Thoughts

I’m Tired of Living a Lie

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As I approach my 42nd birthday in a couple of weeks, I realize that I have been living a lie about relationships for most of those years. No, it isn’t the lie that I need anyone to feel fulfilled. In fact, I’m no longer convinced that IS a lie, actually. Hear me out, please.

Before I dive head-first into this topic, a quick disclaimer: I wrote about codependency in a previous column which, without a careful reading of that column, may seem to the casual reader like I am about to contradict what I said there. However, I was careful to point out in that piece that I am not an advocate of necessarily ending relationships just to cure codependency. My contention was that an ADDICTION to particular relationships is unhealthy, not the relationships themselves. Got it? Ok. Let’s get cracking.

I have been shamed for many years for feeling like I need someone in my life in order to feel complete. Most of this shaming, by the way, has come from counselors and “relationship professionals” (including ministers) who believe that we should only need ourselves and/or God to feel complete. That made so much sense to me for so long that I began preaching that message myself, but I have to tell you that it dawned on me recently that I was missing something in that narrative that I couldn’t quite identify.

Yes, we should learn to love ourselves and accept ourselves and forgive ourselves for the mistakes we have made. I won’t argue that point, but I will argue that we should not do all of that to the complete exclusion of others. After really thinking through this, I don’t believe that only needing yourself and God is even Biblical.

genesis-2-18
See?

The Bible records that Adam was the only human on earth at the point of Genesis 2:18. No other human had ever existed, so Adam presumably wasn’t even aware that he had need of someone else to share his life with. God saw the need, however, and decided to address it. If you accept the Biblical account of creation, then you have to assume that God created man to be a relational creature. If you accept that God created us to be relational creatures, how does it then follow that we should NEVER need someone else to make us feel complete? How can we be complete without the full realization of God’s design for our lives — for our very existence?

Point number one of this column is that I will never be shamed or ASHAMED again for desiring relationships with other human beings. For feeling fulfilled with good ones and unfulfilled by bad ones.

I am miserable at this point in my life, and that’s something I refuse to lie about or gloss over or outright hide anymore, ok? I am NOT miserable, however, because I’ve sought relationships with people when I should have been only finding myself and living one-on-one with God and no one else. I am miserable because my need for relationships was so overwhelming that it crowded out my better judgment about WHICH relationships to accept.

Simply put, God created me with a need for relationships and that is not something I can merely train myself to ignore or shame myself out of seeking because Pop Psychology says I shouldn’t. What I must do, however, is recognize that this need can drag me into some really bad decisions (and most certainly has). Our inner hungers need to be fed, but in a healthy way — not from the scraps that someone decides to toss our way just to amuse themselves.

As I fully recognize that I need others in my life — and to be accepted in their lives as well — I need to lay a few ground rules for myself that hopefully will change the way I go about this and make for a more fulfilling second half of my existence.

  1. Set boundaries to protect myself. ME TIME is important too, and I have lost sight of that along the way. If I ever want to be a good friend and be able to accept good friendship from others, I really do have to have a pretty good grip on myself and my life.
  2. Be available for others in a truly GIVING way. It is so easy to seek out friendships that only meet our needs. I must recognize the ways in which I can enhance the lives of others and not be afraid to invest in them.
  3. Refuse to accept less than I am giving. I must stop accepting people who only take and have little or no regard for returning the friendship they have received from me. No more one-way streets. No more being used and discarded.

dictatorships

Point number two: I believe it is important to relate to others and allow them to relate to you, and I don’t believe it’s wrong to expect any relationship to be a two-way street.

Don’t allow anyone to dictate all the terms of your relationship with them. You will only experience a relational deficit that defeats the purpose of inner harmony. It is okay to expect friendship to be reciprocal, and it is okay to do something about it if it isn’t.

Bottom line? I need people in my life. I need to be in theirs. What I do NOT need is anyone who is willing to accept all I have to offer, yet marginalize me and then shame me for being disappointed in them.

I need relationships. What I don’t need is dictatorships.

From drifter to angel: One man’s journey to life

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The man’s eyes darted around the room as he settled down at a table in the McDonalds on Saint Louis. Every tiny sound made him jump, which was the only interruption to the constant shivering from deep in his bones. His fingerless gloves were a punchline to some cruel joke about avoiding frostbite, and his tattered overcoat was a sieve for the unyielding frosty wind swirling just outside the door.

I asked where his home was and he favored me with an ironic grin. His food sat in front of him untouched as he pondered how to answer my question. At last, he plucked a steaming hot fry from its sleeve and considered it briefly before cramming it in his mouth.

“You mean right now?” he asked. “You’re looking at it.”

My confusion must have been apparent as I processed this statement, so he held up one hand and said, “I don’t have one. Home is wherever I am when someone asks.”

He told of walking most of the way from Kentucky to Arkansas to collect on what he believed was the promise of a job at a local horse farm. When he gave me the name of the person he spoke with, I suspected right away that something was not right with this story. After speaking with that person privately, it was confirmed that there was no job offer and I knew this situation had to be handled delicately.

