For some people, once they receive a diagnosis that puts a shorter cap on their life expectancy, a sense of FOMO begins to settle in. FOMO stands for "Fear of Missing Out," and it's the sense that you aren't having the same enjoyable experiences as everyone else. The idea mostly grew out of the social media age, where you could see your friends posting pictures from a certain event that you weren't attending. Social media creates this sense of "everyone else is having a good time and I'm missing out on something special." Now, I could spend some time dissecting that delusional fear and exposing it as a manufactured problem, a product of the advertising industry and little more than peer pressure from an imaginary peer group. But that's not the post I have in mind today.

     What I'm thinking about is having a terminal diagnosis and realizing there are things I may never get to experience. Foods I've never tried, books I won't be able to read, movies that won't be released until after I die, places I've wanted to visit but won't be able to see. "I'll never get to ___________." "I'll never know what it's like to _________." "I'll never see _________." That's the kind of FOMO that sets in when the doctor tells you your clock is ticking and that there aren't many ticks left.  It's the mindset that inspires bucket lists.

     My dad had always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon. He loved nature, and he especially loved the US National Parks. For most of his life, however, we were never financially able to travel to many of those places. But after their kids were all out of the house, my parents began planning and taking some trips. The Grand Canyon was next on the agenda when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. They tried to plan a Grand Canyon trip early in his illness, but his body couldn't handle traveling. Treatment was rough. He was barely able to make the two hour drive to my wedding that year. In the last weeks of his life, I asked him if he regretted not going to the Grand Canyon sooner. He replied with a smile, "I'll fly by it on my way to heaven." There was never a hint of FOMO in his heart as he considered all the lost opportunities of his life.

     My dad's mindset left a deep impression on me. And now, as I face my own creeping FOMO, I'm doing a lot of reflecting on how a heart of faith needs to face that feeling. It is something we all need to address, not just those in my situation. Every believer who experiences FOMO needs to confront it with truth. This feeling is corruptive - it is rooted in fear and entitlement, and it produces bitterness and envy and grief. In the general sense, the corrective approach is to develop a heart of contentment, but that's outside the scope of this post.

     For the more terminal cases, there's another perspective we need to embrace. It's a perspective I gained when my family and I finally visited the Grand Canyon a few years ago. It was beautiful. It was awe-inspiring. It was... not enough. I loved the views, loved the experience. But it felt like I wanted more than the Canyon could ever give me. Because the desire to see the canyon was never about the canyon. The Psalmist wonders, "Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you" (Psalm 73:25). The Canyon is not capable of satisfying the desire we bring to it, because the root of all our desire is to be re-united with God.  That's what we desire.  That's what we're chasing, even here on Earth.

     We hunger for some experience that will satisfy. We pursue something that will give us deep joy, something that will fill our hearts. All the amazing experiences we have in life can only offer a taste, a tiny taste, of what we're craving. That's why we enjoy those things, and it's why we want to experience them. Through beauty and excitement and wonder, we connect with something our hearts are designed to enjoy on a much bigger scale. Through them, we experience some of the joy and wonder and peace that comes from God. And yet even the best, most transcendent experiences in this life will be brief and insufficient.  We are lifted up to the heavens for a moment and then must come back down to the mundane.  It does no good to keep chasing that feeling, because what we want can't be captured in this life.  All these things are crumbs on the floor outside the banquet hall.

     We are hungry people, hungry for a deep-soul satisfaction that nothing on earth can provide. Hungry for a deep-soul intimacy with God that no other relationship can offer. Hungry for a deep-soul rest that can't be experienced with a broken body in a broken world. We are, if you will let me paint a picture, hungry people standing in a lobby outside a banquet hall. We can smell the feast inside, but the doors are locked. Suddenly, we notice that as the feast was being prepared, some of the crumbs fell on the floor of the lobby where we wait. We are so hungry that we drop to our hands and knees and snatch up as many crumbs as we can find. None of them fill our bellies, but still we search. What we don't realize, perhaps, is that the banquet behind the doors has been prepared for us. We are the guests. Soon, the doors will swing open and we will feast forever.

     When I picture it that way, this problem of FOMO strikes me as being worried that when the doors open, I will regret not having picked up more crumbs. Do you think it would be possible to feel that way? I don't think so. The problem of FOMO is a "this world" problem. It's a fear that will dissolve as soon as the doors to the banquet hall are opened. I am convinced that our hearts will be so fully satisfied in the presence of Christ that there will be no thought for what earthly joys we missed on the way in. Those earthly joys were just the crumbs, just the hints of what was being prepared for us. They could never do justice to the fullness of joy we were seeking when we chased them down. Paul says "the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Romans 8:18). I think we can go even further and say that the joys of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

     Those things I always wanted and hoped to see and experience? I only wanted them because of what they point me to: the joy of family points me to my heavenly father. The grandeur of creation points me to the beauty of the new heavens and earth. Seeing my children grow in the Lord points me to the knowledge that God is at work in their lives. When I enter the banquet hall, I won't need to be shown those things in earthly hints and images, I will see and experience those joys directly in the presence of God. One of the promise of the New Covenant is that "no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the LORD,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the LORD" (Jeremiah 31:34). This finds the beginnings of fulfillment as the Holy Spirit is given to each believer through Jesus Christ; and it finds completion when we "see... face to face" and "know fully" (1 Corinthians 13:12). We won't need go-betweens to awaken joy and worship and peace in our hearts. We will have a direct experience of the reality of joy. The Grand Canyon was only a shadow of the awe I will someday feel in the presence of God.

     In the meantime, I'll still enjoy as many things in this life as I can. Perhaps I can enjoy them even more - the fear of missing out often denies us the joy that is available to us today.  Every moment of pleasure is a gift of God and is intended to be enjoyed (Ecclesiastes 3:12-13, 5:18-20). With FOMO exposed and rejected, I can stop worrying that I will reach the end of my earthly life (whether it's 2 months from now or 20 years from now) with any regret over experiences I've missed. Sure, there will still be some crumbs on the floor when I'm done, but I'll be too happy with the feast to be bothered by them.