Rethinking Introspection

The Search for Truth

The temptations that adolescents (and everyone else) face can reveal their truest desires. Powerful, honest longings are often concealed deep within their hearts like treasures hidden in darkness. They can tell them about their place and purpose in this world if only they will have the patience to delay their urges to seek immediate gratification. Too often, sincere desires are momentarily placated by temporal things and pushed just below the surface of consciousness. Yet, if you can teach students to resist temptation or at least fight it long enough to ask some tough questions, progress can be made toward uncovering the real person. Some questions that will help encourage introspection include:

• What am I really looking for in this place?
• What do I hope will happen if I do this thing?
• What is missing in my life that I wish were here now?
• What do I fear will happen if I decide not to do this thing?

Rethinking the Lotus V

As ninth-graders go, Terry was a pretty typical kid. He had average grades, average athletic ability, average looks. For the most part, that is how Terry viewed himself: middle of the road, nothing special. His father had died when Terry was in the fifth grade, and the loss was especially difficult for his mother. While his mother increased her already heavy drinking to relieve the pain she was experiencing, Terry muddled his way through middle school. He had been largely unnoticed by his teachers. After all, he wasn’t exceptionally bad, nor was he exceptionally good. He was, well, somewhere in the middle.

If you had asked him what his interests and hobbies were, he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell you much. His heart was in pain, though on the outside it really wasn’t observable. One day, a new student arrived at his lunch table, bearing news of enticing lotus fruit. His name was Gordon, and he was what the teachers and administrators would refer to as a “problem child.” He was open about the fact that he frequently used marijuana and would share stories of being high with the others at the lunch table. Intrigued, Terry began spending more time around Gordon, eventually riding the bus to his house after school one day. It was there that Terry first experimented with pot. He and Gordon began riding their dirt bikes to the middle of the woods. There they would “light up” after school. His mother, in a haze of alcohol, would rarely say anything to Terry about not coming home from school until hours after it had already ended. He would spray down his clothes with deodorant to cover up the scent of the smoke.

For the greater part of his ninth-grade year, Terry would steal money from his mother’s wallet and buy dope from Gordon to satisfy his ever-growing cravings for the drug. This wasn’t his personality. He wasn’t really a thief. But his demeanor changed, he became apathetic toward his schoolwork, and his grades began to plummet. He cared little about his future and his life, for thought of getting high consumed his thoughts.

The parallel between the mythical lotus and substance abuse is a fairly easy one to draw. When Terry was high, the fact that he was average didn’t matter. The fact that his father was dead didn’t matter. The fact that his mother was an alcoholic didn’t matter. When he was high, the marijuana whispered softly that all was right in the world and that he didn’t need to worry about his cares. The wounds of his heart were still throbbing, but he was, in the words of Pink Floyd, “comfortably numb.”

Rethinking Influence

As adult leaders, we sometimes forget the influence we have over the young lives we encounter. Despite outward appearances and words to the contrary, they look to us for answers. A great deal of the angst we see in teens today reflects a frustration toward the world of adults for not providing any guidance or answers for their deep questions. They wonder if they will ever discover who they are and their place in the world. We are in a unique position to be Obi-Wan to those students for whom we have been given responsibility.

What does Obi-Wan do for Luke? Two things: First, in the same way Menelaus affirmed the noble and mighty qualities of Telemachus, Obi-Wan summoned Luke’s heroic heritage. This is important. Because of the relentless assaults of the villain upon their hearts, adolescents tend to be unable to see their own strength. Sometimes it takes the wisdom of another to show it to them. We have the opportunity to look for the good in our students and shine a light on it. As adult leaders, our words are far more powerful than we can imagine. Use this power for good!

Rethinking the Subtle Battle II

This is the point in the story where the villain of our hearts often fires back with lies and distortions that can make us wonder why we ever hoped for anything better in the first place. Like Telemachus, we too have felt the wounds of our hearts begin to throb. The enemy of the prince’s heart began to whisper, “You’ve heard this all before and paid dearly for it! Your father may have had courage, yes, but look where he is now, at the bottom of the sea. The suitors are too many and too strong for you! Don’t be a fool!”

