live in the same geographical area, it’s surprisingly hard to connect. Now that we’re adults, life is packed with responsibilities. One of my brothers has 4 kids and a rigorous engineering job. The other started a local restaurant…wait, make that 2. The youngest one travels with his band and jumped back into med school this year. We’re an active bunch, and that’s a great thing.  It does make it hard, however, to connect on a regular basis. The grind is real.

One unique way I’ve been able to bond with my brothers is by taking international trips together. There is something about crossing borders into a new and neutral space that creates shared experience you can’t forget. While it doesn’t guarantee bonding, it tills the soil for new things to grow out of the old.

In 2012, my brother Jason and I took a trek back to Vietnam where I used to teach and study in the small coastal city of Quy Nhon. We spent long days with old friends, riding motorbikes by the sea, laughing while we peeled and cooked seafood, and celebrating my godson, Gia An, for the first time. Sure, we bickered here and there – the trip was like 20 days long.  But we created some unique memories that I hark back to often. While most of our time was in Vietnam, we also stopped over in Burma and Spain on the way home. And thanks to travel hacking some United Airlines miles, the tickets were basically free. We calculated our combined expenses at right around $1,200 each for air and train travel, hotels, and meals. Incredible.

Of all of my brothers, Luke is the youngest and probably the most keen to travel (and until recently, had the most flexible schedule). He came to our wedding in Ecuador in 2014, and again in 2016 to visit to my wife’s family with us a few years later.  For part of that time, Luke and I stole away to Chile for a week, just the two brothers. We hiked mountains, caught local buses to the beach, and drank many bottles of Malbec in and around Santiago, Valparaiso, and Olmué.  Using miles and points, the flights were under $200. Luke’s a musician and I’m a starving father. Without these travel hacks, it wouldn’t have been possible or prudent. No trip is a magic bullet – meaning we had some kinks with travel and accommodations.  But we adjusted expectations and created a great memory. I’ll never forget that unique experience – oldest and youngest brother wandering for a week deep in the southern hemisphere.

Last year, it was all 4 of us! Our dear friend David generously treated all 4 of us to a trip to Belize. We stayed in a jungle lodge that was perfectly earthy and yet abundant. All the perks of a resort without the unnatural shiny edges. We had a great time rehearsing old lines and making new memories, including cave tubing at Cave’s Branch. At one point on the tour, you float into a massive cave that is pitch black.  We emerged a few minutes later, laughing, as we had all clung to one another’s tubes in the obscure blackout. The week together allowed me to have certain conversations with each brother that come more naturally with extended time together in a new space, for which I’m really thankful.  

No two families are the same, with relationships ranging from inseparable to strained. No matter where yours fall on the spectrum, consider how you might deepen or cultivate friendship as adults in this season. How could you strengthen family relationships through the shared experience of travel? It doesn’t even have to be international (though of course, I’m biased). Even an overnight right outside of town is a great start.

Could I help you to craft a trip for you and a loved one?  If so, check my toolkit: Pilgrimage to Any Country for Pennies. I’m not a travel agent – I won’t book your itinerary or do your detailed legwork, but through this toolkit, I lay out clear steps for how you can plan and create an unbelievably affordable and meaningful trip. Check it out!

For us on the pilgrim journey, making crass cash in isolation is kind of like hitting a street drug.  It’s a thrilling high, but it fades quickly, and you know you’ll need more to keep the buzz.

That deep down wiring cries out: unless we’re bound increasingly together in healthy community with others as we create wealth, something feels off.  In my tenure figuring this dynamic out, here are a few simple ways I’ve profited doubly – by enriched relationships and more dollars banked. You say it sounds smarmy?  That it’s probably a farce? I admit, it’s more complex. But that complexity is worth it. Let’s explore a few examples of what this might look like. For ease sake, we’ll go from simple to more nuanced.

1. Hire people to do jobs alongside you, not for you  

When there’s a job to do – cleaning the gutters, fixing the plumbing, winterizing the yard – we often think we either have to hire it out to someone and pay a pretty penny, or spend 3 weekends doing it all ourselves. Why not meet in the middle?  

I love hiring people to work alongside of me because it makes the task more like hanging out instead of toil. This looks different depending on the complexity of the job. Whether it’s a neighborhood kid I can invest into and train, a friend of mine who I hang out with anyway, or a wiser sage that I can learn from in the process, this mental shift helps. Pay and get your hands dirty. Learn, grow a relationship, and save a little cash.

