Find Your People

Do you ever feel surrounded by people but still profoundly alone? Jennie Allen’s Find Your People begins with that universal ache—the sense that something essential is missing, even when our calendars are full and our phones are buzzing. Allen argues that modern life, for all its conveniences, has taught us to live in ways diametrically opposed to how God designed us. We were never meant to live isolated behind locked doors and glowing screens. God built humans for deep, daily, vulnerable connection—for actual community, not just acquaintanceship.

The book contends that our chronic loneliness is not simply a psychological or social crisis but a spiritual one. In Allen’s view, our disconnection stems from rejecting the communal blueprint woven into creation itself—first modeled by God in the Trinity. Because God exists in relational harmony as Father, Son, and Spirit, we too are created for interdependence. Loneliness thus isn’t just uncomfortable; it’s unnatural. Allen invites you to rebuild life around relationships of proximity, transparency, accountability, shared purpose, and consistency—five pillars she calls the rhythms of village life.

Why Modern Individualism Is Failing Us

Allen paints a stark picture of our cultural trajectory: where independence, efficiency, and self-sufficiency have become sacred values. She compares the modern world to a long experiment gone wrong—a society so obsessed with comfort and personal space that we’ve unknowingly traded belonging for convenience. Drawing from history, she notes that for most of human existence, people survived by depending on one another. They gathered around fires, farmed together, raised children together. Now our independence has become a kind of imprisonment, with loneliness statistics worse for health than obesity or smoking.

Allen’s argument unfolds across a mix of biblical reflection and vivid life stories—the panic attack on her closet floor, an empty move to Dallas with no friends, and watching Rwandan women laughing at the river as they washed clothes together. The contrast reveals what’s missing in Western life: we no longer live interdependently, not even by necessity. The modern substitution of independence has produced anxiety, depression, and spiritual hunger. The tragedy is that the very thing we need most—relationship—is the thing our culture least rewards.

From Isolation to “Village” Living

Allen redefines “finding your people” as returning to a rhythm of life that emulates how humans always lived before industrialized, digital age fragmentation. She uses terms like village or tribe not metaphorically, but to describe the network of about fifteen people who share daily life together. In anthropological studies (and research cited by Allen from Robin Dunbar and Jeffrey Hall), humans naturally manage about 150 meaningful relationships, but only five close ones where full belonging occurs. Her thesis: build a small, intentional circle—people who know your fears, sins, and dreams—and commit to intertwining your days, not just your weekends.

Throughout Find Your People, she blends this practical sociology with theology and personal confession. Allen admits she has failed deeply at friendship, lost close relationships for being guarded, and learned through pain that transparency is the soil of intimacy. Yet she insists, “It takes a village to raise adults, not just children.” True community involves letting others see your mess, walking through conflict, risking rejection, and continually choosing to stay. This is not a quaint idea—it’s spiritual warfare. According to Allen, if God created us for connection, then the enemy will fight hardest to destroy it.

The Road Map Ahead

In the chapters that follow, Allen offers a framework for reclaiming relationships based on five recurring patterns of village life: living near people (proximity); letting down walls (transparency); challenging each other toward growth (accountability); sharing work and purpose (shared mission); and committing to remain through conflict (consistency). Each practice corresponds to biblical examples—from Jesus living among His twelve disciples to Paul’s letters urging believers to “bear one another’s burdens” and “confess sins to one another.” These relationships are not peripheral but central to the gospel’s vision of life together.

Allen’s narrative voice is inviting yet uncompromising. She acknowledges friendship hurts but insists it’s worth the cost. Along the way, she integrates neuroscience (through references to her “neuro-buddy” Curt Thompson) and social psychology to show how we heal through being truly seen, soothed, and safe. The result is a manifesto for communal living that transcends trends, calling us to trade occasional bursts of connection for everyday belonging.

