From Smash...to Ash
Hi, I'm Ash!
I’ve never been especially comfortable writing a “bio.” I understand why they exist—people want to know who you are and what has shaped you. Still, listing accomplishments has never felt like the truest way to tell my story. For many years, I quietly tied my worth to what I could achieve. Over time, I’ve been learning a deeper truth—that my value was never meant to be earned. I have already been chosen and named beloved.
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For context, I attended the University of Wisconsin–Madison on a full basketball scholarship and graduated with a degree in Sociology. Later, I earned a Master’s in Theological Studies from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. I’ve had the privilege of serving on staff at Hope Street for 13 years, and for the past decade, I’ve been entrusted with leading the organization.
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Those experiences have shaped me, but they are not what define me.
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What I treasure most is the slow, sometimes reluctant journey of learning that it is safe to be known and loved—not for what I do, but for who I am. I’ve come to see that hiding behind achievements or titles keeps us from the very healing and connection we long for. Authentic, vulnerable relationships are where true restoration happens. I’ve witnessed that transformation—again and again—within God’s beautiful Greenhouse for People on 26th and Capitol.
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I’ve been given opportunities to do meaningful work, but it is the people, the sacred moments of presence, and the gift of community that have formed me most. That is the part of my story I would love to invite you into.
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And perhaps my most grounding joy is being a wife to Taylor and a mama to Jedidiah and Eden—along with our sweet pup, Bellie. My family reminds me daily what matters most and encourages me to keep saying yes to joining our Father in His redemptive work.​​
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My Story
Nicknames are often given by the people who love us most. They can feel like little gifts—signs that we belong. Mine is “Smash.” I received it when I was very young, and over time it became the name those closest to me used. Eventually others picked it up too, and before long, “Smash” became synonymous with the athlete.
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She was strong. Focused. High-achieving. From the outside, she seemed to have it all together. What people didn’t see was how much energy it took to maintain that image. I worked hard to perform well and appear steady, while quietly carrying family challenges, personal mistakes, and struggles I didn’t know how to name. I smiled often. I didn’t say much. I stored most things internally.
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For a long time, life felt like a game you either won or lost. I wanted to win. And when it felt like I was losing—personally, academically, relationally—I struggled to believe my life still held value. Yet I kept playing.
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When my athletic career ended, I went through a season where hearing “Smash” made me cringe. That name felt tied to a version of me I wasn’t proud of and wasn’t sure how to untangle. I feared that if people looked beyond the athlete, they might not like what they found. I wasn’t sure I liked what I found.
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Over time, the Lord has been patient with me. He has gently shown me how easily we allow names, roles, and reputations to shape our identity. And yet, beneath every title we carry is a deeper truth—one spoken over us long before we achieved or failed at anything.
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Beloved.
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This is the only name that truly defines us.
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My hope in writing and teaching is that we would grow more rooted in that identity together. That we would practice being radically honest and intentionally present in communities where we are safe to know and be known. I will share pieces of my own story, as well as stories of those near and dear to me—men, women, and children who know what it is to be broken. Some of us wrestle with pride, selfishness, or the need to prove ourselves. Others carry wounds from addiction, abuse, or homelessness. All of us are in need of grace.
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Together, we can call one another up—not into performance, but into truth. Into the freedom of living as who God says we are: His beloved sons and daughters.
And perhaps, as we do, the names that once defined us will gently take their rightful place beneath the one that has always mattered most.​
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The extras!
Hope Street
When I'm not with my family and friends, you can probably find me at Hope Street!
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Hope Street, the Greenhouse for People on 26th and Capitol in Milwaukee, provides housing and community to broken men, women and children. Ashley started as the Director in 2016 and has continued to flourish alongside those who live and learn at Hope Street.
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