Let’s be honest. When you hire someone, the energy it constitutes to facilitate them completing the task well absorbs you, anyway. Why not negotiate a cut, pitch in with them, and relish the process?  Research shows that when we work together, we form deeper bonds with others, too, strengthening our own social capital and civil society at large.

Just this month, my friend Vladimir helped me fix a bathtub leak, changing out a cartridge that had gone bad. Not only did the work go fast, but I could now (almost) do this myself after watching and working with him.  Even more so, we got to talking – about life, our kids…even mistakes we’ve made. We ended one conversation by humming a hymn together in the bathtub as we worked. Ha…you can’t make this stuff up! I’ll never forget that moment.  

2. Rent out a space in your house

It might sound obvious to rent out extra space in your house, but again, we often think it as a purely crass financial move, imagining some unpleasant stranger sharing our space.  If you have an extra suite, you can rent it to anyone – an old friend, a college student you know – someone who would add value to your life, that you’d enjoy being around. You can even reduce the rent in exchange for cleaning, childcare, or other help.  This can be tricky to get right, but worth the time if you can make it work.

In the US, we’re increasingly lonely as a culture, and it’s harming us in all kinds of ways. While it’s always a sacrifice to share space, proximity requires us to be shaped in community with others. It takes work, but it makes us better. Before I married, I had 3 roommates in my house – Drew, Seth, and Kelly. Not only did they pay my mortgage, (thanks, guys!) but we made lasting memories and deep bonds of friendship that I’ll never forget.  

Even if you’d rather keep your extra space freed up for guests, you can rent it out when you choose on Airbnb, and block the calendar for when visitors come.  Taking it up a notch, you can rent your whole house when you’re outta town! When my wife and I go on international trips for several weeks, we’ve been known to put our entire house on Airbnb. Sometimes, it pays for both of our plane tickets. We’d want someone house sitting anyway, so if they are proven to be responsible through multiple reviews, it’s a no brainer for us.  

3. Buy property for relational reasons        

“Location, location, location” we’re sold over and again by the real estate world. Usually, this is code for having upwardly mobile neighbors who will overspend on their lawns and be nice to you, but mostly leave you alone.  When buying a house, we’re usually looking at number of bedrooms, school zones, appreciation potential, and personal aesthetic. But what if we reimagine buying a house to be more like pursuing a friendship or committing to marriage than like clothes shopping?

What if we bought property for community reasons above individual desires?  Keep in mind this isn’t diametrically opposed to making money, either. My friend Ryan bought a duplex and lived in one half of it while renting the other half to friends.  Imagine: you retain some privacy, but you know and trust the people that share a building with you. If you play your cards right, they also fund your mortgage. Not only can have cookouts together in the yard, but they can water your plants and you can watch their pet when the other is out of town. The intangible benefits are endless.

Two close friends of mine, Chase and Shane, purchased homes next door to one another to do life together. They each have lovely wives and 7 kids between both families, so it’s always a party. They’ve chosen to do this a low-income neighborhood and do life together with neighbors. It’s not luxury living, but it’s a beautiful, fun place to be. When I visit, there’s no need to spend money on going out, childcare, or the like.  When you’re interlocked with neighbors who lift you up on the journey, where else do you need to go?

Personally, the most poignant way I’ve bought property for relational reasons was by buying the house next to me. It was a drug house that was horribly blighted, so it wasn’t an easy ride.  After gaining ownership, I was able to sell it to Santos, an immigrant friend of mine who has become such a unique neighbor and friend to my little family. I didn’t realize how much it would change the vibe on our block being able to redirect who inhabits that space. Now, our kids play in the front yards together, we buy tamales from his wife, our kids head to the library together, he teaches me masonry, and we look after the other’s house when outta town. “Location, location, location”, flipped upsidedown.  (If you want to learn how to do this yourself, check out my video toolkit: Homegrow a Housing Business for the Greater Good).

These 3 ways really just scratch the surface.  What about you? What are ways that you’ve created wealth and deepened community, simultaneously?  I’d love to learn from you, too.

Everything changed the day I realized no one would value my money as much as I do.  Not even the people I was paying to manage it.