In short, Find Your People argues that spiritual maturity demands relational courage. Allen’s vision feels both ancient and revolutionary: fewer locked doors, more shared tables, deeper conversations around fire pits, laughter and prayer until midnight, forgiveness instead of quitting. Community, in her telling, is not optional—it’s the way back to wholeness, purpose, and joy in a world that has forgotten how to belong.

Allen roots the human need for relationship in theology. God Himself is communal—the Trinity is a divine example of mutual love and service. The Father glorifies the Son, the Son glorifies the Father, and the Spirit glorifies them both. This eternal dance of self-giving love, described by theologians like Tim Keller, is the model for human relationships.

Made for Relationship, Not Self-Sufficiency

Allen reminds us that God’s first declaration about humanity wasn’t that creation was incomplete—it was that isolation was bad: “It is not good for man to be alone.” We were created in God's image, which means we were created out of relationship for relationship. Loneliness therefore contradicts our spiritual DNA. Our craving for belonging isn’t just emotional; it’s theological—connection mirrors the essence of God Himself.

When We Misplace Our Hope

Allen emphasizes that healthy community begins with spiritual alignment. We distort relationships when we seek from people what only God can give. Human connection is designed to reflect divine love, not replace it. When God is at the center of our relational circle, we experience fulfillment and can bless others. When people are at the center, we pull on them for needs they can’t meet, leading to disappointment and resentment.

A Biblical Pattern of Togetherness

From Genesis to Revelation, God moves through community—first a family, then a people, then the church. Scripture assumes believers live interconnected lives. In Hebrew and Greek texts, the word “you” usually means plural: “you all.” Allen points out that the entire Bible is written to communities, not individuals. This underpinning calls you to reimagine faith not as a solo journey but a shared mission. “Where two or three are gathered,” Jesus said, “there am I among them.”

For Allen, this divine design explains why community feels like home even when it’s hard. God loves when His people live and worship together, sharpening one another (“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another”) and encouraging each other’s faith. It’s not merely social or emotional—it’s sacred. Her conclusion echoes Augustine’s: our hearts are restless until they rest in God, and through Him, we find people worth loving.

Allen argues that loneliness in modern life is not random but historically manufactured. Our hyper-individualistic Western mindset evolved through revolutions—political, industrial, and digital—that idolized independence. While autonomy may have liberated some, it’s now imprisoning us. We’ve been taught to build fences instead of families.

How Isolation Became the Norm

Tracing societal history, Allen points to the Industrial Revolution as the turning point. Families moved from villages to cities for factory work, and lives became segmented—work separated from home, neighbors replaced by co-workers, efficiency prioritized over empathy. Later, Enlightenment individualism and self-help culture turned “personal happiness” into the highest value. Add social media’s dopamine-driven solitude, and we became the loneliest generation ever.

Why Independence Has a Dark Side

Allen acknowledges that independence can produce success but warns it costs connection. She compares America’s founding ideals of “freedom” and “independence” to seeds that sprout isolation. “One of our first acts as Americans was to write a Declaration of Independence,” she remarks. The result was cultural programming that equated relying on others with weakness. But spiritually, we were built to rely—on God and one another.

It Takes a Village—Even for Adults

Quoting the proverb “It takes a village to raise a child,” Allen extends it: it takes a village to build whole adults. Loneliness is not just about missing friends but missing function—missing people who cook, plan, laugh, and mourn alongside us. Eighty percent of the world still lives communally; only the West isolates. Allen calls readers to resist cultural scripts of self-sufficiency and instead “fight terrifying stats of loneliness, the devil, and society’s setup” by rebuilding shared life intentionally.

Her warning is clear: community doesn’t happen accidentally, and isolation isn’t neutral—it’s spiritual warfare. The enemy, Allen insists, wants to divide believers and keep them disconnected. We cannot win this fight alone. Her solution? Fight back by building villages the way God designed them—from ordinary faith, local friendships, and daily life shared. Connection must be chosen, protected, and fought for.

