Three days before I graduated university I accepted a job 300 kilometres from home in a place I had never been to, where I knew no one.

Without knowing anything about much at all, I went to live amongst the young people of the Eurobodalla, on the NSW south coast. There are six people aged 14-29 at my church and, as far as I know, no more than a dozen in the entire shire; less than 10 Christian students at high schools in the shire. 

The young adults of the area are essentially an un-churched people, some with questions, some with distorted mis-informed views of the Gospel, but all equally in need of something they have next to zero chance of hearing from someone their own age in their own area.

When I talk to friends back in Sydney, a common theme blocking their leaving their current church, Sydney or Australia to share the Gospel is FOMO—the Fear Of Missing Out. They may not use the word, but its presence is there, lurking at their heart strings. What about my friends here? What about my family? How will I meet my future spouse? Will I have friends at church? Will I still get invited to parties, to weddings?

While these are all genuine concerns, often connected to good things, my experience suggests we’ve got FOMO all wrong.

We have FOMO for the wrong things—we fear the wrong things—because the desires of our hearts are disordered, our vision of heavenly reality skewed by our earthly eyes.

So what is true FOMO?

Stepping out, into an unknown place amongst unknown people, was one of the most overwhelming, daunting and scary things I’ve ever done. All the above questions felt real and big. Yet, with 12 months of hindsight, I see nothing but God’s providing hand in countless ways.

I will share just a few.

Within months of moving down, a local 22-year-old Ana, without knowing I was a Christian, said to me “I’ve always had so many questions about Christianity, but there’s never anyone my age to ask about it”. In that moment, I couldn’t help but praise the God who orchestrated innumerable things to make that comment to me possible at that time. A few weeks later we started reading the Bible before work at our kitchen table.
It was that kitchen table, too, that shows God’s provision. In the middle of a housing crisis, moving to the Local Government Area with the highest rate of empty houses in NSW, with no rental history, I genuinely thought I may end up living in a tent. Yet God provided a wonderful house, now dubbed the Christian Party House, as a place to bless us and bless those around us through us. He has provided friends, furniture, microwaves, housemates, warm meals and wise counsel.

In short, prayers seem more powerful down on the south coast. God seems to provide, possibly because my need is so glaringly obvious, or my weakness and helplessness so great.

But isn’t that what we want?

When Paul writes in 2 Corinthians “But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me,” was he not speaking about the reality of coming to the end of ourselves, and complete reliance upon God?

I can’t help but wonder if the FOMO we have in our comfortable social circles and lives blocks us from experiencing a renewed wonder at God’s glory, grace and provision—from coming to the end of ourselves, and seeing God’s power made perfect in our weakness. It’s true from my experience.

I’ve learnt the best place to be, in the whole wide world, is exactly where God wants me to be. Where His blessing flows down onto me, and through me onto the world. 

As Christians, shouldn’t we have FOMO about that? Of missing out on experiencing the glory and joy that comes with complete and utter reliance on God?

But what about my friends back home?

I do get FOMO when I hear about my friends back in Sydney, when they post photos of fun gatherings, weddings, parties and church services. 

Yet, when I walk into an evangelical church on the south coast, the spiritual reality is everyone I see is a brother and sister in Christ, united through Jesus. These strangers are brothers and sisters—my earthly eyes just can’t see it properly. I’ve spent 12 months feebly trying to live out the joyful spiritual reality of being family with these would-be strangers.

On reflection, this truth rings truer than ever. As I sit around the table at Bible study sharing a meal, I am thankful for the family I have here.

I get FOMO from my friends, but I also get FOMO for them. FOMO for the way they could see God move so powerfully in their lives.

Does the Gospel not call us to have a FOMO heart for the lost? To live in fear that others will not hear the Gospel and freely repent? I can’t help but wonder how many other Ana’s are out there, with a lifetime’s worth of questions about the Gospel, and no one to ask them to.

I fear, globally, there could be hundreds of thousands. That’s FOMO.