My financial advisor was a good guy. He’d steered me in some beneficial directions and helped me avoid a whole life insurance pitfall. You know, one of those products that gives you life insurance and a promise you can cash it out if you don’t die. (Where, if you just buy cheap term insurance and invest the difference, you come out way ahead).

So, I’m thankful to him. But the day I opened an additional IRA account for my new wife, and his office put my money the wrong type of investment, something snapped inside me.  To them, it was an honest mistake that could be fixed in an instant. To me, it was hostile carelessness.

Why the strong reaction? I finally figured it out.  Because my money isn’t just a means to consumption or a number that makes me happy when it’s larger.  For most of us, our money represents hours of time we’ve sold – precious hours of our lives that could be focused on loving the people in our lives.  To give someone else the capacity to waste those hours, days, even weeks of my time and life made me want to take the reins. And that’s what I did.

It was 2014. That week, I scoured the internet for financial advice. After wading through myriad clickbait and sterile, obvious financial advice, I found JL Collins – a readable, almost grandfatherly financial counselor.  After finding his site, I didn’t move from my seat for 3 hours. I was in a learning vortex. My mind, ripe to learn after my financial advisor’s blunder, was being blown with answers. For the first time, I understood how markets and investing worked. After paying an advisor, purchasing rental property, and even writing a financial education curriculum, I still hadn’t understood most of this. Since I’ve started leaning into Collins’ advice, the wind of bullish markets blowing in my favor, the money I’ve invested has earned about 20%+, accounting for all expense ratios and fees.

Maybe I was the only one in the dark, but I didn’t realize until a few years ago basic investing savvy, like:

• While saving large lump sums is vital, money stashed in a simple savings account is actually rotting – losing value to inflation every year.
• Autoinvesting part of your paycheck into your company’s tax advantaged 401K can reduce your taxable income and save you thousands in taxes owed every year.
• If you have an HSA through your employer, you can invest the money and let it grow, doubly tax free, and just use your own cash for medical expenses in the meantime.

Around this same time, I flipped a house I didn’t want to bother with and netted almost my year’s salary at my day job (after-tax) in one week.  Whoa. Part of that was just being in the right place at the right time – I can’t do that every year. But the key insight was this: if I’m ever going to be financially successful, I’ll have to work with large lump sums of money – and that means learning how to steward them.

I hear a lot of people in my circles say what I used to about this: “investing is boring or creepy” or “that’s for rich people – I don’t have much to invest” or “I don’t have time to learn about all that.”  The truth is, we don’t have time NOT to learn about it…unless we want to work extra hours, weeks, and years of our lives to make up for lost potential. If money represents those precious hours and days we’ve given up with those we love, then financial savvy is worth mastering.

As pilgrims on a journey to more than just wealth, let’s be real here, too. The more you have, the harder it gets to remain pure in your ideals. Money can mean power, which corrupts you easily. I have to admit that the more I earn, the more my net worth grows, the harder it is to give – even when I hear about the famine in Yemen or see poverty in my own city.  When I was a volunteer teacher in Vietnam with little to no money to my name, I was generous beyond my means. Others have named this generosity paradox, too. We always say, “oh, if I had that income level, I’d be giving so much more back…” But in practice, it actually becomes harder. Like a camel going through the eye of a needle.

Does this mean it’s unwise to create wealth?  It’s a good question to wrestle with, but I don’t think so. Once you gain control of your finances and begin to grow them, it’s difficult not to make them an idol, to fall into a hoarding mentality, or to become obsessed with what the markets are doing. I’ll be the first to admit guilt to dipping in and out of this. I struggle internally with the goal of financial independence, because I believe that we as human beings aren’t made to be independent. So many on the journey to financial independence seem to aim at some kinder version of hedonistic self-reliance. I resonate with a part of this desire for freedom, but I want the version that is saturated with interdependence and relationships – that is even relationally costly – because that’s how we’re made to find joy.

At this stage on the journey, I’m glad to have basic mastery of the financial management tools. This kind of new power can be used for increased consumption and hedonism, or leveraged to create value for the world and others, which also forms me into a more full human being. The question is: which path will we choose? Let’s keep wrestling through this together.

P. S. If I can help you rethink your finances, get in touch for a consult. I’ll schedule a time to give you an hour of objective, honest, kick-your-ass-in gear advice. In full disclosure, I’m not a financial advisor. I won’t manage your money.  Nor will I take 1% of your assets for eternity or try to sell you anything. I’ll just tell you what I’ve done and what I think will work best for you in your situation.