Allen begins her fivefold pattern with proximity—the idea that physical closeness fuels emotional closeness. In Dallas, she coined her personal goal as “Five Friends in Five Miles.” It’s simple but radical: intentionally invest in neighbors and nearby people rather than distant acquaintances only accessible through screens.

Be Close to Those You’re Close To

Allen discovered that deep friendships are impossible when geography divides daily life. You need people you can “run a casserole over to” when a crisis hits. She encourages readers to map their weekly routines—schools, workplaces, coffee shops—and identify potential friends already nearby. Relationships should arise from everyday rhythms, not be penciled in occasionally.

Initiate First, Even If It’s Awkward

Most people claim to be too busy for friendship. Allen’s counter: stop waiting to be invited; go first. She shares embarrassing personal examples—inviting a camp counselor from decades ago for coffee, asking her babysitter to be a friend, showing up at a small group full of strangers. Each awkward step led to life-giving connection. Like Jesus inviting Himself to Zacchaeus’s house, we must initiate repeatedly and shamelessly.

Create Gathering Spaces

Whether through a firepit, a porch, or a picnic table, build visible opportunities for spontaneous togetherness. Allen references anthropological studies showing humans have gathered around fires for millennia, sharing stories and building empathy. In her home, patio chairs and s’mores supplies became symbolic tools for connection. The rule: invite, even when people say no; keep inviting anyway.

Ultimately, proximity is about resistance—refusing to live as strangers among neighbors. Allen reminds you that convenience can’t substitute for presence: “Proximity is a starting place for intimacy.” To grow community, walk across the street, join your coworker for lunch, chat with your barista, and risk intrusion. Friendship begins not in grand gestures but in being close enough to be disrupted.

After proximity comes transparency—the courage to drop your guard. Allen confesses she’s terrible at this. Despite seeming outgoing, she admits she often hides behind perfection and people-pleasing. Two friends, Jessica and Courtney, confronted her bluntly: “You never need anything.” Their feedback shattered her illusion of closeness. True friendship requires mutual vulnerability, she realized, not one-sided strength.

Walls Built by Pain and Shame

Allen explores how emotional pain and shame motivate our walls. Betrayal, gossip, and judgment make authenticity feel dangerous. Shame tells us we’re unworthy of love, echoing the Genesis story where Adam and Eve hid after sin. These walls block both pain and healing; when we keep others out, we also prevent love from entering. Vulnerability, though painful, is the soil of intimacy.

Learning to Share Honestly

Allen equips readers with “Conversation 101” for deeper dialogue: plan undistracted time, lead by example, share your real struggles first, resist fixing others, and reflect back what you hear. Awkwardness is expected—it means you’re doing it right. Real connection begins where pretending ends. Transparency transforms polite gatherings into soul-level friendships that heal shame.

Safe, Few, and Real

Allen clarifies that full transparency doesn’t mean oversharing with everyone. It means choosing three to five safe people who know the whole truth. These friendships become mirrors of grace—where confession meets acceptance and accountability. “To love at all,” she quotes C. S. Lewis, “is to be vulnerable.” When Allen apologized and reconciled with a friend she’d lost, she discovered healing through humble honesty. Pain didn’t vanish, but intimacy grew stronger.

Transparency is risky but essential. In a world of filters and pretense, real connection demands courage to say, “I’m not okay.” And when you do, someone else may finally whisper back, “Me too.”

Allen argues that accountability—being lovingly called out—is the backbone of spiritual community. Western culture equates independence with maturity, but Scripture defines growth through submission and correction. We need friends brave enough to tell us the truth, even when it stings.

Iron Sharpens Iron

Allen’s sister-in-law Ashley models this principle. During a casual night by the fire, Ashley bluntly said, “Jennie, you seem to have a hard heart right now.” That truth, coupled with prayer and grace, softened Allen’s spirit. Such confrontation, though uncomfortable, preserves integrity and intimacy. “Conflict should make friendships, not break them,” Allen writes.

