Good morning, everyone.

Today, I want to have a dialogue with myself—a conversation between “I and me” and “me and me.” The thought that sparked this conversation was the story of Joseph.

The story of Joseph is fascinating because so much attention is usually placed on the obvious parts of his journey: his brothers selling him into slavery, his time in prison, his eventual promotion, and his rise to power in Egypt.

Those are important parts of the story.

But there is another element that I believe deserves attention: the transactional nature of Joseph’s entire life.

When you really examine Joseph’s story, you can make the argument that he spent much of his life being used transactionally.

Joseph Was Constantly Needed, But Rarely Simply Loved

It begins with his father.

Joseph was sent to check on his brothers and report back on what they were doing. In modern language, his role could almost be described as a spy or informant. His father’s request created tension between Joseph and his brothers, eventually contributing to their envy, jealousy and hatred toward him.

That relationship had a transaction attached to it:

“Go do this for me.”

Then Joseph was sold into slavery.

He became a servant in the household of an Egyptian official. Again, the relationship became transactional.

Joseph worked, managed responsibilities and added value to the household. In exchange, he received a place within that household.

Then came another transactional encounter.

The official’s wife attempted to turn her relationship with Joseph into a sexual transaction. When Joseph rejected her advances, she accused him of wrongdoing, ultimately contributing to his imprisonment.

Joseph went from serving in a household to serving inside a prison.

Even there, he became valuable because of what he could do.

The prison warden recognized Joseph’s abilities and placed responsibilities on him. Joseph became a manager within the prison.

Again:

You take care of this, and you become valuable to me.

Transaction.

Even the Cupbearer Relationship Was Transactional

Then we meet Pharaoh’s cupbearer and baker.

Both men were imprisoned and both had dreams they could not understand. Joseph interpreted their dreams for them.

Joseph helped them.

But Joseph didn’t ask for money.

He didn’t ask for a promotion.

He didn’t ask for a material reward.

He simply asked the cupbearer to remember him.

Joseph essentially said: When you get out of here, tell someone about my situation. I’m innocent. I want to go home.

The cupbearer agreed.

Then he forgot about Joseph.

Not for a few days.

Not for a few weeks.

Two years.

Why?

Because the transaction was over.

The cupbearer had received what he needed from Joseph, so Joseph disappeared from his immediate concern.

It wasn’t until Pharaoh had a problem that Joseph became relevant again.

Pharaoh couldn’t understand his dreams, and suddenly the cupbearer remembered:

“Wait. I know someone.”

Joseph was brought before Pharaoh, interpreted the dreams and provided a solution to the coming famine.

And once again, the relationship became transactional.

Pharaoh needed somebody who could solve a massive problem.

Joseph was that person.

So Joseph was elevated to a position of tremendous authority, becoming second in command in Egypt.

Even His Brothers Eventually Came Back Through Transaction

Years later, Joseph encountered his brothers again.

They didn’t recognize him.

And what brought them before Joseph?

A famine.

They needed food.

They needed help.

The same brothers who had sold him into slavery were now standing before the person with the power to save them.

Another transaction.

Joseph eventually provided for them and their families.

Even after their father died, his brothers approached Joseph because they feared what he might do to them. Their relationship was again tied to what Joseph could provide and whether he would protect them.

Joseph became the person everyone needed.

The person who solved the problem.

The person who provided the food.

The person who managed the crisis.

The person who saved the family.

The person who blessed the household.

The person who helped the prison function.

The person who helped Egypt survive.

But here’s the question I keep coming back to:

Who was taking care of Joseph?

Everyone Wants the Joseph in Their Life

That’s what makes Joseph’s story so relevant today.

I believe a significant percentage of modern relationships are transactional.

Look at your text messages.

How many people contact you simply because they want to talk to you?

How many contact you because they need something?

Sometimes they don’t even ask you for money or a favor.

The transaction can be emotional.

“I need to vent.”

“I need advice.”

“I need you to listen.”

“I need you to fix this.”

And you become their emotional outlet.

But when you need to vent?

Silence.

When you need somebody to listen?

They’re unavailable.

When you need support?

Suddenly, they’re busy.

That’s still transactional.

Work Is Filled With Transactions

Think about the workplace.

Someone walks up and says:

“How are you doing?”

“How was your weekend?”

“How are you feeling?”

Then, thirty seconds later:

“Anyway, I need you to take care of this.”