Or…if you’re looking to grow your finances through compassionate housing endeavors, I recommend checking out my video toolkit:  Homegrow a Housing Business for the Greater Good. I’ll walk you through clear, adaptable steps in how to empower people who are marginalized to attain stable housing and make a just, sustainable profit in the process.

Where others see a problem, entrepreneurs see solutions. We see the assets.

But this isn’t my natural bent. It’s been nurture, not nature, that’s shaped me to take these kinds of risks.

After college, I was a volunteer teacher in Vietnam for several years where I also did graduate studies.  It was a wonderful season of life, but when I returned to the US in 2007, my skills were undervalued and I only had $500 to my name. Thanks to my parents’ basement and some local connections, I got a job and hustled. After several years, I put a down payment on my house.  I moved into a low-income area of Chattanooga, Tennessee, where my church planted. Because of the economic crisis, my historic little bungalow only cost me $40,000. (Historic = kind way of saying outdated).

I had moved to the other America. After life in Asia, it was both a shock and a relief to be home, yet live in a community where neighbors know each other, people walk places, and I was a minority in terms of race and ethnicity. I was home from ‘nam – not like generations before me – yet home was new. It was a challenging season. Another kind of adventure.  

But, some adventures had to be put to an end–i.e. whatever was going down in the rundown house next to mine. After working with the city inspector to get the property condemned, he told me the house was going up for tax auction that summer. These auctions happen yearly in most every county in the US.

Not only did I bid on this house, but I decided to make offers on 3 other ones, too. Probably not the best decision when starting out, but I was single and ambitious. Most financial advisors would you tell you it’s a bad idea to spend your life savings on slum houses – but all four of them combined were only $23,000.

Years later, I’ve renovated and rented out 2 of them – which now bring in about $1,200 per month. The other 2 were in such rough condition, I wasn’t sure what to do. Since I’m not skilled in remodeling, the cost of labor to restore them would have put me upsidedown.  I looked into tearing them down, but that would’ve cost more than they were worth. I even tried to donate them to the fire department to see if they would do a practice burn and then demolish them on their dime. Even they rejected me. Agh, what had I done?

My friend Santos from an English as Second Language (ESL) program where I volunteered really wanted to buy one. He couldn’t qualify for a bank loan, and insisted that as soon as he got it livable, he could begin to pay me monthly. Though I was skeptical of all the risk and the large task, we finally drew up a contract. He paid me over the course of 5 years and now owns his home outright. Meanwhile, I earned a return greater than all my index funds. Santos’ skills and innovative mind, combined with my willingness to stand in the gap and become interdependent with him, birthed a replicable model.  

I sold the other house using a similar model, and since then, have bought many blighted properties in my area and matched them with immigrant homebuyers who can prove they have the grit to stick it out. This kind of homeownership ain’t for the faint of heart; I’ve certainly made mistakes and learned lessons the hard way.  But even greater, I’ve been formed and blessed by what I’ve learned from these friends and partners. In this model, so many essentials of the Profit & Pilgrimage journey come together–a family gains access to homeownership, blight is turned into beauty, stability returns to our community, the investor gains a decent ROI (I’m at about 65% for this project), and surprising new relationships form.  

What might a grassroots social enterprise in your neighborhood look like? You might not have the same assets to work with or problems to solve that our community does – yet there are gaps to fill if you’re patient enough to look long and hard.  If you’d like go further in creating a similar housing business, check out my video toolkit:  Homegrow a Housing Business for the Greater Good. In it, I share detailed steps and resources on how you can build a thriving side hustle that creates cash flow and contributes to human flourishing.

It might sound far-fetched, but you can spend a week in nearly any country in the world for around $1,000. With enough patience and planning, you can make it happen. I’m a witness.   

If you want to do it cheaply and meaningfully, you’ll have to plan in advance – probably about a year – so that you have time to earn the air miles needed, land a good Airbnb, and scout out a route.  You’ll also have be flexible. You usually can’t go at Christmas or peak summer season. (which is usually better, anyway as low season = less tourists!)

I’ve visited Asia, Africa, Europe, and Latin America many times using this method. Let me give you a glimpse at how. I’ll use a Europe story (since Europe tends to be the most expensive continent) to demonstrate that–yes–you can even go on pilgrimage there on a budget!

