Sabbath Devotional :: On FOMB, Open Doors, and Fleshy Tables

You’ve probably heard of (and experienced) FOMO–Fear of Missing Out. Sometimes I suffer from FOMO, but more often these days I experience FOMB–Fear of Missing the Boat. It may be a mid-life crisis symptom, but like a PMS emotional meltdown, I think the feelings are still real!

Maybe you can relate? I worry that when I get to the end of my life I’ll realize I was chasing the wrong unicorns, that I really had no idea what life was all about, that I missed all the best opportunities to become my best self and do good things in the world. So I overthink, overdo, overextend, and end up overtired, still stuck in FOMB. God — of course — has a different plan.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. (Psalm 23:5-6)

In December 2020, we left Texas and moved to the Salt Lake Valley, just miles from where I spent most of my childhood. I never thought we’d move to Utah, since my husband always said he didn’t want to live in such a place with “too many Mormons.” Wanting to see the world and get out of Utah, I had absolutely no problem with that. But 20 years later, when the pandemic came and threw everything up in the air, one of the things that came floating down was a new job opportunity in Utah.

I was terrified to move to Utah. My faith had been floundering in recent years, and I worried that living among all those members would drive me away from my faith –- that I’d get caught up in the culture and become disenchanted or rebellious. But I told God of my fears, felt a glimmer of peace, and a nudge (maybe a kick) to walk through the door. So we did it. We came to “Zion” with fear and trembling.

Come, behold the works of the Lord . . . Be still, and know that I am God . . . (Psalm 46:8,10)

Fast forward two years, and I find myself in awe at the doors that have opened for me and my family here, and I was absolutely wrong about what living in Utah could do for my faith. With stalwart MWEG women like Kristie Keele Hinton and Melarie Sandberg Wheat by my side to help me feel grounded, I’ve spent the last year or so with a motley crew of passionate friends of all faiths (and many of no faith) building a community focused on saving lives and healing hearts among our friends who live on the street.

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. (Rev. 3:20)

This winter we’ve spent twenty-nine grueling and soul-filling overnights bringing dozens of our unsheltered relatives in from the cold. We’ve picked them up from the street, greeted them by name, fed them, clothed them, given them a place to rest, showed them movies all night, listened to them, and dressed their wounds of all types. The wintertime blues have been virtually non-existent as we’ve banded together in this miraculous work.

I’ve learned from a couple Native American men with their own ministries how to see my new friends from the street as my brothers and sisters. I’ve been amazed to see the elderly caretaker and young female pastor of the First United Methodist Church in Salt Lake City put their faith into action by opening the doors of their beloved, historic 153-year-old sanctuary, trusting our band of crazy advocates to help make the church motto they prayed for come to life: “Turning closed doors into open tables –- all means all.”

That ye may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom. (Luke 22:30)

I have watched Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s words come to life in technicolor before my eyes: Loaves and Fishes, the Parable of the Laborers, the Rich Young Man, the Woman Taken in Adultery, the Parable of the Talents, the Good Samaritan, and on and on. The complexities of homelessness and how to end it are devastating and confusing. But God’s love for his children is not, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to feel that love with my friends and relatives in Salt Lake City this winter.

Do we begin again to commend ourselves? Ye are our epistle written in our hearts . . . written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart. (2 Corinthians 3:1-3)

One morning after spending the whole night at the Methodist Church watching movies and fighting metaphorical fires, I filled my van with my unsheltered relatives, including one of my sisters Amanda and George, a neurodivergent young man the same age as my son.

As I drove them to a couple of the city’s daytime warming shelters, Amanda did her makeup and talked about her beloved adult children, while George fiddled with all the car buttons and played DJ. After a few upbeat songs, Amanda asked George to play her favorite song: “Save Me” by Jelly Roll. She sang along with passion to this tragic song as we drove through the freshly plowed streets with the morning sun promising a brighter day for all of us.

As my sister belted out those bitter and humble words, I mourned with her and said a silent prayer of gratitude, thanking my Heavenly Father for helping me see that neither Amanda nor I are lost causes. For knowing just what I needed by bringing me to the Salt Lake Valley. This was the unlikely place where my heart that seemed to be turning to stone could come to the table spread for me by the Savior and this community of godly folk, helping me find again the “fleshy tables of the heart.”

And such trust have we through Christ to God-ward . . . Who also hath made us able ministers of the new testament; not of the letter, but of the spirit: for the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life. (2 Corinthians 3:4,6)

I’m a slow learner, but every day I feel myself getting a little closer to letting go of my FOMB, trusting that He will lead me through his Spirit right to the places and people I need to help me learn how to trust and love like him.

Jelly Roll – Save Me (New Unreleased Video)

Songwriters: Jason Deford, David Ray Stevens

Somebody save me, me from myself

I’ve spent so long living in Hell

They say my lifestyle is bad for my health

It’s the only thing that seems to help

All of this drinkin’ and smokin’ is hopeless

But feel like it’s all that I need

Somethin’ inside of me’s broken

I hold on to anything that sets me free

I’m a lost cause

Baby, don’t waste your time on me

I’m so damaged beyond repair

Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

What if the night sky was missin’ the moon?

There were no shootin’ stars to use wishin’ on you

And all of my sorrows, I’d just wash them down

It’s the only peace, I’ve ever found