I encountered dozens of indigent persons in my role as the chaplain for the Independence County Sheriff’s Office, but this encounter initially tripped my danger alarm. After making sure he was not a fugitive from justice, I arranged to give him shelter outside town for a couple of days. A local business donated some food vouchers, and the person he came to apply for a job with anonymously donated several hundred dollars to clothe him.

He set out on foot a couple of days later headed north. I got a call from him several months later and he reported that he was settled in Missouri—at a horse farm of course—and he had worked steadily for two months. He had a place to live, a little car to drive to and from work, and he was attending church. He needed one more favor from me, though.

“I have never had anything in my life,” he said with a cracked voice. “I was homeless most of my life and wasn’t sure whether I should even keep living when I got to Batesville. Now I have a place to lay down at night, food to eat, and clothes to wear that I can be proud of. But there’s still something missing.”

I tensed as I tried to guess where this was headed. He choked back a sob and continued.

“Several people in Batesville showed me a kindness and generosity that no one else ever has,” he said. “I was always the poor, dirty bum and most people wouldn’t give me a second look. Now that I have a solid job, I want to do something too. Can I send you some money to help the next person that wanders into town? It isn’t much, but I want to give what I can.”

I gave him a P.O. Box address, and three weeks later an envelope came that contained three $20 bills. That afternoon, I got another call from the Sheriff’s office that someone needed help.


Frank Vaughn, award-winning columnist and aspiring author, can be contacted at frank@fnvaughn.com. Follow/like Frank Vaughn on Facebook,
@fnvaughn on Twitter and fnvaughn on Instagram.

A truly impressive man

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I met an impressive man once under a cloudy sky in New Orleans. He was humble, quiet, and unassuming, yet he was followed by a throng of people who attended to his every need. His intelligent eyes examined every person in his path as he walked the trail of post-Katrina destruction.

After his tour, he stopped at Belle Chasse Naval Air Station to thank the military service members who were mobilized to help bring some sense of order to the fear and confusion gripping that city. A veteran himself, he displayed a swelling heart of pride and admiration for all of the uniformed personnel he came in contact with. His eyes moistened as he listened to the story of a young airman who, in the midst of escaping the ravaging floodwaters in her neighborhood, had to tie her dead mother to a corner of her house so she could return after the waters receded to claim her body. He hugged her before turning to the next person.

He settled into an outdoor picnic area for lunch with some of the personnel there, but seating was limited. The rest of us had to stand back a distance and try to capture this event with low-resolution cell phone cameras that were standard fare in 2005. As he ate, he laughed heartily at a comment made by one soldier sitting across from him, patted the shoulder of another sitting next to him, and seemed genuinely interested in the conversation going on around him.

As he got up to leave, I noticed a cordoned-off path leading from the picnic tables to a building. I assumed this would be the path of egress for this gentleman, so I walked over to one side of it and waited to see if he would come by. He rose from his table, collected his trash, and took it to a bin himself. I remember being surprised he didn’t have someone take it for him, and I was struck again at the humility that seemed out of place for a man of his stature.

I guessed he would quickly pass by and on to the next thing on his undoubtedly tight schedule, so I readied my cell phone in the hopes of catching a picture of him passing by. By this time others had joined me and I was sort of pressed against the tight rope outlining his path. He didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry though, as he slowly made his way up the walkway, pausing to shake hands along the way. He wasn’t running for office, so this was not the typical sprint-paced grip-and-grin.

As he made his way toward my position, I tensed in the hopes that I would be favored with a handshake as well. He stopped a few feet from me to shake another hand, and as he turned to walk again, he stopped in front of me. His eyes regarded me for a second and I was frozen in place. He flashed me a grin that had served him well throughout life, extended his hand, and said, “George Bush. The older one. Thank you for your service, son.” I managed to stammer out a “thank you, Mr. President…” as he turned to walk away. Mine was the last hand he shook in that place.

I have always lived by one governing principle in regard to other people: I am never as impressed with anyone as they are with themselves. What I saw that day was a former U.S. president touring a ravaged city and loving on the people who suffered, as well as those who were there to help. I was not impressed that day with the office he once held. I was deeply impressed with the man that he is.

 

Frank Vaughn, award-winning columnist and aspiring author, can be contacted at frankvaughn@gmail.com. Follow/like Frank Vaughn on Facebook, @fnvaughn on Twitter and fnvaughn on Instagram.

My view from the cheap seats

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I went to a concert recently that I had been dying to attend for years. When I found out they were coming here, I told my wife that we have to go. She wasn’t nearly as excited about this idea as I was, but I told her this really sad sob story about how I’ve been trying to catch them live for 25 years (which was absolutely true), but something always got in the way. Once I had permission to shop for tickets, I attacked the internet in search of the best seats I could find — for the price limit I was granted, that is.

