bringing belonging
on timidity and entering intimidating spaces
Returning to this little blue room is a gift after an intense adventure brimful of more than I can explain, more than I can describe. Grab a cup of tea and let’s sit awhile, letting the cool Septembral wind scuttle about between us.
Some conference experiences are encouraging, inspiring, challenging. There are some that are transformative. Not necessarily because of how the gathering was put together, although that can be a big factor. But God can use any circumstance in a willing heart.
I attended DITA2025, an arts and theology symposium at Duke Divinity School at the start of September. I will admit I am not normally very prayerful about going to conferences, but I was very intimidated by the very important and intelligent and talented people who were going to be there. Who was I to engage with these masterful folks? So I prayerfully prepared, and in that quiet place, the Lord challenged me to think about the way I entered the conference.
I’m not outgoing by nature. I am connective by nature, but also timid—two forces which pull at one another and leave me tense and weary some days. It is not easy for me to naturally feel as though I belong somewhere. I rarely engage the freedom to bring my whole self into a room. Sometimes because of the room, sometimes because of me, and often, a little bit of both.
I did not know the hosts of this conference. I could not predict whether they had considered the socially awkward and timid type when they planned the flow of events. I could not be certain they had put thought around how to facilitate connection and set connection as the social norm in the rooms I would enter. So I prayed I might discover spaces of belonging and welcome, means to connect in new and surprising ways.
As I prayed, the Lord asked me to make my own plans. I began to consider what it meant to be a good attendee, a good participant—what it meant to let myself belong at this conference. What did it mean to show up willing to work? Willing to be hospitable, giving favor and kindness to strangers?
I did not like the idea. It sounded like a hard, potentially disastrous endeavor.
But when the Spirit prods, we do best not to ignore him. He brought to mind an image which I have been pondering for years that represents how we bring his kingdom with us wherever we go. I first put it to paper in 2019, though the thought goes back further than that:
She stepped onto the cracked desert ground, and from her round, brown shoe spread a sudden growth of rich green grass and small white flowers. When she reached the middle of that broken place, the softened ground spread, and bigger plants—dark-leafed shrubs and even a small oak sapling—began rooting. She stood softening into an oasis in the desert, a place of rest in suffering, a calm presence in the wilderness. Then a song rang out and she went toward it, moving once more, the grass and plants following her. None could approach her without being in the presence of life, but she was only the vessel. The life poured through her, one sapling, then another growing up, up, up, and curving in a pointed arch, a tiny cathedral of shade against the burning sun. People came and spoke with her, and her words were cold water in their parched hearts. Her home was not one place, but she brought home and hospitality with her. She brought a presence that did not come from her, but belonged to her only long enough for her to give it away. No one walked away without seeds.
I wrote this as a prayer. I wrote it as a dream. I am still not this oasis yet, but I hope to be. As I considered that image, I wondered: what if belonging is something I can bring with me?
Not in a presumptive, entitled way, but in a humble and Christ-like way. If the Lord has brought me into a room, then I belong there because I belong to him. This doesn’t change the fact that there are social dynamics I still find difficult to navigate. Unless I am hosting or given clear authority, I am not skilled at setting the tone in a room. Or changing the tone when it is exclusive, cold, or antagonistic. I have not that kind of power in me. I need permission, sometimes too much, to redirect the social norms and underlying assumptions of a space.
Yet we who belong to him, we come with Christ. He makes his home in us wherever we go. I don’t fully understand what that might mean for me and for you. The life of Christ often means living what we don’t understand, so I prayed for opportunities to bring belonging along to DITA and share it with others. In secret ways and in obvious ones. I took a deep breath every time I took the shuttle to campus and prayed for the courage to talk to the person who ended up next to me. I think I spoke to a new person on every ride.
The Lord even brought people asking me for directions or help, and I got to lend a hand that way, finding obscure buildings and discovering the free coffee together.
It might sound like I was a different person than the one I described earlier. And maybe I was. But the heart being shaped by Christ that loves to serve, she just reframed talking to people. Rather than talking to impress or network or gain something, I engaged people in the hopes that they might know that they belonged, and that their thoughts and presence, their making and their work were important, at the very least, to me. I did get to network. I did get encouragement and affirmation for the work I am just beginning. I gained so much from my time there, but without feeling as though I was exploiting the event for my own gain. Rather, I engaged with people for all of our gain—for our flourishing together as we learned and thought and delighted in theology and the arts.
There are so many ways to give ourselves to one another. And giving often takes up space, so much that there is little room for insecurities and worries to get a word in.
I know and acknowledge that this does not always work. I went to another gathering this week where I felt a little lost. There are spaces where we can try to belong and still be dismissed, belittled, dehumanized, crushed underfoot. Belonging is still complicated and challenging and affected by those in power at our churches, in our gatherings, and even in our homes. It is something I take very seriously in my work as an artist missionary—for artists are tender souls.
I have not the power to ensure that everyone belongs. But I want to try anyway. Isn’t that the good news? We can’t do what we should, but we can try, and our meager offerings are multiplied by the man who broke fish and loaves into more than it was.
I am praying this can become a rhythm in my life—that I can enter rooms asking how I might bring belonging with me humbly and generously. At church, in my work, and in all the spaces God invites me to enter. It might just change the way I see these spaces. Maybe it will change you, too.
What is a space you are feeling as though you do not belong, but wish to belong? How might you bring belonging with you? Enter a space in the deep knowledge of God’s love for you so you can belong anywhere?
I pray the Lord will assure you of his love and help you bring belonging wherever you are.
