Do you struggle with FOMO (Fear of Missing Out)? One definition of FOMO, according to verywellmind.com is, “the feeling that you are missing out on something fundamentally important that others are experiencing right now.” To feel like you’re missing out on something can be devastating; heart-crushing even. It can also be very stressful! No one wants to feel left out, or left alone. We all have a deep-seeded need for connection. Introverts included! We all want to experience those things that will bring us joy, peace, excitement, and fulfillment. We don’t want to miss out on any of what life has to offer us!

I recently experienced FOMO on a trip to Zion National Park with my family. If you’ve never been there, it’s breathtakingly beautiful! My family and I had been looking forward to this return trip since the last time we went five years ago. I absolutely love soaking in the beauty of God’s creation in nature, and spending precious quality time with my family making memories. By love, I mean I have felt like I absolutely need these things to live fully alive. Imagine, then, my disappointment when we arrived in Zion, and I was already experiencing a high level of pain due to my ongoing struggle with Fibromyalgia, and various other autoimmune conditions I have. Just getting out of bed our first morning there took a tremendous amount of effort. Truthfully, by the time we made it to the parking lot at the entrance to the park, I already knew I was in way over my head. How was I going to spend an entire day hiking when I could barely get out of bed?

Sitting in the parked car, my eyes began filling with tears. My whole family, watching and waiting as the tears rolled down my cheeks, helpless to do anything. All wondering the same thing: is she going to have to miss out? The last thing I wanted was to disappoint my family, or ruin our vacation. My husband had spent lots of time and money planning this spring break trip for us all. None of it felt fair. At the same time, I felt embarrassed. Embarrassed about the emotional show I was putting on. Embarrassed by my limitations. Why did I have to be so different? So broken?

To make our circumstances even more challenging that first day at the park, we hadn’t been able to secure shuttle passes. Due to the pandemic, shuttle passes were limited, and had to be reserved ahead of time. Though we had tried, they had sold out. Unfortunately for us, the shuttle is key to getting around the park. It drops you off directly in front of the Zion Lodge, which is the basecamp for most every hike. This meant that if we wanted to hike all the trails on the map, we would first have to walk over several miles just to get started.

As much pain physically as I was in, the thought of missing out on Zion with my family felt even more painful somehow. The fear of missing out, letting my family down, being cooped up sitting in the lodge all day by myself—it all felt like more than my heart could handle. Quickly, I wiped away the tears, I drew in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “I want to go with you,” I told my husband.

We did a couple shorter hikes, to start, and then we decided to try to make the trek to the Zion Lodge. I was still hanging in there. We decided that if we could make it to the lodge, I would plot myself down on a bench there while the rest of the family hiked on. I was good with that. We didn’t know exactly how many miles we were going to have to walk to get the lodge, but it didn’t appear to be too far on the map. Boy, were we wrong! Apparently, using fingers to measure distance on a map, is not all that accurate. After several miles, we began looking for landmarks to try and gauge how close we were to the lodge. By the looks of it, we weren’t even halfway! This, of course, didn’t include the walk back. It was no use, we weren’t going to make it. No amount of will power at this point was going to get us there. It was time to give it up.

As much as I had prayed before this trip that everything would work out—that my pain wouldn’t stand in the way of our enjoyment, that my family and I would all get to fully enjoy all that Zion had to offer—it seemed we kept coming up short. Things were not working out—the shuttle passes, the hikes. It seemed it was time to readjust our expectations, and change direction. At the end of that day, we had hiked a grueling eleven miles together. This may not sound like a lot to some people, but to a girl with Fibromyalgia, and other pain disorders, I might as well have been running a marathon without having trained for it. At this point, we determined that if we could not secure shuttle passes for the following day, we were going to have to leave Zion. We were told by the park people, that we would need to create an online account, and sign-on at exactly 5:00 p.m., to have any hope of getting passes. It was first come first serve. Well, it worked! We prayed, and God in His good mercy, provided four shuttle passes for us for the next day. It was nuts! Within seconds, all couple thousand available passes were gone!

