Credit. Not So Priceless
A woman learns a lesson about materialism when debt overwhelms her.
People who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction.1 Timothy 6:9
I didn't need coaxing. When my best girlfriend suggested a spur of the moment vacation to San Diego, I jumped at the chance. I had everything I needed to go, thanks to Visa. I was playing the credit card game and I was winning—for now.
Three years later my new husband, Derek, joined my spending spree. When we eloped to Las Vegas, Visa helped out when we booked our flight, honeymoon suite, wedding chapel, paid for our marriage license, and gown and tux rentals. I didn't think for one minute about the $1100 tab when we were cruising under the city lights in a rented, red-hot convertible.
That is, until later.
Every month, we spent more than we made and our balances ballooned. But it didn't stop us from purchasing a new living room set. Who could resist? It was "no interest, no payment" for one year. But when the bill came, we were stuck paying 21 percent interest and with our other debts, we were digging a financial grave.
We financed new cars and charged movie and dinner nights, concerts and weekend getaways. And, after our son was born, he was also well-entertained.
One evening after I balanced our checkbook, Derek strolled through the front door.
"What's in the bag?" I snapped.
"Cleaning supplies for the cars. Why?"
"How much was it?"
"Sixteen dollars."
"I can't believe you spent money on the cars again! I just balanced the checkbook. We're broke."
"What's new?" he responded, unmoved.
I erupted and accused him of not caring. Deep down, though, I knew I was just as guilty. So how did I handle the fear and anger the next day? I charged a new outfit.
Our dysfunctional behavior continued like a washer jammed in spin cycle for two more years. Going in circles, but getting nowhere.
As an apartment property manager, my compensation included our rent, utilities, and cable TV. Even with this perk, we had too much debt: two car loans, the payment for my husband's braces, medical bills, daycare expenses, and a dozen credit card bills.
We paid everything on time—but we paid nothing off. After my job transfer to Colorado—which we charged—our credit cards were maxed out. Our financial grave was complete. The credit game buried us six feet under and claimed victory.
Desperate and defeated, I called a credit counselor. I was told they could manage our debt for the next five years by negotiating lower monthly payments and lower interest rates. But I wanted out of debt—now! So Derek and I met with a bankruptcy lawyer, who sweet-talked us into taking the easy road to financial recovery.
"Bankruptcy isn't as bad as people think, and it's simple," he explained. "It allows you to stop paying your credit cards immediately."
He highlighted the benefits of his service compared to a credit counselor. Bankruptcy seemed like sunshine after a long, cold winter.
Forget the five-year plan, he said.
After signing the papers and paying the "easy, one time $600 fee," relief was on the way—or so I thought. Instead, I felt guilt. I felt like a thief for putting our debts back on our lenders.
And there were other problems we never considered. Bankruptcy followed us around like a stray cat for ten years. At first, we dodged our bad credit by borrowing from family. Then, Derek was questioned about our bankruptcy. His prospective employer considered bankruptcy a character issue.
Shame stalked me. I couldn't escape my past mistakes. Conversations with family, friends and professionals about credit humiliated me. I stuttered telling mortgage lenders about our bankruptcy woes.
Last year, we passed the decade mark. Bankruptcy no longer follows us around. Our credit report is clean. No more "buy now, pay later" gimmicks if we use one of our few credit cards. Now, credit is a tool—not my identity.
I'm done playing the credit game.
Our financial fallout unmasked my worldly mindset. 1 John 2:16 says, "Practically everything that goes on in the world—wanting your own way, wanting everything for yourself, wanting to appear important—has nothing to do with the Father. It just isolates you from him" (The Message).
I realize now that materialism didn't satisfy my longing for value. Bankruptcy knocked me off my pedestal of pride and onto my knees. These days, I find my worth in Him—not in my possessions or my credit score. Thankfully, God doesn't judge a book by its cover. He looks at the pages of our heart (1 Samuel 16:7).
And when a friend wants to take a quick trip and I can't afford it, I say no to debt.