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Hello, my fear of missing out (FOMO) friends! We say yes to absolutely everything—everything we can and cannot possibly do. We suffer from the complete inability to say “no”—to every request, every opportunity, every social gathering. In short, we live an exhausting existence. The “fear of missing out” is getting worse. Thanks to our social media-interconnectedness, there are countless more activities we never knew we might be missing.
But I am realizing FOMO is merely a symptom. At its root, FOMO is a sign we have already missed out on something much more important than Friday night’s festivities. And it has a lot more to do with identity than we as Christians would like to admit.
We love Jesus most days, we even do a lot of good work for Him. But we are not secure in our deepest purpose, so we frantically try to make ourselves valuable and unforgotten—to our work, to our friends and to everyone else whose affirmation we seek.
It was a time when I was in desperate need of reclaiming my life on many levels. To do this, I had to insert some brick-wall boundaries into my day (or more accurately, into my night—because, let us be honest, without a good night’s sleep, I sin a lot more, pray a lot less, have less patience, and overall I am just not a good person).
I had to practice saying “no” to nearly every invitation that required breaking my self-imposed, twenty-four year-old “bedtime.” Not kidding. I even rehearsed on my roommate, over and over: “Thank you, I can’t. I’m going to bed.”
Why is that so hard? (Besides the fact that we do not want to feel lame?)
As millennials, we just do not say “no” that often. We do not like turning people down, we flee directness, we hate finality, so we do not commit. We say, “maybe,” just in case something better comes along. Or we say, “Sure,” and then wonder why we have reputations for not following through.
For me (as much as my pride hates to admit it), when I have the hardest time saying “no,” it is because I want to be liked by those who would recognize my “yes.” I look to them—and their perception of me—for my validation and identity. yes, I know God loves me and that all my worth comes from Him, but in the moment, I would rather feel important.
We live in a world that tells us to create our own identity (which is completely exhausting, by the way), instead of receiving it as gift from the Father.
What is worse is that we buy into it. Even as Christians (we are not unscathed by the culture), we believe this message and so we float aimlessly through our week, “tossed about by the waves” as Saint Paul writes, saying “yes” to every opportunity for fear of missing out on something that could have brought meaning to our lives or at least could have been Instagram-worthy.
We like to keep ourselves busy—really busy—trying mercilessly to avoid that moment of silence in our day that threatens to leave us alone with ourselves and uncover our deepest insecurities. And in those moments where we do find ourselves alone, we make forceful attempts to keep the noise going—the radio is on, the text messages are chiming at our fingertips, the newsfeed is scrolling … anything we can do to keep us from acknowledging the loneliness that exists deep within our hearts.
It is a purposeful loneliness. Why? Because, as another missionary told me on my first day in FOCUS, “Adam had to be alone in the garden to know that he was made for love.” Loneliness points us toward dependency. (Do you not hate that sometimes?!) It is true. Like an infant at baptism, even before we are at all capable of loving back, we find ourselves completely dependent, sustained and identified by the Father’s love. Without this, we have nothing. With it, we have it all.
We have our purpose in life and have the freedom to say “no” to anything that does not necessarily point us toward that purpose. Without it, all we have is the infinite appetite for distraction. In distraction, we will never be at rest—at leisure—in our souls, and without leisure, we can never know God: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
I have heard before that the psalmist here is not offering an arbitrary suggestion, such as “wear green, and know that I am God.” Instead, it is a conditional. In other words, if you be still, then (and only then) will you know that I am God…That I am your Father and you are a beloved son or daughter.
To the extent that we allow this stillness of soul, we begin to know who we are.
Here is what I am trying to remember: The beauty of saying “no” is that it reflects freedom and freedom reflects a heart at rest. We rest in the truth that God is our Father, and our identity comes from Him—not from the ones we hung out with last night.
We have the freedom to graciously decline because we are not slaves, even to our honorable job titles or fun, social circles. We do not have to be “tossed about” by every passing invitation or the fear of missing out because we know who we are and what our purpose is. We can rest in a disposition of soul that knows the art of living and the art of loving. We do not have to watch ourselves live anymore—we can simply live.
Katie O'Donnell grew up in Raleigh, North Carolina, and although she has lived hundreds of miles away for almost a decade, she still calls Sweet Carolina home. Her favorite season is football, and having served for four years as a FOCUS missionary in SEC Country, the Auburn Tigers won her heart. A ballerina since age four, O’Donnell currently trains under The Colorado Ballet for fun. She is the only person in the state of Colorado who does not ski. She dreams of being a career student where she could continue studies in music, literature, art, and history. She graduated from Hillsdale College with an English degree and recommends that, and Jesus, to everyone. Reprinted with permission from FOCUS Blog (www.focus.org/blog).
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