I found what looked like the perfect seats. The website assured me that it was in the middle concourse, and a quick glance at the seating chart seemed to confirm that we were going to be in great shape. I couldn’t believe the deal I was getting for such a — well, such a sort of reasonable price. I bought those tickets, stuffed them in my Apple Wallet, and began wetting myself with excitement.

We arrived at the stadium on the night of the concert, and the place was packed. I hadn’t done my homework on this group’s history with where I live, but I figured there would be a decent turnout. Decent was a gross understatement. As we made our way to our seats, I noticed that we just kept climbing and climbing and … yeah. Turns out we were not in the middle of the arena. We weren’t exactly in the rafters, but I could hit them with a rock from where we were. I began complaining immediately when we reached our seats. My wife just rolled her eyes and went to sleep on my shoulder.

Funny thing about concerts: turns out you can hear them just as well from any seat in the arena. The concert was fantastic, and honestly, what made it even better was the fact that I could not only see the band from where we were sitting, I could see almost everyone in the arena. Seeing everyone having such a great time actually made the experience better.

My life has always been kind of like that. I didn’t grow up with much, which set me apart from most of the people I grew up and went to school with. It felt lonely much of the time, but looking back on it now, I realize that I had an advantage many of them don’t. Not being accepted actually afforded me the opportunity to take in the world from outside of it rather than having to figure it out from within.

I have always been in the cheap seats of life — mostly because that was all I could afford. Now I can do better, but I choose to take in the world from outside because honestly, the view is so much better up here.

Frank Vaughn, award-winning columnist and aspiring author, can be contacted at frank@fnvaughn.com. Follow/like Frank Vaughn on Facebook, @fnvaughn on Twitter and fnvaughn on Instagram.

Stairway to where?

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First published in the Batesville Daily Guard November 16, 2016

I have been stationed in Puerto Rico for the last two-plus years, and I have seen sights both beautiful and interesting. The architecture of Old San Juan is majestic as you run alongside the foaming, roiling ocean in a cloudy haze, and the northern beaches at sunset paint a perfect picture of peace as you drive slowly home from a hard day at work. While those scenes evoke feelings of sophistication and serenity, there is another that just … makes you think?

The chapel at Fort Buchanan sits atop a steep hill, overlooking the installation. The slopes on every side are covered with green grass and offset with groves of palm trees and, on one side, near the road that passes by, you can see a set of stairs. They ascend from the bottom of the hill back up to … nothing, actually. It is as if they once were connected to a building, or maybe a stage in the days before a road was paved through there, but they no longer serve any function whatsoever. They are just … there. I had walked by them countless times on my way to visit the chapel without noticing they were even there. I had a sense that something about that beautiful scenery was a little off but, like a faint scent in the breeze, I couldn’t quite place what I was sensing.

I first noticed the stairs one day as I was walking to the chapel for a meeting. I was running a little behind, so I decided to commit the Cardinal Sin of the U.S. Army and cut across the grass. I was really hustling that day and I wasn’t looking where my feet were taking me, so I stubbed a toe on those concrete stairs and nearly sprawled face-first right across them. I have to be honest about something — I was very late for that meeting that day. Once I regained my balance, I looked down to see what the rather solid obstacle was that halted my rapid progress across that otherwise pristine grass. OK. I stumbled, so regroup and continue on, right? I wasn’t hurt and no one saw me, so I wasn’t embarrassed. I was actually mesmerized.

I stared at those stairs for a good while and for some reason, I could not get my mind to make my legs move again. There was something about these stairs that held my attention and I knew at that moment that I wasn’t going anywhere until I got to the bottom of why these things were there, why my life took me right across their out-of-the-way path, and why I was so captivated by them. I’m serious, folks. I was rooted to that spot. My time with these stairs was beginning to get a little uncomfortable when it finally hit me.

It wasn’t that they didn’t belong there. In fact, the opposite occurred to me. They did belong there, once. No one creates stairs in a grass field and then calls it a career. Once upon a time, those things were connected to something and served the very real purpose of assisting people up and down from … whatever that was. The structure that they used to belong to is long gone now, but those stairs were just … forgotten. Forgotten? Used to serve a purpose? Then it hit me.

We were all created for a purpose. No one is on this earth by accident and no one is completely useless. As long as we have breath in our lungs, we have the possibility to make a difference in peoples’ lives. In fact, I have ministered to people on their deathbeds who have said wise things to me that I have carried with me ever since. In their last moments, people have helped shape my life. They understood that however many seconds they had left, there was still a difference to make. They redeemed whatever time they had left.

I have also met people who are content to just be. Like those stairs, they were created for some reason and to perform some function but have been disconnected from that very thing. Like those stairs, they are just sort of out there in that field of their life, weather beaten and forgotten, only to be occasionally tripped over by folks who are in a hurry to answer the calling in their lives.

With that question answered, here’s one more for all of us to consider: Person of Purpose or Stairs to Nowhere — which are you?

Frank Vaughn, award-winning columnist and aspiring author, can be contacted at frank@fnvaughn.com. Follow/like Frank Vaughn on Facebook, @fnvaughn on Twitter and fnvaughn on Instagram.