Accountability Across Cultures

Through Jey from Nairobi, Allen contrasts Western privacy with African communal correction. In his Kenyan slum, elders disciplined children openly because survival required shared morality. In the U.S., she notes, those same interventions would be labeled intrusive. Yet village life’s accountability fosters flourishing and humility. Spiritual growth thrives when others have permission to “wallop you when you’re being an idiot.”

Truth in Love, Not Judgment

Allen identifies pride as the enemy of accountability—our self-protective insistence on being right. True correction flows from love, not superiority. In her small group, members even share personal finances and pray over decisions together. The vulnerability creates safety instead of shame. She points to Proverbs: “Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed.”

Accountability isn’t punishment but protection. It keeps hearts soft, lives aligned, and sin exposed to light. Allen’s challenge: stop settling for “nice” friendships that endorse foolishness. Ask safe, healthy friends to speak truth and sharpen you. Being caught may be uncomfortable—but it’s also healing.

Allen’s fourth rhythm of community is shared purpose. She insists that friendships deepen most when they revolve around joint mission rather than mutual venting. You grow closer not by being entertained together but by serving together.

The Power of Collaborative Purpose

From ancient villages to the early church, people bonded through shared work—farming, building, worshipping. Allen notes that God Himself gave humanity work before sin entered the world. Work and community were meant to coexist. In her ministry IF:Gathering, she found coworkers became family because they pursued God’s mission side by side. They worship, brainstorm, and raise kids together. Their purpose glues them together far stronger than casual hangouts ever could.

Everyday Mission Fields

Shared mission doesn’t have to mean formal ministry. It can be hosting a freezer-meal night, volunteering at church, mentoring teens, or teaching together. Allen reminds readers of Marvin Burnham, an elderly man who turned his nursing home room into a “House of Forgiveness.” His purpose was simple: listen, forgive, and pray with visitors. Even bedridden, he found community through mission.

Friendship Beyond Comfort

Allen quotes C. S. Lewis: friendship must be about something. Purpose fuels meaning, prevents stagnation, and transforms isolation into devotion. She contrasts passive Western leisure with Middle Eastern discipleship models, where daily life—eating, traveling, and serving—cultivates spiritual family. True camaraderie is inconvenient and messy, but it’s also holy.

Her exhortation is practical: join a team, serve in a nursery, start a supper club, or simply choose the cashier line over self-checkout to connect. In God’s economy, there are “no ordinary people.” Every moment with others can become ministry. The goal isn’t just friendship—it’s shared transformation.

The fifth rhythm—consistency—is about enduring love. Allen believes genuine friendship requires staying when it’s painful. In modern culture, we ghost people at the first sign of discomfort. She argues that spiritual maturity means commitment despite mess.

Conflict and Commitment

Sharing her own conflict with family and friends, Allen describes learning that forgiveness and apology build deeper intimacy. Her sister-in-law Ashley modeled this when she said, “I am staying. This is me fighting for us.” That kind of staying sharpens love into resilience. Conflict should create stronger ties, not broken ones.

The Call to Be a Stayer

Allen references monks’ “vow of stability”—promising never to leave their imperfect brothers. The idea: ordinariness and inconvenience form holiness. Quoting Ruth’s vow to Naomi—“Your people shall be my people”—she urges readers to embrace imperfect family, church, and friends with the same loyalty. Stability says, “I’m here. I’ll be here. I won’t quit.”

Choose Inconvenience for Love

Friendship is costly: scheduling time, resolving conflict, showing up physically. Allen cites research from Jeffrey Hall—takes over 200 hours for an acquaintance to become a best friend. She encourages readers to log deliberate time, even when it interrupts comfort. “Intertwining my life with others,” she says, “is inconvenient, but worth every hour.”

Ultimately, consistency transforms friendship from hobby to covenant. Allen’s plea is simple: stop quitting. Stay, reconcile, forgive, and re-engage. Faithful friendship mirrors God’s steadfast love—a commitment that doesn’t end when feelings fade, but endures because grace remains.