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The Journey of 18 Inches

Collegiate Beginnings

While I was in college, I took an Honors seminar entitled "Human Rights." It was a course designed to open our eyes as students to the basic human dignities that many in other countries are deprived of. Our course reading was extensive, including selections about the Holocaust, "los desaparecidos" (the disappeared ones) of Chile, the Rwandan decimation of the population, and the Yugoslavian genocide, to name a few.

As part of a semester-long project, each of the students in the course was assigned to study the human rights of a specific country. I chose Venezuela.

Unveiling My Apathy

By the semester's end, I possessed an extensive knowledge of the past and present situations of Venezuelan human rights, or the lack thereof. Near the conclusion of the project, I recall one of my friends asking me how my research on Venezuela was going. I responded glibly, "I would advise you to never do anything that will get you thrown in prison in Venezuela — the conditions are awful."

During finals week, each student in Human Rights gave a presentation on his or her country. There were charts, handouts and PowerPoint presentations, and the information was very thorough.

I learned about 9-year-old girls in Southeast Asia who are kidnapped into lives as enslaved prostitutes. I learned about families whose sons spend years in prison awaiting a trial without a charge. I learned about female genital mutilation in Egypt. I learned about neighbor killing neighbor in the Rwandan genocide.

I learned and I learned and I learned. But to my utter shame, I didn't feel. I didn't become angry. I didn't become sad. I didn't shed a single tear.

It was all so intellectual and academic.

A Tin Man's Heart (or Lack Thereof)

Looking back, I noticed that I had a similar view of many of my classes. Whenever I was addressing difficult issues and my emotions began to surface, I shoved them down. I severed any tie between my mind and heart. I had, a vast disconnect between the intellectual and emotional.

You see, I think as Americans we've been trained to shut down our emotions. Dinner tables, if surrounded by family at all, are without the raised voices and passionate debate that may be found among a family in Italy. Families, neighbors, friends tend to avoid one another if there is a problem, rather than confront the conflict head-on. And while I'm certainly not endorsing him, I have to feel a little pity toward former Presidential candidate Howard Dean who became the brunt of many a late-night talk show joke simply because he got a little too riled up in Iowa.

The media's influence also adds to this emotional paralysis. After all, newscasters may put on a small, frowny face while discussing a mudslide which destroyed hundreds of homes and lives, yet can immediately smile and laugh when they talk to Weatherman Bill about tonight's forecast. Today's tragedy can be summed up in a thirty-second narrative, yet we forget that it will affect its victims for a lifetime.

Finally, I think we've learned to compartmentalize our lives and emotions. There is an unwritten list of places it's acceptable to cry at: funerals, emotional worship services, tearjerker movies — yet it's not OK to be upset in the classroom, out with friends, or at the grocery store. All in all, I think our culture's emotional disconnect is not a healthy solution to our problems.

A Heart's Awakening

When I arrived at the Focus on the Family Institute, I expected several things. I expected informative teaching, a challenging internship and peers who were equally as driven.

These expectations were not only met, but surpassed beyond my imagination. What I didn't anticipate was passion behind the intellect — a heart to accompany a probing mind. You see, within our first week at the Institute, my classmates and I were given a challenge to make a journey during our time at Focus on the Family: a journey of 18 inches, the distance between one's head, and one's heart.

You see, we encountered so many deep issues — hard issues: Yet for once in my academic career, I wasn't taught to suppress and ignore my emotions regarding such issues, but to allow my heart to break in the midst of them. And I began to realize that instead of avoiding that which makes me uncomfortable — which makes me feel deeply — I should embrace it, even if it causes me to hurt. Because that is Jesus' heart.

Jesus sought out what our society considers "awkward" situations. He walked into the midst of disease and suffering, sinners and outcasts, those whom society sought to forget. He confronted conflict and hypocrisy within the Jewish culture with authority and passion. He entered Jerusalem and wept for the city that would soon crucify Him. Jesus was a tender man when all other hearts were hardened.

The courses at the Institute were mentally challenging, that is certain. But more often than not, I'd walk away not only with a baffled mind, but a broken heart. Soren Kierkegaard once wrote, "If a person does not become what he understands, then he does not really understand it either."¹

At the Institute, I was given the opportunity to understand — intellectually and emotionally — the challenges and triumphs which face followers of Christ in our families and society. Not only were we challenged to feel the reality of difficult issues, but we were challenged to make a difference. Our semester concluded with a simple question: "Now what will you do?"

C O F F E E  S H O P

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Do we too often separate our heads and our hearts?

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The Focus on the Family Institute is a place that truly delves into the brokenness of our culture, yet teaches empathy and understanding, as well as a motivation to implement change in a society that is crying out for salvation.