Debt Free

There is a financial radio program that I sometimes have a chance to listen to in the car by a guy named Dave Ramsey. I've read a few of his books and gone through a class designed by him and I wholeheartedly agree with his financial principles, however difficult it can be to implement them. He is anti-debt. If you decide to follow his plan, one of the first things you will find yourself doing is paying off all debt, except for your home mortgage. . . . although paying off the mortgage does come later. He also does an excellent job of changing your mind about debt, so that you want to be free of it as much as he does.

By far, one of my favorite parts of his show is when he features the debt-free callers. Every so often, he sets aside a portion of his time on the air to take calls from those people who have been diligently following his financial principles and have finally reached the point of being debt-free. He asks them how much debt they have paid off, how long it took, and what lengths they went to to reach their goal--taking additional jobs, selling cars or furniture and the like. After they answer all those questions, he gives them their big chance, the opportunity they've been waiting for since they started paying down their bills however many months or years before: the chance to scream at the top of their lungs on national radio, "I'M DEBT FREEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!".

Every time, without fail, I tear up. I always think that I'm used to it now and it won't affect me the same way it did at first, but I'm wrong. I tear up EVERY time. The joy and the freedom in their voices as they exult in their release from bondage moves me EVERY time. It's like remembering afresh what that financial burden really does feel like, since after a while in this debt-entrenched culture, we're mostly numb to it. And then it's imagining what it will feel like someday, when the burden is finally lifted. It's beautiful and honorable and powerful each and EVERY time. I look forward to the day when I can make that phone call.

It occurred to me that, if the radio show existed for a different sort of emancipation, I would make a call. You see, even though we are still paying for the equity line on our house, I do know what it feels like to be released from bondage. I have been set free--in the most unadulterated sense of the word. The only difference is that I didn't work to have my burden lifted. Someone else lifted it for me. Someone else who is also anti-debt, who also changed my mind. Someone else paid the penalty for all my poor choices, for my toxic preoccupation with myself, and all the hideous, hurtful things I have said and done. Someone else offset my enormous debt with an astonishing bail-out plan that I did not earn and do not deserve. And I have no hope of repaying it. But I will spend the rest of my life being grateful for it. And longing to show anyone else who is burdened with debt that they also can be set free. I will throw my head back and scream at the top of my lungs with a voice full of unbridled joy and wild abandon, "I AM DEBT FREEEEEEEEEE!!!"

Someday My Prince Will Come

Little girls love the idea of being a princess. It's not wholly unappealing to big girls, either, when we're honest. Before I knew that I was expected to be indignant about the idea of waiting for my prince to come, I had a collection of my own fantasies that involved being adored and rescued and carried off by my true love on his invariably white steed. Somewhere along the way, those sweet girlish dreams were discolored with the misapplied stains of individualism and feminism. I would not squander my time waiting for a prince who could not possibly exist, mistakenly believing that I had no greater purpose than that! Silly, outdated fairy tales from an era long gone. . . .before we knew that womyn were strong and complete in themselves and that a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

And if I were to pin all my hopes for a happily ever after on the arrival of a Prince Charming who is just as fallen and weak as I am, then it would, in fact, be prudent to let go of my juvenile daydreams.

But what if the old stories were not ever meant to set us up for disappointment in this life, but instead, to point us to the next?

As a grown woman, I find now that it is all true! I have been adored and rescued, and one fine day I will be carried off. . . .by my valiant Prince on a white horse, no less! He loves me with an everlasting love and, inconceivably, has been in love with me since before I was willing to give Him the time of day! He rescued me from the stony grip of death and did so with no less than the sacrifice of His own life. But His love for me is so vital and exorbitant and, frankly, improbable that it literally toppled the natural order of the universe and conquered death itself! He lives again! He has promised that He will return for me, as a rider on a white horse, with the armies of heaven following close behind. His eyes will be like blazing fire and on His head there will be many crowns.

It turns out that my Prince does exist after all and that my whole purpose was indeed to find my happily ever after with Him, despite the misguided attempts to discourage me. It's not surprising to discover that my childhood longings were closer to the heart of truth than my grown-up theology has ever been.

Long Live God

When I was about 19 years old, I bought the soundtrack for the musical Godspell. The songs are catchy and packed with Scripture. . . . for me, it was the less controversial and more wholesome counterpart to the Jesus Christ Superstar rock opera that I was avidly listening to at that time.

(Don't get me wrong. . . I really love the JC Superstar music. Even though it's not an entirely accurate representation of the gospel story, it throws out a few kickers that really worked me over and made me look at the life of Jesus again in all its troubling and bewildering complexity. And it does that while rhyming. . . . impressive, Mr. Tim Rice. But nobody protests or hands out tracts outside of a Godspell performance, as they did with Superstar.)

Anyway, Godspell has great music too. In the Finale song, which is played during the scene of Jesus' crucifixion, there is a line which is repeated again and again that says, "Long Live God". When I first heard it, I thought it sounded ridiculous. Long Live God? Yeah, He will live long--eternally--but what a silly thing to say. My dad happened to hear me and he made a wise and quiet remark about "man's feeble attempts to give praise to God". That has always stayed with me. Not only did it change my opinion about that particular song (now one of my favorites from the show), but it changed my opinion about all of the lofty praise songs and hymns that we sing in churches across America. Isn't that how all of our praise must sound to Universe Maker God? We can't possibly have the words or the music to actually express what or who He is. Our language is wholly insufficient; our instruments are hopelessly inadequate. The verses which we deem the most magnificent can surely sound like nothing more than "Long Live God" to Him who receives the joyful praise of ten thousand times ten thousand angels. I do not doubt that our efforts to acknowledge Him are impossibly thin and frail. But I do believe that we, nevertheless, bring joy to His heart as we bless His name. What mother doesn't smile at the barely intelligible declaration of love from her child? What bridegroom wouldn't relish the adoring praise of his bride? Our Lord is well aware of all the gross inadequacies of our fallen existence, but our weak and broken attempts to honor Him are never in vain.

Until the day that we have the words. . . . Long Live God!

First Things First

Wow! Let me begin by saying that I have in no way started this blog because I feel that my thoughts carry special weight or significance. . . . I mean, to anyone other than me and Jesus. I started this blog because writing helps me to clarify my thoughts, to think through things with more intention and purpose than when I am simply muttering to myself in the shower. And I started this blog because I desperately need an incentive to walk through that process: to force myself to read and reflect and ponder and finally, write. Otherwise, it is entirely feasible that I could while away my remaining years (or hours) on a multitude of things that show themselves dim and insubstantial in the light of eternity. Well, not really, because God loves me too much to allow that and He would surely intervene. . . but in the meantime, He has led me to this avenue and I will follow it.