The Need for Belonging

When I was seven years old, I moved from snowy Michigan to muggy South America. My parents were headed for the mission field, and I was along for the ride. Cabbage Patch doll and Pound Puppy in tow, I boarded a plane to Brazil. At my age, I was malleable and open to change; I embraced the adventure.

A few months after arriving, my parents sent me to a weeklong children’s camp at a neighboring church. A tiny church in a developing country—it was rustic, to put it kindly. Amenities notwithstanding, it was one of the best weeks of my short life. I came home from camp exhausted and glowing, chattering about new friends and experiences.

In the days that followed, I told my mom I needed some new clothes. I wanted to dress the way my new friends did. I remember circling the mall with my mom as we looked for the perfect outfits. We hadn’t been in Brazil for long, so my mom was far from fluent in Portuguese. With her heavy accent and sink-or-swim spirit, she used hand motions and drew pictures to communicate with the sales ladies. Our spree was fruitful; I floated home with full shopping bags.

My mom could have said, “You have a closet full of clothes. You don’t need more clothes.” And she would have been right—I didn’t need more clothes. I had a closet full of Osh Kosh B’Gosh denim overalls and Peter Pan-collared shirts. But Brazilian girls didn’t use scrunchies, and they certainly didn’t wear stirrup pants. My mom was intuitive enough to recognize my real need: to fit in. I would never look like a Brazilian, but at least I could dress like one.

Jump forward twenty-five years or so. Back in my beloved state of Michigan, I was a single mom of one daughter. Following some huge life changes, I was church hunting. Still undecided on where to settle down, I had been attending a church not far from my house. During my third week of attendance, I was approached by a nursery worker who asked me if I would bring the children’s snack for the following week. She couldn’t have realized how monumentally significant that request was to me. I was known. I was one of them. My daughter was part of the nursery, and it was my week to bring the snacks. Next thing I knew, I was part of a Sunday School class and Wednesday night Bible study.

Every human being has a primal need to belong. Norm Peterson and Cliff Clavin aren’t the only ones who want to be where everybody knows their names. All of us were created for relationships. All of us have a need for belonging. This has been true since the beginning of time. The first human, Adam, wasn’t fully satisfied with the companionship of other species; he needed the bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.

Fitting in matters at every stage of life. Timid kindergarteners need to see their names stamped all over the classroom. Teenagers make bad choices because they would rather belong in the wrong crowd than nowhere at all. Fraternities and sororities offer community to college students who carry their pledge pride long into adulthood. Adults make promises of mutual belonging in their marriage vows. There are support groups for just about every everything from alcoholism to Zellweger syndrome. Family crests are a popular tattoo choice for a reason. The Red Hat Society and Romeo Club are evidence that we never outgrow our need for belonging.

Our God is a God of belonging. He chose Israel to be his people, the sheep of his pasture, with whom he would make a covenant—a commitment. They belonged to him. He instructed them to embrace the foreigners among them, remembering that they were once foreigners in Egypt. David called God a father to the fatherless and the one who puts the lonely in families. Jesus left heaven and condescended to earth as a human being so that, in his sameness, we might find belonging. He promised he would prepare a place for us, a place that will be ours forever. The Holy Spirit seals us with the spirit of adoption and the promise of eternal belonging.

Mr. Rogers asked expectantly, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” The song is an ode to belonging as he invited children to more than just exist in his periphery—he wanted them to feel belonging as his neighbors. It is no surprise that his face is etched in our memories.

I suppose the best takeaway is a simple one: widening your circle to welcome others in might be the most powerful gift you have to give. If we remain attuned to the shared and ever-present need for belonging in each other, maybe we can be the kind of people who meet that need.

Amy Beaulieu lives in Michigan with her husband and four (soon to be five!) children. She is a lover of music, language, and all things thought-provoking. She is a witness and testimony to God’s redemptive grace.