They’re All Our Kids: Leadership and the Art of Belonging
By Rev. Ethan Linder
“We belong to each other,” says Dr. Julia Hurlow, Dean of Campus Life at Taylor University. For Hurlow, that’s not so much a philosophical statement as it is a way of life.
Hurlow graduated from Indiana Wesleyan University in 2004 and 2007, and since then has held various positions – youth pastor, residence life Area Coordinator, Director of Discipleship, and (now) Dean of Campus Life. Outside her job, she also serves as a volunteer in various capacities in her local church, a mentor to those interested in working in Christian higher education, and is a certified spiritual director, in addition to being an author of a book about the power of the table.
Friends of hers will tell you that when they think of a supportive presence in their lives, their mind quickly races to Julia’s name. That’s partly because the throughline to Julia’s work, friendships, and presence is her belief in committing to cultivate an environment of transformational belonging.
Residence life is a formative context for collegians; spiritual direction is a formative space for directees – both spaces require deep listening work, intentional facilitation
“I can’t remember a time I didn’t believe we belong to each other,” Hurlow says. “It takes a village—that’s just always been true for me.”
That belief has guided how she sees people, leads teams, and shows up for students and friends across the seasons of her life. One of the central postures of Julia’s life has been that we are all responsible for each other.
Julia traces this back to her childhood. Her family’s church and community relationships made interdependence feel natural. She grew up with multiple “second parents,” in whose homes she was welcome. “I knew which friends’ houses had certain toys I loved; I remember spending time with one family on the day my dad had an accident, and that just felt natural,” she recalled.
Later, in youth ministry at JC Bodyshop (College Wesleyan Church’s youth group in Marion, Indiana) she would see how deeply that framework mattered—especially when working with students divided not just by personality, but by income, race, and the literal boundary of 38th Street. “There was a tension sometimes,” she remembers. “Some people saw it as: these are ‘our kids.’ [those whose parents were part of the congregation] And then there were ‘other’ kids, [those who had no generational connection to the church]”
Hurlow cut through that tension by recalling her core conviction of mutual belonging. “They’re all our kids,” she insisted. “No matter what their background of heritage, these are the kids God has placed here.”
One of the most satisfying components of her ministry with youth during her tenure at JCB was seeing that belief translated into practice. Families in the church quietly covered the cost of summer camp for students they didn’t know. Parents opened their homes for offsite events.
What emerged at JC Bodyshop was a community where giving, hosting, and welcoming were the norm.
Now in academia, Hurlow cultivates the same patterns. “I don’t have biological children,” she says, “but I do see myself as part of a village. My job is to show up—for my students, my colleagues, my neighbors—with what I have.”
Her approach to leadership is shaped by presence more than position. She leads by noticing who is on the margins and by asking, “Who’s feeling like an orphan or a widow in this season?” Not necessarily in the literal sense, but relationally. “We’ve all been left. We’ve all experienced loss. And we need people to show up in that.”
She also leads with curiosity—believing that relationships become more meaningful when we engage the things others care about. That means learning about baseball because a colleague loves it, or caring about The Dog Man movie because a friend’s child does. “If I only surrounded myself with people in my life stage or with my interests, I’d miss out on so much,” she says. “Curiosity makes our relationships richer.”
Julia Hurlow’s life offers a blueprint for anyone longing to build a deeper sense of community—at church, at work, in neighborhoods, or among friends. Here are a few principles from her story that any of us can put into practice:
1. Stop waiting to be invited—invite someone else.
“People say, ‘I wish someone would invite me.’ But have you invited anyone lately?” Hurlow asks. If you want deeper community, start by being the one who reaches out. Go to the movie alone. Drop off the meal. Be present even when it’s not expected.
2. Ask who’s missing.
Whether in a classroom, a youth group, or a conversation, Hurlow pays attention to who’s not in the room—and makes space. Leadership starts with noticing.
3. Give regularly and quietly
At JC Bodyshop, families gave generously without recognition. “People just came up to me and said, ‘If a kid needs to go to camp and can’t afford it, don’t use my name, just let me know,’” she remembers. Belonging grows when people give without needing credit, and use what they have (whether money, time, or space) for the benefit of others.
4. Choose curiosity.
Relationships don’t deepen by accident. They grow when we decide to care about what matters to someone else—even if we wouldn’t naturally care about it ourselves. Who around you has an interest you might learn more about? An activity you can attend to cheer them on?
5. Live like you’re part of a village.
Whether in grief or in joy, people need others who know the names of their kids, who bring the casserole, who show up unannounced and stay until the work is done. Hurlow says, “At any moment, we need to be able to step in and be familiar enough that someone doesn’t feel alone.”
Hurlow has found that this kind of life works – not because of shame-based obligation, but because it’s the kind of life that reflects the Trinity itself—a God who is always in relationship.
“I’ve never seen someone thrive without being in interdependent relationships,” she says. “If we want to live life to the full—the way Jesus offers it—then this is what we do.”