As we’ve said before, at this moment of conflict, between hope and despair, the adolescent has a crucial choice to make. The easy way, of course, is to choose resignation and deny her place in the world. Many, many people have resigned themselves to less, because of the fear of what they are not. Unfortunately, they have bought into the lies and the pain of their past. Telemachus, however, made the more difficult choice. Even though his initial reaction revealed that he had believed lies about himself, he ultimately chose against despair. He decided to embrace his heritage and his role as prince and future king, by clinging to the hope that what strength and nobility belonged to his father was his as well. He voyaged back to Ithaca with a new sense of his heritage and identity.

Rethinking Our Inner Enemies

Here is another great quote from Henri Nouwen:

"How do we befriend our inner enemies lust and anger? By listening to what they are saying. They say, "I have some unfulfilled needs" and "Who really loves me?" Instead of pushing our lust and anger away as unwelcome guests, we can recognize that our anxious, driven hearts need some healing. Our restlessness calls us to look for the true inner rest where lust and anger can be converted into a deeper way of loving.

There is a lot of unruly energy in lust and anger! When that energy can be directed toward loving well, we can transform not only ourselves but even those who might otherwise become the victims of our anger and lust. This takes patience, but it is possible."

We try so hard to discipline and manage our outer lives that we more often than not neglect what is going on in our hearts. Our fears, lust, and anger can lead us to some real truth if we are courageous enough to listen to them rather than acting on them or pushing them down.

Rethinking Awareness III

You will never be able to engage adolescents on more than just a surface level if you don’t spend time getting to know them. Often this starts simply by talking about hobbies, sports, movies, music, or whatever they may find of interest. People, in general, enjoy talking about subjects that interest them. Create opportunities for them to share their pursuits and passions in a way that is nonthreatening. A classroom or group setting may suit some students. There are many that would gladly spend hours discussing their zeal for snowboarding, clothes, or video games. However, there is also a multitude that would be reluctant to speak openly about their interests with other students present.

Pay particular attention to the various reactions when an opportunity to share is presented. If someone is reluctant to share something they enjoy, it could be because they have been ridiculed at some point in the past. They may have already received some heart-wounds and started to absorb some of the lies to which they were subjected. Be aware of your students’ responses to various situations. They can provide a great deal of insight into what the students have struggled through in the past or what they are currently dealing with. Try talking individually with students who are hesitant to open up in a group setting.

Rethinking Solitude

I love this quote from Henri Nouwen. How often do we run from the solitude that is so essential for living a whole life? Enjoy!

"The Voice in the Garden of Solitude"

Solitude is the garden for our hearts, which yearn for love. It is the place where our aloneness can bear fruit. It is the home for our restless bodies and anxious minds. Solitude, whether it is connected with a physical space or not, is essential for our spiritual lives. It is not an easy place to be, since we are so insecure and fearful that we are easily distracted by whatever promises immediate satisfaction. Solitude is not immediately satisfying, because in solitude we meet our demons, our addictions, our feelings of lust and anger, and our immense need for recognition and approval. But if we do not run away, we will meet there also the One who says, "Do not be afraid. I am with you, and I will guide you through the valley of darkness."

Let's keep returning to our solitude.

Rethinking the Choice II

The Polar Express (Van Allsburg 1985) captures this choice that faces the young: to set out or to settle? The hero in the story, a young boy on the verge of adolescence, has awoken one Christmas Eve with a troubling question: Is the magic of Christmas gone? You see, he overheard his parents saying that this Christmas marked “the end of the magic.” Isn’t that a question that we have all asked at one point or another? Where is the magic? Life overwhelms us with schedules, deadlines, and responsibilities. Our hearts crave the magic we encountered when we were young.

Suddenly a thunderous rumble shakes the foundations of the boy’s house. Hurriedly, he throws on his robe and rushes outside to see what is causing the clamor. To his utter astonishment, he sees an enormous train parked just in front of his lawn, where no tracks had ever been. The conductor steps out of one of the railcars and announces that the train is going to the North Pole. When he then asks the boy if he is ready to go, the boy hesitates. The movie version from 2004 portrays this moment of decision very well. To the boy’s left are the darkened houses of his neighborhood. It would be easy to give in to the cynicism and despair. It would require nothing of him to believe the lie, to believe that the magic really is gone. But . . . his heart cries out for something more. To his right is the brilliantly lit train headed for the adventure of the North Pole. For a moment, he steps away from the train. The conductor, sensing his indecision, pushes him to decide. He orders the train to start up and head out. Put into a situation where he has to decide, the boy at last chooses adventure and jumps aboard the train.

