Missing The Moment I Came For

You ever feel like you’re behind?

Like you’re supposed to be further along by now—doing more, earning more, achieving more?

That’s FOMO.
Not the concert kind.
The “I should be somewhere else in life” kind.

It’s the pressure to chase, to achieve—especially when the people around you seem to be winning while you’re just… floating.

I felt it last week (again) in the Florida Keys.

It was lobster season. Two days only. Six per person, per day. I had been waiting for it. So when we dropped anchor last Wednesday, I was overboard like a kid at summer camp.

My 8-year-old son Eli was with me. Flippers on his feet. Goggles on his head. Grinning from ear to ear. He’d been dreaming about this.

And I was all in… until he wouldn’t leave my side. Literally.

A dolphin fin cut the surface by us. My adult brain thought, “Cool.”
His eight-year-old brain? “Shark!”

Fear kicked in. He clung to me. And just like that, I wasn’t on my own hunting lobsters anymore—I was going at the speed of a scared little boy.

And the whisper started:
“You’re missing it. Everyone else is catching. You’re falling behind.”

It’s wild how fast frustration shows up. Even in something beautiful.

But then I looked at Eli.
Wide eyes. Looking not at the ocean—but at me.
He wasn’t asking for help with the water.
He was asking for presence.

And I realized: My place that day wasn’t to hunt. It was to hold.

It wasn’t about hitting my limit.
It was about giving my son something he’d remember.
Something I’d remember.

That’s when Jesus’ words came flooding back:

“Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.” — Matthew 16:25

I could’ve spent that day chasing.
But I would’ve missed the real catch:
The stillness. The intimacy. The joy of letting go.

That’s the Kingdom Jesus revealed.
It doesn’t run on pressure, fear, hustle, or quotas.
It runs on love. On presence. On giving yourself away.

Paul said Jesus didn’t cling to His rights, but emptied Himself instead (Phil 2)
He didn’t grab. He gave.
And in that loss, He gained.

Turns out losing is winning.
That’s how the Kingdom works.
Which means that’s how life actually works.

We didn’t hit our lobster count.
But we swam. We laughed. We explored.
And when I asked Eli later what his favorite part was, he said:

“When I stayed in the water with you.”

He wasn’t holding me back.
He was holding me still.
So I could see.
So I could live.

And maybe that’s the moment you’re in, too.

Maybe you feel behind.
Like you're not catching enough—whatever “lobster” looks like in your world.
Like the people around you are crushing it, and you're just trying to stay afloat.

But what if that’s not an obstacle to overcome?
What if that’s an opportunity to see?