Another central theme. Of this project. Of my life. A sense of belonging can encompass so many of the ideas we’ve talked about. Or at least it weaves, mycorrhizae-like throughout.

What are we without a sense of belonging? Family security, humility, social recognition. They all intertwine with a sense of belonging. Forgiveness, equality, a world at peace. It’s all tied in. True friendship. Loyalty. Enjoyment of life.

And card number 57–sense of belonging, feeling that others care about me– connects us, in my head, anyway, back to the beginning, card number 1. social power: control over others, dominance.

Because in the times of my life where I’ve needed to reach for dominance, or control over others it’s always because I don’t feel a sense of belonging. I don’t feel a sense of security within my community.

If we fall out of one, we may slip into the other.

This gives me a tremendous sense of compassion for those mean people in the world, and that’s an impulse I could stand to follow a little more often. Default to compassion. Default to understanding.

I cannot change the world alone. But I can change myself. I know–that’s a little “ABC Afternoon Special”. Forgive me. But it’s true.

A sense of belonging is a lot of the why behind my values choices. Behind the hard work I am, (and sometimes I’m not) willing to do for my people. It’s the reason I subdue my sometimes overwhelming violence and bring it to heel. I have a high value for others feeling a sense of belonging.

I lament the way many men feel the need to assert control and dominance. I care. About you. Others care about you. You are enough, you are large enough and strong enough. You have enough. We can have enough together.

I reflect on all of the ways I feel a deep sense of belonging and I lament the rarity it is in some folks’ lives. I measure it in a hundred ways. I measure it in the hidden keys I know the location of. I measure it in the beautiful child I’ve been made godfather to. I measure it in manatees made of yarn and wire. I measure it in coffee customers and I measure it in the questions my friends know they can ask me about sex or poop or money. Or anything.

I am blessed. I am the bearer, again, of an absolute embarrassment of riches. I am wealthy beyond comparison. I wish it was appropriate to list my riches, name by name.

I have a sense of belonging in my space. I belong to a community, a large family. I am loved and cared for. I am a local business owner. I am a water board member.

Belonging often isn’t a feeling you get, but the bench you’re sitting on. I’ve talked about “making space on the bench” a number of times. A sense of belonging is made real with the act of scooting over. It’s for family, it’s for friends, it’s for the weak and the marginalized, it’s for everyone, together.

I left my church. Let’s talk about it a little bit. Perhaps that’s my keystone story as it pertains to a sense of belonging, and I’ve mentioned it, but I’ll talk about it a little bit more here.

Thirty years. I began engaging this community when I was about nine years old and I only left in my fortieth year here. I believed everything. I contributed. I engaged. And there were times when I felt a sense of belonging in that context.

But really, there were people, many people with whom I felt a sense of belonging, and it wasn’t about the church at all, it was always about the people.

The structure failed. The structure claimed to be that mycorrhizal network. The church claimed to be the trellis that we could grow on and when we grew to a certain size, it broke under our weight. There was no room left on the bench, and no more was made. Men failed.

It’s not okay. Some days I’m not okay.

There have, nevertheless, been many people over the years who have scooted down, made room for me on their benches. Many of them have been in church, and I am heartened by the benches still available to me. I think of the number of people whose houses I would let myself into, I would eat their food and drink their coffee, I would take off my shoes and pick up their children and take apples from their trees. And I am glad. For everything. I am here. I belong where I belong.

I also know how to make others feel that sense now. I reflect on the little person living in my home. I reflect on my own children and my nieces and my closest friends. And I believe all of my experiences in all of the years have stacked up and culminated in our ability to make room on the bench. I believe in our ability, my family’s and mine, to be a trellis upon which other people can hang and grow.

Belonging is the mycorrhizae. It’s the network of love and affection that transfers information and nutrients between different organisms. Belonging is the key to someone else’s home, hidden in a place where the right people can find it. Belonging is the trellis. Belonging is not just the bench, it’s the act of shoving over. Belonging forks half its food onto your empty plate.

I will end here with a bible verse, as has become my way. It’s one you doubtlessly know, or maybe you’ve just heard of it. Or maybe, like Tolkien in your forties this will be your first brush with First Corinthians 13. Here it is, paraphrased by yours truly. May it live a little bit within us.

Love is patient and kind. It’s not jealous or envious. Love doesn’t boast or burst with self-pride. Love’s not rude and it doesn’t look out only for itself. Love doesn’t get drawn into fruitless fits of anger, and it forgets wrongs done quickly. Love doesn’t quietly root for evil to be visited upon others, but it does rejoice in the true things in life. Love is protective and trustworthy. It’s constantly hoping for the best and it stays the course. Love doesn’t fail.

This is it! Card 57. The end of the deck. It feels like the end of something, but I feel like I’m just getting started. Stay tuned if you feel like it.

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