If there’s one thing I’ve learned, after stumbling through it more times than I’d like to admit, it’s this: trying to force something on your timeline is a great way to faceplant into a season of frustration. I’ve done it. More than once. Honestly, I’ve probably done it enough for a small congregation. And each time, the message from the Lord has been the same: “You done yet?”

I ran from the call of God for years. Not because I didn’t believe in it, but because I didn’t want it. Eventually, I threw my hands in the air and told God, “Fine. You win. I surrender.” It was my big moment. I figured this was it. I had finally told God I was ready, so surely He must’ve been sitting up there saying, “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you, buddy. Let’s get started.” Right?

Wrong.

Instead of waiting on His timing, I sprinted ahead. I shoved my way into a ministry job that wasn’t what God had for me. I told myself it was obedience, but deep down, I knew I was just impatient. And sure enough, it was a mess. Every day felt like a spiritual arm-wrestling match, and I was losing. So, I gave up. I tucked my tail between my legs and went back to the kitchen. I figured that must’ve been what God wanted for me, right?

Wrong again.

It started off okay. Comfortable. Familiar. But before long, that kitchen turned into a pressure cooker that nearly destroyed my marriage, my mental health, and everything I’d worked for. It took me to the edge. That kind of “out of the will of God” pressure will crush even the strongest among us.

So when I heard the Lord call again, I listened. This time, I didn’t rush. It didn’t feel like the right time, especially not when I had just been offered a high-paying job as a corporate area chef. Then came the TV slots, offers from the Travel Network and Food Network. Those were big dreams, ones I’d been chasing for years. But none of it felt right. God was asking me to trust Him. So I turned it all down.

And here I am.

I’m writing. I’m traveling. I’m teaching (shameless plug, if your church needs a hospitality training or a guest preacher, let’s talk). I’m currently interviewing with two churches for pastoral roles. But more importantly? I’m doing it on God’s time. And you know what? Things are going better than they have in a long, long while.

Sure, the bills are tight. But God keeps showing up just in time. And this season of waiting has been a gift. I’ve reconnected with people from my hometown, deepened relationships at church, strengthened my marriage and my relationships with my kids, and most importantly, I’ve drawn closer to the Lord.

I tell my kids all the time: you can’t halfway do two things when you could do one thing all the way. And that’s exactly how God’s timing works. He brings you to the point where you’re fully equipped to do what He’s asked, not half-ready, not spread thin, not hustling for applause.

Because when we try to host, serve, or minister outside of His will, it’s not hospitality, it’s just theater. A show we put on to look holy while silently falling apart behind the scenes. But when we wait, when we let God prepare us fully? That’s when the real hospitality happens. That’s when we serve from a place of peace, power, and purpose.

Confession time: even in the kitchen I’ve ruined more meals by rushing them than I’d care to admit. Biscuits that needed five more minutes but came out gooey in the center. Chicken that looked golden on the outside but was still clucking on the inside. Sweet tea so rushed it could double as battery acid. I’ve tried to host, serve, or lead in a moment without being fully ready, and let me tell you, you can’t microwave God’s timing.

Hospitality, at its core, is an extension of God’s character. It’s not just putting food on a plate or opening your door. It’s about offering people the warmth of God’s presence, His timing, His peace. And if we’re being honest, a lot of us mess that up, not because we don’t care, but because we care too fast. That’s where 1 Samuel 13 comes in, and buddy, it reads like my spiritual biography.

Saul, brand-new king of Israel, is facing the fight of his life. The Philistines are pressing in like ants on dropped candy. His soldiers are slipping away like Wi-Fi in the country. And Samuel, the prophet, the one with the direct line to God, is nowhere to be seen. Samuel had told Saul to wait seven days so he could offer the sacrifices himself. That was the plan. That was God’s plan.

But on Day Seven, Saul watches the clock, the army, and the pressure, and decides, “You know what? I got this.”

And he didn’t. Not by a long shot.

Here’s where I need you to see yourself in Saul, because I sure see myself in him.

Saul meant well. He was trying to offer a sacrifice, to do something spiritual. But good intentions don’t excuse disobedience. He was trying to be hospitable to God without following God’s instructions. He was cooking the meal, but he didn’t follow the recipe.

Sound familiar?

