I love to learn about people, especially through stories. Some of my favorite memories are of me sitting at the feet of my great-grandparents, listening as they shared their life experiences. Recently, some friends and I took a girls’ vacation to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. While we were there, we decided to check out the Titanic Museum, where I learned about an incredible story. Before you enter “The Ship” you are greeted by a crew member who gives you a boarding pass, which is actually a card with the identity and story of a real-life person who was on the Titanic. Throughout the museum, you are able to locate more information about the person that was assigned to you. As the tour began, I took in all the sights around me: the items that were collected after the disaster, the pictures, and all the memorabilia. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one picture in particular. I thought to myself, “Is that a black man?” I moved quickly over to the picture.

Yes! It was a portrait of a black man, his white wife and their two daughters. How could I not have known about this story? I immediately grabbed my mother’s arm and pulled her over to read about this man and his family. Joseph Philippe Lemercier Laroche (May 26 1886 – April 15 1912) was a Paris-educated Haitian engineer and the only passenger of known African ancestry on the ill-fated voyage of the RMS Titanic. Even though he could afford it, Joseph was not allowed in first class, so he and his family had to purchase second class tickets. When the Titanic began to sink, Joseph put his pregnant French wife and their two daughters onto a lifeboat; they survived, but he did not.

Throughout the rest of the day my mind constantly drifted back to Joseph and his family. What was life like for them? What did they experience when they walked the streets of France as an interracial family? Why were they coming to America? What were their plans, their dreams, their hopes? My mind then shifted to my great-grandparents, who came to America from Germany. What if they had been denied entrance into the country? Or what if they had been stolen and forced to come to America instead of leaving Germany on their own? How different would my story be?

We like to think that in America, we are a melting pot… but are we really? I’m a white woman who has been married to a black man for over 20 years. When I married him, he had three black sons from a previous marriage, and I was given the great honor of helping to raise them. A year later, we had a biracial daughter together. My husband and I we were both in the U.S. Air Force when we met, and we were stationed in the culturally-diverse city of Las Vegas, Nevada. Being a military family living in base housing, our children were always surrounded by different kinds of people. It was second nature for them to have friends whose parents were from all over the world.

Then, we left the military and moved to the not-so-diverse small town of Troy, Ohio. And what a culture shock that was for our children! Now, unfortunately, they were seen as the “odd” ones, the ones who were different from everyone else. My middle son came home from school one day saying that a classmate told him he wouldn’t hold his hand during a class exercise because, “he didn’t want his color to rub off on him.” Without volunteering, my daughter was picked to play Pocahontas in a school play; she was the only person of color in her class. We’ve had family dinners at restaurants interrupted by the stares and comments from both white and black people.

During our Gatlinburg vacation, I remember sitting at an IHOP for breakfast. As I looked around, I saw white people, Hispanic people, black people, and Muslim people. I saw families laughing, eating, and enjoying their time together. Being a part of this inclusive environment was a breath of fresh air. A question arose in my heart, “Now THIS is a melting pot, why can’t it always be like this?”

Some of the major social issues facing the United States today can be attributed to a lack of knowledge, a lack of effective communication, and a lack of compassion and understanding. People say things like, “Slavery was a long time ago, why we are still talking about it?” The picture often painted is that there were problems, but now they’ve all been solved, so everything is great. The truth is, the history book I had in high school had half-paragraph sections (or less) on Native Americans, slavery, Civil Rights and Women’s Rights. We haven’t truly been educated about these things. Some think that legislation has eradicated all racism, but you cannot legislate morality. To understand what someone is saying about their experiences in America, we have to really listen to the words they’re saying, not what we think they’re saying. We cannot choose to see the world from only our own point of view. Put on someone else’s shoes and walk a mile in them.

The reality is that hate is taught.

Systematic racism exists. Racial profiling happens on daily basis in black and Hispanic communities. Rates of poverty and substance abuse on Native American reservations are astronomical. In 2016, women still make .75 cents on average for every dollar that men make. We ostracize those that worship, dress, talk, and live differently than we do. In many instances, we have allowed the biases of the media to influence the way we see others and the world around us. We are so quick to believe the false perceptions of others when it comes to issues of race, socio-economic status, sexual orientation, and religion. It is not fair or appropriate to believe that every person who belongs to a particular group thinks and behaves alike. Having a black friend or an Asian friend does not mean that they should have to speak on behalf of their entire group of people, nor should you ask them to. They can only tell you the stories of their lives, from their own personal experiences.

The other side of this reality is that love is human nature.

To be kind is not difficult. If we would reach our hands across the aisle and really seek to develop meaningful relationships with our neighbors, co-workers, classmates, and community members, healing and reconciliation could take place. Fear breeds hate, but love breeds growth. Jesus – our greatest example – went out of His way to bridge the divide created by the Jews against the Samaritans, the religious against the outcasts. He loved the unlovable; he washed their feet, fed them, taught them, and forgave them.

If we could free our minds of stereotypes, and if we could work towards constructive dialogue and not hate speech or fear mongering, what would our families, cities, schools, and work places look like? Unfortunately, Sundays are one of the most segregated days of the week. And often, I wonder, what would Jesus think of that?

If we truly personified Christ, would our churches look differently?