When Linda and I were first married and living at
Southeastern Seminary, my brother, Barry, came for a visit. Our little duplex was next to the tennis
courts, so we had the idea to find a fourth and play doubles. Our friend, Mike, was happy to join Barry to
take on Linda and me in a little friendly competition.
You need to know that, at this stage of my life, I
had never used the words “friendly” and “competition” in the same sentence,
especially when my brother was involved.
I put a great deal of pressure on myself to win, criticized myself
mercilessly for every mistake and, generally, suffered through the match, which
we lost.
That was not the true tragedy of the
match. The worst thing about that day
was that I was as tough on Linda as I was on myself. The same high-pressure, “Why can’t you do it right?” “The value of my life depends on how well
we hit this little fuzzy ball across the net” things I said to myself, I
said out loud to her. I hurt her
feelings. I ruined what could have been
a fun time. In fact, I had a nightmare
in which I heard an emergency room doctor ask Linda, “Mrs. Vaughan, before I remove that tennis racket from your husband’s
body, can you tell me how it got there?”
What I saw so clearly and painfully that day was
that the cruel way I treated myself in competitive situations set the tone for
how I treated others. I began to realize a great truth.
I will love others as I love myself; as much or as
little, as graciously or as critically, as affirming or as condemning as the
way I relate to myself. So will
you. If you don’t love yourself, you
won’t love others very well either.
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