A Clunky Way to a Connected Life
When I was a little girl, I loved sneaking into my mom’s closet to try on her high-heel shoes. Something about her ruby-red pumps seemed so sophisticated. I’d wiggle my toes into the front of the shoe and steady myself to stand upright before her full-length mirror and smile. But as glamorous as I felt in mom’s high heels, my attempts to walk quickly betrayed me. The rubber soles scuffed and banged against the hardwood floors as I wobbled forward with the finesse of a viking.
What I thought would come naturally was clunky at best. (To this day, I still prefer flats.)
Yet those early attempts at high heels became a good metaphor for so many things in life, but especially my pursuit of connection. The idea of community looks bright and shiny, like living on the set of FRIENDS, but real-life attempts have felt considerably more bumpy. Forging deep relationships has not come easily, and I have made many missteps along the way. Longing does not automatically translate to belonging.
Even so, I refuse to ignore the way my soul aches for connection. I refuse to sit down and stop wobbling forward, just because it is hard. Rather, I choose to remember that God created us in the image of Divine Community, and that longing for belonging is like a magnet meant to keep us moving toward God and each other.
I don’t have a seven-step process packaged for you to live a more connected life, but I do have some guiding principles that inform my real, face-to-face relationships. This list isn’t all-inclusive or prescriptive. These approaches are not new. In fact, they might seem pretty basic. But I cannot help but wonder whether “the basics” is what we lack. Maybe it’s time for us to put down our shiny versions of community and to re-learn the fundamentals of walking together, as clunky as it might be.
1. Choose depth over breadth.
I have a box of relational capacity—and so do you. Your box might be bigger or smaller than mine, but we all have a limit to the number of relationships we can invest in at an intimate level. If we try to cram too many people into that box, then our relationships suffer. Our emotional energy wanes, and our connection with God gets buried in the din. To avoid the thinness often found in breadth, I have decided to keep my circles of belonging small and intentional, allowing me to grow deeper with a few. This perspective has allowed me much freedom, allowing me to be authentic with all people but vulnerable with a few.[1]
2. Slow down.
Pace of life directly affects our ability to pay attention and to be present. In Life Together, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.” When I cling so tightly to my calendar and agenda, I get relational blinders. I am far from interruptible and much less apt to hear God’s gentle whispers. For me, connection requires a slower pace. I must remind myself that my to-do list is rarely as urgent as it seems, so being present means holding time with open hands.
Additionally, by embracing a slow mindset, we give relationships the space they need to grow. Trust must be built. Stories shared. Walls must be taken down and healthy boundaries set. Connection takes time—with both God and with each other. But the good news is that God is patient and his well of communion is deep. There’s always room to go further in.
3. Sit and eat together.
Gathering at the table is central to our humanity, and food is a common language. When we eat and look each other in the face, we strip down our differences and being from neutral ground. (Everyone has to eat!) And what I have found is that as pizza is chewed and sparkling water sipped, stories unfold. Experiences are shared, and questions are asked. Silence may linger awkwardly at moments, and conversation may seem disjointed, but the time spent together is rarely wasted. In From Table to Table, Leonard Sweet goes so far as to say that “the life of your table becomes the preeminent art of your life.”
Toward that end, the table is where we end the day in our home. Yes, it’s often cloaked in chaos when kids refuse to eat enchiladas or a drink gets spilled. It is always loud and rambunctious. But eating together become an essential rhythm for our family to be present with each other. Sometimes, we invite other friends or family members to join us—and we linger a little longer. Sometimes I spend hours in the kitchen preparing, and other days we order Panera and eat on paper plates. No matter what is consumed, eating together gives us a reason to pause and a place to belong.
4. Exchange stories.
The human brain is wired for story. Even amongst strangers, our minds narrate the who, what, when, where, and why that is happening around us. We develop personas and backstories for people we have seen for mere seconds. Our minds are constantly engaging in some sort of storytelling, whether we realize it or not. As Jonathan Gottschall noted in his book The Storytelling Animal, “Even when the body goes to sleep, the mind stays up all night, telling itself stories.” Storytelling is central to being human.
Our boys often ask my husband and me to tell tales from when we were young. They love to hear how we met and fell in love sipping Jones sodas on the back hatch of Ben’s SUV. They lean in to hear about how I organized a neighborhood carnival at the age of eight or about Ben’s early experiences helping his grandpa on the farm. After sharing these stories, it’s not uncommon for my oldest son to sit back in his chair, smile, and say, “I love our family.” These narratives connect us, weaving our past into their present until they become a shared history—anecdotal evidence of where they have come from and of God’s goodness and faithfulness along the way.
Stories offer us a way to connect where information and opinions fall short. By listening to the story of another person or offering our stories to another, we build empathy and widen our perspective. Compassion grows, because stories reveal our shared humanity, even when our lives look very different. They help us find common soil where relationships can take root and where we can begin to glimpse the complexity of God and our place in his grand Story.
NOTES
[1] In episode 29 of Not My Story, I had a great conversation with counselor and boundaries coach Kerrah Fabacher who described a very helpful fence analogy for determining who to let into our safest, most intimate circles.