Trevi, Italy

Before our baby turned 2 and we had to pay for another ticket, my wife and I decided a Europe trip was in the works. After consideration, we landed on beautiful Italy as our desired destination. We choose April for the springtime weather, low prices, few tourists, and air miles availability for flights.  

After doing some online research, we decided to visit Trevi–a small village off the beaten trail yet close to a major city of entry (Rome) which allowed us to experience countryside life and avoid the crowds. We spent a day in Rome on either end, but otherwise, we rented a car and headed off the countryside just a couple hours drive away.  

Once based in Trevi, we took day trips to towns and villages throughout the Umbria region, like Montefalco, Perugia, and Spoletto. We also spent a day in Assisi where Francis and Claire of Assisi began their work. Through the morning, we wandered through through the Basilica of St Francis and its chapels, gardens, and the alleyways of the old village. Distracted by rain on my face and whimpers from the baby strapped to my chest, I remembered these ancient words by St. Francis there:

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

More than all the moving around, we connected most deeply to small town life in the little village of Trevi we where stayed. Most of the time, we sat around and chatted with retirees and baristas in the main square of the town, sipping 1 Euro espressos.  Everyone was incredibly kind to our little boy who was just learning to walk. Our Italian is bad, but we learned “bambino!” and “piccolo!” pretty quickly. Olive groves surround the little village, and we enjoyed walking through them in the evenings with the baby, then heading back for a meal at sunset. My wife and I made some local friends in a lovely little place called Pizzeria La Casareccia Di Angeloni and can’t recommend it enough. We also had a fabulous late night meal at Taverna del Sette, warming ourselves by the open flame oven inside and laughing until we cried.

On the way out, we took at day visit some of the major sites in Rome. Taking the pilgrimage lens, I was incredibly blessed to visit Mamertine Prison (Carcere Mamertino), where St. Paul spent his final days chained and dying, recording his 2nd letter to Timothy. This is where he wrote: “For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near.  I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing…(4:6-9)”  This unassuming little prison, hidden amidst the highlights of the Colosseum, St. Peter’s, and the Pantheon, is seared into my heart. My son slept on my chest as I descended into the underground chamber to pray. This was holy ground.

Alright, snap out of it.  Back to the realities. How much did this journey cost?  In my best estimation, the basics cost us about $958 for 2 people.

Let’s see:

Expense	Cost	Notes
Airmiles and taxes	$117 (2 adults)	This doesn’t include the infant’s taxes and fees.
Hotel (Rome)	$20	This was resort fee for 1 night after using points.
Airbnb (Trevi)	$213	One week (small 1 bedroom flat)
Rental car	$128 (1 week)	We took a free upgrade to a giant vehicle, but I don’t recommend it as fuel is high and city streets are narrow.
Fuel	$140	Estimates $20/day.
Food and wine	$350	$50/day; set lunch out with most others in
TOTAL:	$958

That doesn’t include museum entry fees, the religious trinkets I bought, nor other splurges like the shirt that says “I went to Italy and all I got was this lousy t-shirt”. (That’s a joke).

We speak multiple languages (though not Italian), so it wasn’t hard for us to get around. If you don’t, it’s all good! You might need to brush up, but I’m a firm believer that anyone can do it.  Humankind has been doing harder things to survive throughout history. Plus, while awkward, it’s an empowering experience to figure your way out. It feels like work at first, but the experience at the end is incredibly rewarding.

To design a similar experience yourself, check my video toolkit: Pilgrimage to Any Country for Pennies.  If you’re ready to take a pilgrimage near or far (or know someone who is), please sign up! In this toolkit, I lay out clear steps for how you can plan and create an unbelievably affordable trip like this one that is meaningful to who you are. It’s time to see the world. What are you waiting for?

The US is a complex, beautiful country.  As much as I love to travel on other continents, there’s so much here in our vast nation that I’ve never experienced.

Some people believe in saving the best for last, but I can’t hold out on you.  This deal has been one of the easiest travel hacks that I’ve used. Like all strategies, it takes the diligence of advanced planning and calculated spending, but it’s not hard.  