The journey is long and difficult, but in the end the boy encounters something greater than himself and, in the process, gains a better sense of what he has always possessed on the inside. The journey challenges him to once again believe, and to really see the meaning of Christmas. At the journey’s end, the conductor again slows the train to a stop in front of the boy’s house. Turning to the boy, he leans down and says, “One thing about trains . . . it doesn’t matter where they’re going. What matters is deciding to get on.”

Rethinking Brokenness

Awareness of the journey often begins when we are in a broken condition, when things are not going our way. Those broken times in our lives occur for just that purpose. They are a wake-up call. When a young person is faced with a painful trial, he is also faced with a choice—a choice between hope and despair. If he chooses despair, he will take one step further along the descending path of cynicism, unhealthy relationships, hesitation, and fear. If he chooses hope, he must acknowledge that there is something greater, that the story of his life has yet to fully unfold. This will take courage, no doubt about it, but as Goethe said, “Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid.”

Rethinking Darcy

A few years ago, I had a thirteen-year-old student named Darcy. Darcy had faced a great deal of hardship in her young life. Her father wasn’t in the picture at all, and her mother worked three jobs just to make ends meet. Because her mother was never home, Darcy was essentially both mother and father to her two brothers, but her older brother had physically abused her, and her younger brother, though she loved him, needed more than she had to give. She had managed to get herself into quite a bit of trouble in school, by way of fights, shouting matches with teachers, and outbursts. Most likely, she had begun to agree with the voices that told her that she needed to be “tough” to survive, not to “take any crap” from anybody.

One day, I noticed tears streaming down Darcy’s face, and I approached her in the hallway in between classes to see if I could help. As Darcy stood by her locker weeping, I handed her a tissue and asked how things were going. Her eyes said it all. Apparently, Children and Youth Services had already contacted her mother, saying that if Darcy got into any more trouble at school, they would remove her from her home and place her with foster parents. And just that morning she had managed to get into an argument with another girl on the bus, and the girl had gone to the principal’s office and turned Darcy in for harassment.

As she tearfully told me what had happened, I suggested that she go down to the office and tell her side of the story to the principal. It was then that she said, “Mr. D, it won’t do any good. I’m the bad kid. Everybody in the school knows I’m the bad kid.” In other words, she had absorbed the message of the voices: “You’re a bad person.”

What the school community didn’t know about Darcy, and what Darcy probably didn’t even remember about herself, was that a week earlier, she had publicly complimented another student in my classroom. Jen, the student she had complimented, happened to be very shy and awkward. After Jen had given a presentation in front of the other students, I asked if anyone had any questions or comments. Darcy immediately thrust her hand into the air. “I think Jen did a great job! It was an interesting report.” I could immediately tell that Jen was beaming on the inside upon hearing those encouraging words from Darcy.

Sensing the despair that Darcy was now feeling, I was faced with a choice. Would I simply pat her on the back and say, “Well, I’m sure everything will work out”? Or would I fight on her behalf? I chose to fight. I challenged the voice that had been labeling her “the bad kid.” I immediately reminded her of the encouragement she had given Jen in the classroom, and what that meant to Jen. At this, she smiled a little. As adults, we must understand how powerful our words are. With our words, we have the power to both hurt and heal. I said, “You see, Darcy, there really is something good and alive inside you.”

I didn’t stop there. Through the use of a story she had probably heard over and over since she was a little girl, I made an appeal to Darcy’s heart. I asked her if she was familiar with the tale of Cinderella. She was indeed. I went on to compare her life now—being forced into a position where she was essentially the caretaker for her brothers and her house—to that of Cinderella, who was forced to scrub and clean by a wicked stepmother and stepsisters. Remember, in the beginning of that story, Cinderella was viewed as a worthless ragamuffin by those around her, and her self-esteem, too, was nonexistent. Like Cinderella, what Darcy probably didn’t realize was that the way people viewed her was not even close to who she really was. It took someone else—her Fairy Godmother—to help Cinderella see who she really was beyond the rags.

When I spoke these words to Darcy, I noticed an ever so slight change in her demeanor. Hope, perhaps? Maybe she saw a little bit of her own story in the medieval tale of Cinderella. My hope is that maybe the thought crossed her mind that she, too, could rise above the opinions and condemnation of others. Stories help the truth sink down into the heart, past the filters of the head.