The conversation was transactional.

That doesn’t mean the person was necessarily being malicious. But there was an objective attached to the interaction.

The same thing happens after people leave jobs.

You can work with someone for five years.

Help them countless times.

Cover for them.

Train them.

Solve problems for them.

And the moment you no longer work together, the relationship disappears.

No calls.

No texts.

No checking in.

No “How are you doing?”

Why?

Because the professional transaction ended.

The Transactional Man

I think men, particularly, are experiencing the consequences of this in ways we don’t discuss enough.

A man can become the person everyone expects to solve everything.

At work, he solves problems.

At home, he solves problems.

With his children, he solves problems.

For his family, he solves problems.

For his friends, he solves problems.

His phone is full of problems.

His email is full of problems.

His workplace is full of problems.

And everywhere he goes, someone needs something.

Eventually, the constant expectation to fix, solve, provide and perform can become overwhelming.

Imagine never having a place where you don’t have to be useful.

Never having a place where you don’t have to solve anything.

Never having a relationship where somebody simply wants your company.

Never having someone ask:

“How are you doing?”

—and actually mean it.

We Have Become Overstimulated

Older generations certainly dealt with stress and enormous challenges, but the modern man is dealing with something different: the sheer volume and speed of transactions.

Your phone can demand your attention.

Your email can demand your attention.

Your job can demand your attention.

Your family can demand your attention.

Social media can demand your attention.

Someone can text you while you’re answering an email while your boss is calling while your child needs something while somebody else is asking you to solve another problem.

It becomes one transaction after another.

One problem after another.

One responsibility after another.

And eventually, you can become overwhelmed without realizing how overwhelmed you actually are.

Who Gives the Giver a Break?

That’s the part of Joseph’s story that stands out to me.

Joseph was a blessing to almost everyone around him.

He helped his father’s household.

He helped the Egyptian official’s household.

He helped the prison.

He helped the cupbearer.

He helped Pharaoh.

He helped Egypt.

He eventually helped his own family survive famine.

Joseph was constantly positioned as someone else’s blessing.

But where was his space to simply exist?

Where was the moment when Joseph didn’t have to work?

Where was the moment when he didn’t have to solve something?

Where was the person who looked at Joseph and said:

“You don’t have to fix anything today. Just rest.”

That’s a question many people need to ask themselves today.

People Ask Why After You’re Gone

One of the saddest realities of a transactional society is that people sometimes don’t realize how much someone was carrying until that person is no longer there.

Then the questions begin.

“Why didn’t they say something?”

“Why didn’t they ask for help?”

“Why didn’t we know?”

But perhaps the better question is:

Why didn’t we ask while they were still here?

Why did we only become interested in their pain after they were gone?

Why were we so focused on what they could provide that we never stopped to ask what providing was costing them?

Why did we want their strength without ever considering whether they were tired?

The Lesson of Joseph

Joseph’s story isn’t simply a story about going from a pit to a palace.

It’s a story about a man who was repeatedly placed in positions where other people benefited from his gifts.

He was useful.

He was capable.

He was dependable.

He was intelligent.

He was a problem solver.

And because he was those things, people continuously needed something from him.

Yet being valuable to people doesn’t necessarily mean being valued by people.

That’s the distinction.

Someone can value what you do without valuing you.

They can appreciate your ability to solve their problems while never asking whether you have problems of your own.

They can call you when they need you and disappear when they don’t.

They can benefit from your presence while never considering what your absence might mean.

And that is the danger of living in a transactional world.

Eventually, you may begin to wonder:

“Does anyone actually want me, or do they only want what I can do for them?”

Maybe that’s why we need to rethink our relationships.

Not every conversation needs an agenda.

Not every phone call needs a request.

Not every friendship needs an exchange.

Sometimes you should be able to sit with someone and simply talk.

Sometimes you should be able to call someone and say, “I was thinking about you.”

Sometimes you should be able to ask, “How are you?” and not follow it with a favor.

Sometimes the most meaningful thing you can give another person is your presence without asking them for anything in return.

Because at the end of the day, we are human beings—not human transactions.

And perhaps the greatest lesson from Joseph isn’t simply that he survived betrayal, slavery, prison and famine.

Perhaps it’s that even when everyone needed something from him, he remained a person who needed something too:

a genuine relationship that wasn’t based on what he could provide.