Our first two years of our marriage, Tannia and I scored the Southwest Companion pass.  In a nutshell, all you have do is sign up for a personal and business version of the Southwest credit card lines and meet the minimum spending. Once you earn the sign up bonuses from those, you’re nearly there – to the required 125,000 miles.  You earn the companion pass in the year you cross that threshold – and for the following year. This means you want to earn it in January or February (so you have it for 23 months) instead of November or December (meaning you’d only have it for 13 months).  

How did we do it?  

I got a personal and business version of the Southwest credit cards (I’d apply for the personal card first). Think you don’t have a small business?  If you rent houses, freelance write, tutor kids, or even sell items on the internet, you legally qualify – just use your SSN as the on the credit card application as a sole proprietorship, and use your name as the business name. Voila.

The double bounty of the companion pass is that your companion always flies free with you – it doesn’t matter if you paid with cash or with the 125,000 points you earned!

Where did we go?  

I guess you could use this travel hack to lay around on the beach every few months for 2 years, but we’re after more. We want to bless others, enrich ourselves, and become more full human beings. Here’s a few of the places where we took pilgrimage that financially couldn’t have happened otherwise.

New York

My grandparents live on a farm in rural New York – a small village called Avon south of Rochester. I love visiting, as this is the only place on earth I have that I can go back to from childhood. There’s nowhere else where I can return to soak in memories of my roots. This place has been in the family for 52 years. It was wonderful to introduce my baby son to my grandfather – 4 generations together!  While there, we took a day trip to Abbey of the Genesee, where you can join for prayer and the monks sell bread made on site. The bread has been a staple in my grandparents’ home for as long as I can remember.

California  

The CCDA network has had profound impact on my life, and it was a treat to host a workshop at their national conference in LA in 2016. Thanks to the companion pass, my wife joined me at the conference for a rich 3 days of fellowship.  We then rented a car and headed up the coast on Hwy 1, stopping for seafood along the way all the way up to San Luis Obispo. I even joined some locals for a shot at surfing with the dolphins! On the way out, we connected with old friends in San Diego for a night before flying home. This little journey was an incredible respite from the grind of life for Tannia and me, strengthening our new marriage.

Mexico City

While Southwest doesn’t fly to many international locations, this is one of them – and a great one at that. Reality beats the stigma. Mexico City is diverse mix of neighborhoods with friendly people, affordable street eats, and tons of art. We stayed in a gorgeous little Airbnb in San Rafael neighborhood. The high altitude makes it cool year round and pleasant to be outside. We visited Frida Khalo’s house, getting a glimpse into her complex longing to bring beauty to her personal struggles. Diego Rivera murals are scattered throughout the city, too.  Our favorite was a small, simple one called Museo Mural Diego Rivera, preserving an enormous piece that tells the story of Mexico’s past in typical Rivera fashion. Strolling around the city, we savored the street food, too, such as mole, chilaquiles, churros, and huarache. If you’re feeling less adventurous, you can even hire a guide to take you on a food tour.

Where else did we visit with our companion pass those two years?  The list goes on. We took a jaunt down to Tampa for our honeymoon for a few days.  After 2 weddings in both the US and Ecuador, we needed a getaway. We also used it for a weekend in Washington DC to attend a friend’s wedding. We also took a day to explore the National Mall of Museums – an incredible network of free museums open to the public. Wow! Think Disneyland for the intellectually curious. One cold long weekend in January, we headed up to Philadelphia to stay with friends and explore the city.  Visiting the Liberty Bell on MLK weekend was rich and reflective.

In monetary terms, the flights represent thousands of dollars in non-taxed value that we leveraged to make these trips possible. Working for non-profit organizations, this would not be in the budget otherwise.  But even more than maximizing money, earning this companion pass allowed my new wife and I to connect with family, introduce one another to places from childhood, see generations come together, meet new people, connect with old friends, receive spiritual nurture, participate in weddings, and celebrate our own union. We want our posture to be one of pilgrims on a journey; not mere consumers seeking to absorb more.

You can do this, too!  If you’re interested in designing a similar experience, check my video toolkit: Pilgrimage to Any Country for Pennies. I’m not a travel agent – I won’t book your itinerary or do your detailed legwork. In this toolkit, however, I lay out clear steps for how you can plan and create unbelievably affordable, meaningful experiences you might not be able to imagine otherwise. Whether you end up exploring the US or going abroad, I’d love to hear about your journeys. Bon voyage!