The next day, we hopped on the shuttle, and made it all the way to the Zion Lodge. After one short, easy hike to the lower and middle “Emerald Pools,” I let my family go on to the upper pool without me. No one wanted to see a repeat of the day before. So, I wasn’t going to push it. I parked myself down on a shady rock, and put my feet up on a broken log. Then, came the flood of emotion. I let tears of grief begin to flow from my eyes. I was grieving not being able to walk on with my family to see what the upper pool. My family would experience something together that I couldn’t, and it hurt. It wasn’t just the loss of the upper pool I was grieving, though. It was all that this hike represented—the many losses I’d experienced due to chronic pain over the last seventeen years combined. The last two years, in particular, had been especially difficult for me. I had lost my 17-year career in teaching. The pain had forced me to resign from my position. I had lost many of my physical capabilities. I was no longer able to do many of the things that most people take for granted day-in and day-out. I had lost out on many different life experiences because of pain. I was grieving the loss of so many of the things I had once found joy, excitement, and fulfillment in. They had all been taken from me. It was hard to understand, and even more difficult to be okay with.

My family came back down from the hike, and we made our way back to the lodge where they could drop me off before heading out on another hike. There, I found myself a comfortable rocking chair in the shade beside the lawn. A quiet place to rest, with a book in one hand, and my journal and pen in the other. Just me, the Lord, the sunshine, and blue skies overhead. First, I read my book for a little bit. Next, I stopped to think about all that had transpired over the last couple of days. What was God trying to teach me in all of this? I was starting to prayerfully process all that I had been experiencing through journaling, when I heard His voice: “The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing . . .” (Psalm 23:1). This was the key to unlocking what God was trying to teach me in all of this. My kids and I had just finished a study together of Psalm 23 before spring break. “He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet water, He refreshes my soul . . . Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever” (Psalm 23:2,6).

The lesson: I could keep chasing after all the things that I thought would bring me fulfillment, peace, joy, meaning, and wholeness; or I could discover that all that I desire can only be found in Jesus.

The Lord is my Shepherd, and I lack nothing. He alone fills every need, hope, and longing of my soul. He is the One Thing that is needed, and as it turns out, He alone is enough. Not the beauty of Zion He created by His own two hands; not all the things this world has to offer; not even the family God has blessed me with could ever compare. I knew then, that I needed to repent for thinking I could find fulfillment in something other than Him.

Has your FOMO made your angry or bitter? Are you grieving your losses like I was, rather than counting your blessings? Maybe, your FOMO has really all been a lie. A deception of the enemy to keep you from being able to see all that you already have in-hand. After all, what is there to fear missing out on, when everything you need and all that your heart desires, the LORD himself already is, and will provide? So, rather than looking at what we perceive we are missing out on, maybe we ought to look to God for what He is blessing us with in its stead. For me, I’ve discovered that the physical pain I have had to endure has paved a pathway by which I can draw closer to the Lord. The Lord has given me writing, as a ministry, through which I can bless others. He’s given me time to meditate on His Word, and to dwell in His presence. He’s given me discernment and wisdom to know His heart. There is peace, joy, and fulfillment in that for me. As the saying goes, “where one door closes, somewhere God opens a window.” Keep looking up to the Lord, my friend. Spend time in His Word and in prayer—and soon, you will begin to see all that He has been wanting to bless you with. Fear is a liar! In Christ, you lack nothing.

Heavenly Father, when I become overwhelmed by my pain, and blinded by my perceived lack, help me to see you more clearly. Help me to remember to go to you to find my wholeness and fulfillment in all that you are—the Great I AM! You have promised me, that in you, I lack nothing. Father, I know that is true. Help me to live like I believe it. You, who did not spare your own Son, but gave Him up for all of us, will you not gladly and graciously give me all things? Help me to not lose sight of your goodness and mercy when I am going through hard times, but to better discern your perfect love that is being poured out for me right before my eyes. In Jesus’s name, I pray, Amen.