How many times have we tried to jumpstart something for God because we thought He was late? We start a ministry without waiting on clarity. We push someone into leadership who isn’t seasoned yet. We start hosting a small group, a dinner, a gathering, trying to show people the love of God, and then get angry when it feels chaotic, under-attended, or exhausting.

We mean well, but like Saul, we sometimes confuse action with obedience.

Biblical hospitality is not fast food. It’s a slow simmer. It’s about making room, for people, yes, but also for God to move how He wants. And let me tell you, He rarely moves on our schedule. He’s the God who let Lazarus die just to raise him. The God who waited 400 years between Malachi and Matthew. The God who chose a pregnant teenager and a census road trip to bring salvation into the world.

If you’re looking for a quick fix, you’re looking in the wrong kitchen.

Saul’s mistake was impatience. But more than that, it was self-reliance. He looked at the scattering people, the rising tension, the fear bubbling up, and thought, “If I don’t do this, it won’t get done.”

That’s the lie that ruins so much good hospitality.

We throw together a plan and stamp it with God’s name like He’s our co-host. But when we rush ahead, we don’t just mess up timing, we can derail something God would have blessed if we had just waited a little longer.

The wild part? Saul finishes offering the burnt offering, and right then Samuel shows up. The timing was that close. If he had waited just a little longer, ten more minutes? Everything would’ve been so different.

But here’s the kicker: Saul’s disobedience doesn’t just cost him. It costs the nation. Samuel tells him that his kingdom will not endure and that God is already seeking someone after His own heart.

That’s heavy. And it should be.

Because our decisions, especially in hospitality and leadership, ripple. When we move ahead of God, we invite confusion instead of peace. We foster fear instead of faith. Our rush becomes everyone else’s wreckage.

In every kitchen, every ministry, every church, there’s always pressure to perform, to produce, to make it look like we know what we’re doing. But true hospitality doesn’t come from control. It comes from surrender.

The Philistines were pressing in hard on Saul, and let’s be honest, there’s always a Philistine in the room, something external that makes us feel like we have to act now. Bills. Time. Expectations. Empty seats. Tension in the marriage. Church folks who think “potluck” means “judge the host.”

But biblical hospitality doesn’t respond to pressure. It responds to presence. God’s presence.

And here’s where we mess it up: We try to serve people out of our own strength, our own logic, our own burnout. And then we wonder why nobody seems refreshed. We offer food without faith, comfort without conviction, fellowship without the fire of the Holy Spirit, and the whole thing feels more like a lukewarm buffet than a holy encounter.

The chapter ends with a haunting image: Saul’s army is standing against the Philistines, and they don’t even have weapons. Not a sword or spear among them. Their only real hope? God.

And friend, that’s the real lesson.

Hospitality isn’t powerful because of how well we prepare the table. It’s powerful because of who shows up at it. When God is the host, even our weakest offerings become holy. Even our limited resources become abundant.

But if we try to host without Him, if we take shortcuts, move in fear, or try to impress instead of obey, we end up tired, frustrated, and spiritually weaponless.

I’ve lived this. Too many times, I’ve served people before I sat with God. I’ve opened my door before I opened my heart. I’ve cooked up plans that looked great on paper, but had no power because they weren’t seasoned with prayer and patience. And I’ve had to repent, clean up the mess, and go back to the kitchen with my tail between my legs.

But every time I wait, every time I trust that God’s timing is better than mine, I see miracles.

I’ve seen meals turn into ministry. I’ve seen people walk into my kitchen and walk out having encountered the love of Jesus. Not because I rushed it. Not because I nailed the recipe. But because I let God be God, and I just got out of the way.

So here’s what I’m learning, and re-learning every time I mess it up:

Don’t serve a meal God didn’t tell you to make.

Don’t light the fire before the prophet shows up.

Don’t confuse movement with obedience.

And for the love of all things holy, don’t think your hospitality is more effective than God’s sovereignty.

If you’re in a season where you feel the pressure, where people are scattering and time feels tight, I get it. But take a deep breath. Step back. And wait.

Hospitality done in God’s time, with God’s strength, brings peace. Hospitality done in haste, without His voice, brings problems.

God doesn’t need us to rush. He needs us to trust.

So let’s set the table, but let’s do it at His pace.

Because the best meals, the best ministry, the best moments? They’re worth the wait.

Stay Salty