Puddle Jumping: A Journey Toward Belonging

By Troy McLaughlin

Where to start? That’s often the question that plagues a writer. The blank screen can be the last thing you want to face.

When Kimberly, the founder here at The Way Back to Ourselves, invited me to write a post about belonging, I created multiple introductions—starting and stopping with each one—thinking the next one would be the right one.

Maybe you can relate to this desire to show up. But then folks look at you and say, that “so-and-so” has it “going on” (and you do not). Maybe that same desire to be accepted—maybe even revered… and maybe even cheered—is the same cry of most of our hearts.

We all want to belong—to be enough.

So, maybe it’s best if I start with a story of a young boy, who was trying to find his way, trying to just be accepted as he was, and not be the punching bag for the two school bullies.

That little boy was me.

Most days, when I was in elementary school, my most primal thought was, “How do I navigate today without Duane P. and Ronald A. using me as a literal punching bag?” And if they couldn’t do that, they’d verbally punch me with their words, which is sometimes worse. I just wanted to get to school and survive the day unscathed.

And yes, as I write this at 57-years-old, those boys' names are written in my mind with a bold, black Sharpie. I still remember their names more than four decades later. Yes, trauma lingers well beyond the time it originally occurred. As Bessel van der Kolk writes in his brilliant book The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma, “We have learned that trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body.”

Ronald A. and Duane P. left an imprint on me that lingers on today.

One of my favorite times at school was recess and before school started. It was a time to play, and I loved to play. It was also a dangerous time, as I would often face my two nemeses. Some days I came out unscathed—other times, not so much. We would often play a game called “smear the qu**r.” Yes, it’s not a PC term today—it’s even hateful. But it’s what we called the game. The game consisted of having two teams who carry a ball and try to make it to the other side of the football field. It was basically rugby and tackle football combined.

The drama began when we had to pick teams. Often Duane and Ronald would pick themselves to be on the same team. They were the biggest and meanest members of their team. In fact, they were the biggest and meanest in school—period! You didn’t want to be on the opposing team.

I hated this process of picking. Each captain would pick their team, alternating back and forth until everyone was picked. I was never picked first. Often, I got picked last or just before last, and most often it was opposite the bullies. The anxiety would rise in my stomach after each pick that wasn’t me.

I was an afterthought. Someone who was not important. And I certainly did not belong.

After enduring this one too many times, I learned that the bullies would always team up, so I decided to speak up: “Hey, Ronald and Duane, you need to be captains, and then each of you can choose your own teams. It’s not fair you’re both on the same team every time.” Sometimes it worked; other times it didn’t. Chalk one up for the little guy.

I am not sure where my flash of bravery would pop up from, but it did. I’d still be picked last—or near last—but at least I’d have an enemy on my team and not both on the other team. I could try to get my shots in as well, or at least try to.

Yes, this is a story about the playground, but can you relate? Adult life is full of “playground” trauma.

Maybe you’ve been picked last. Maybe you still are.

Maybe it’s at work. Maybe it’s with friends—or family. Maybe it’s even with yourself.

Rejection kills. It screams, “You don’t belong!” It feels like you’re an afterthought.

No matter how grown, strong, or fearless we think we are, rejection feels like we are that kid again on the playground, watching back and forth as others are chosen—again and again. And you are just hoping with childish desperation that someone says your name and says, “I pick you! Yes, you.”

As spiritual beings, this is our heart’s earnest cry: that someone says, “I want you on my team; I pick you first.”

Eugene Peterson, author of the Message translation of the Bible, wrote Matthew 20:16 this way: “Here it is again, the Great Reversal: many of the first ending up last, and the last first.” Somehow, in God’s economy, those of us who’ve been picked last will be picked first; we’ll know what it means to be picked first, to be wanted, to belong.

“The Great Reversal,” did you catch that part?

God’s going to reverse what we’ve experienced all of our lives and pick us first! YOU! ME! US first! We’re not just an afterthought. And let me be so bold to say, God is picking us first right now. Not a “Great Reversal” in some other time, but today, as we speak.

You might say, “But, Troy, how can you say that? How can you say that ‘The Great Reversal’ is happening today?”

It’s because I know something. I’ve seen something.

Let me explain.

You see, Brady is my first grandson. And when Brady was just three-years-old, my daughter texted me a video of my Brady Boy.

I want to set the scene:

It’s been raining, so there are puddles everywhere on this overcast day. Brady stands a few feet from my daughter. He’s got an adorable green rain jacket on with the hood over his head. He’s wearing green rain boots, too. Cute as a button.
Brady turns his head and looks back and says, “Momma now? Can I NOW?” His momma responds, “Yes, Brady.” Then, with great ceremony, Brady jumps from the elevated curb into the puddle below. He jumps. Water splashes up into the air. I watch on through my phone’s screen, and my heart soars. I mean, it truly soars.

Since then, I have watched that video for what feels like a hundred times. And every time, my heart soars. Every. Single. Time. As I write these words now, my heart is warmed, and I’m smiling.

How can a boy who jumps into a puddle make a 57-year-old’s heart sing—over and over again? It’s because he’s my Brady Boy!

So, I must ask you this: What if God looks at us the same way? What if every time he sees us, his heart soars? What if everything we do as humans, even at our very best, is like we’re jumping into a puddle?

Think about it this way: imagine the best song you’ve ever heard, the best art you’ve ever seen, the most amazing athletic performance you’ve ever witnessed, the most beautiful words you’ve ever read by your favorite author. What are these things to God? A God that spoke things in existence. A God who created from nothingness.

All of our best as humans is like my grandson jumping into a puddle to God. But every time God looks at us—like I look at my Brady boy—God’s heart soars! Every. Single. Time.

What if it’s our purpose in life to realize that God’s heart soars every time he thinks of us. What if we could grasp that? I mean really grasp it. How would our lives change?

Or as Brennan Manning, priest and author, believed when he talked about the one question Jesus had for us: “Did you believe that I loved you?” Just that! What if we could lean in and believe God’s heart is for us—just as we are—and all the while he’s saying, “I love you, and you belong to me. I never stop thinking about you—ever. My heart soars every time I think of you. Every. Single. Time.”

A few months back I read this from Katherine and Jay Wolf’s brilliant newsletter, Hope Heals. This is from episode 57: “But I do think the more relevant question is, why would ability matter in a place of complete and unconditional belonging and belovedness?” They nailed it. Ability doesn’t matter in this radical place of unconditional belonging and belovedness!

So, Kimberly always ends with, “You belong here,” when she signs off. Because you do!

If we’re in a place of complete and unconditional belonging and belovedness, then ability does not matter. This is that space! You. Belong. Here! God said so!

Not forgotten. Not rejected. Not picked last. But chosen. Beloved. And whole—just as you are.

So, go outside, take a deep breath, and find some puddles to jump in!

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You belong here. ♡