The past week, I was wound up tighter than a rubber band motor on a kid’s makeshift toy car. We were getting ready to head north for a bit, and my brain was doing that special dance it does when I’m trying to juggle packing, family logistics, and car repairs, all while attempting to keep my Jesus-like demeanor intact (key word: attempting).

I’m currently writing this while looking out across the cornfields in my in-laws’ backyard, trying to prepare my heart for a week of church camp, family, Jesus time, the whole nine yards. But let me tell you why I was so twisted up: my car was in the shop getting a new rear-end, and let’s just say I’m still not used to how slow “Southern time” moves.

The car was supposed to be done on Monday. Monday turned into Thursday. Thursday turned into Thursday night. Thursday night turned into Friday morning. And finally, Friday morning turned into “We’ll call you when it’s ready”, which is code for: Don’t hold your breath, Yankee boy. We didn’t get the car until two and a half days after we were supposed to be on the road.

At the time, I was not exactly radiating gratitude. I may have muttered something along the lines of, “Lord, I love You, but these delays are about to test every fruit of the Spirit I’ve got left.”

But here’s the kicker: the day we were supposed to leave, the route I usually take north had a 14+ car pile-up on it. If we had left on time, we’d have been sitting in standstill traffic for hours at best. At worst, we might have been right in the middle of that pile-up. And I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this to you, I’d be on a different kind of journey altogether.

It hit me hard. Maybe, just maybe, what felt like terrible timing was actually God’s perfect timing. That delay wasn’t punishment, it was protection.

And that’s when I started thinking about hospitality.

Hospitality isn’t always warm bread and a smile at the door. Sometimes, hospitality looks like “No.” Sometimes, it looks like the cold shoulder in the grocery store, or not being invited to that dinner party we were sure we should’ve been at. And let’s be real, when that happens, we get offended faster than a cat getting dunked in a bathtub.

We start thinking:

Why didn’t they invite me?

Why didn’t they say hello?

Why do they have a closer relationship with them and not me?

But here’s the hard truth: not all hospitality is good for us. And sometimes, the lack of hospitality is God’s way of protecting us from something that would’ve blown up in our faces.

Take Saul in 1 Samuel 28. This guy went shopping for the hospitality he wanted, not the hospitality he needed, and it cost him everything.

Picture this: Saul was desperate. God had gone silent on him… no dreams, no Urim, no prophets (1 Samuel 28:6). Did Saul fall on his knees and repent? Nope. He decided to hit up a medium at Endor. Let’s pause and appreciate the irony: Saul himself had outlawed witchcraft in Israel, yet here he was knocking on the very door he’d nailed shut.

Saul demanded hospitality from a source that should have slammed the door in his face. But the medium caved (probably scared for her life), and what happened?

Spiritual Fallout: God’s silence wasn’t because He’d forgotten Saul. It was because Saul’s heart had turned so far from Him. Going to a medium was the final nail in the coffin, remember (Leviticus 19:31).

Prophecy of Doom: Through Samuel’s spirit (or vision), Saul was told, “God has turned against you. The kingdom is gone. And by the way, you and your sons are going to die tomorrow”.

Psychological Collapse: Saul fell “full length on the ground, filled with fear”. This was a man who had run out of every option, and he knew it.

Immediate Consequences: The next day, he lost the battle, his sons (including Jonathan) were killed, and Saul fell on his own sword.

Saul got the hospitality he thought he wanted, and it destroyed him.

Now, flip the page to 1 Samuel 29. Here we have David, who’s been playing the role of double agent, living among the Philistines but still loyal to Israel. He’s marching out with King Achish to go fight against Israel, which is basically the worst RSVP a future king could give.

But the Philistine commanders looked at David and said, “Nope. We don’t trust that guy.” They sent him packing back to Ziklag.

Now, imagine David’s feelings in that moment. He’s probably thinking, “What? You don’t want me? I’ve been loyal! I’m the guy who took down Goliath, for crying out loud!”

But that rejection, what felt like an insult, was God’s mercy in disguise…. here’s why.

David Avoided Fighting His Own People. If he had gone to battle, he would have been swinging a sword at Israelites, maybe even Saul and Jonathan. That would’ve wrecked his reputation and his path to the throne.

He Saved His Own People. While David was gone, the Amalekites raided Ziklag and took everyone captive. If David hadn’t been sent back, he would’ve been too late to rescue his wives, kids, and followers.

His Anointing Stayed Intact. David’s rejection wasn’t a setback; it was God preserving the calling on his life.

This all got me thinking, maybe the times I feel left out, ignored, or uninvited are not because I’m unloved, but because God is saying:

“Son, that’s not for you. You don’t want that hospitality. Trust Me.”

How many times have I thrown a pity party because someone didn’t roll out the red carpet for me? And yet, when I look back, I can see that God’s “closed doors” saved me from heartbreak, toxic relationships, or battles I had no business fighting.

It’s like Proverbs 19:21 says:

“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”

Sometimes, the most loving hospitality God gives us is protection, even when it feels like rejection.

I tell my kids all the time, “We don’t invite ourselves over to people’s houses.” Why? Because forced hospitality always spoils. It’s like milk left out on a summer porch, what started as a good idea will stink up the whole place if you force it.

Saul forced hospitality from the medium, and the result was death and despair. David accepted rejection, and it led to life, victory, and a throne.

The difference? One man tried to control the narrative. The other man trusted God’s timing, even when it didn’t make sense.

So, what about us? What do we do when we feel left out, uninvited, or overlooked?

Don’t assume the worst. Maybe their “no” is God’s “yes” to something better.

Trust God’s timing. That delay, that rejection, that closed door, it might be the very thing keeping you safe.

Keep showing hospitality yourself. Jesus reminds us in Luke 14:12-14 that true hospitality isn’t about who can pay us back. It’s about welcoming those who can’t. So instead of sulking over who didn’t invite us, let’s be the ones inviting, welcoming, and loving.

Hospitality, at its core, isn’t about social events or invitations. It’s about the heart of God.

Think about it: Jesus is the ultimate host. He prepared a table for us, even when we were unworthy guests. He welcomed us into the family of God, not because we earned it, but because His grace is radical, relentless, and unstoppable (Romans 5:8).

And yet, even Jesus experienced rejection. John 1:11 says, “He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.” But that rejection was the doorway to the greatest act of love in history, the cross.

So, here’s my challenge to you (and to myself, because Lord knows I need this reminder):

When the invitations don’t come, when the doors close, when the “hospitality” we wanted doesn’t show up, don’t get bitter. DO BETTER.

Trust that God sees the big picture. Trust that His “no” is just as loving as His “yes.” And trust that, like David, you’re being positioned for something far greater than you can see right now.

And who knows? Maybe the very “no” you’re grumbling about today is the reason you’ll be alive and thriving tomorrow.

Maybe what hurts the most about not being shown hospitality is that it makes us feel unseen, like we don’t matter. But let me tell you something hard and holy: your worth has never been defined by who invites you to their table. It’s defined by the One who invited you to His cross.

If you never get another dinner invite, if people never open the door for you or call you “their people,” you are still chosen, still seen, still loved. Isaiah 49:16 says, “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” Think about that, God Himself has carved your name where He can’t forget it. No party, no social circle, no open door can add to or take away from that.

The hospitality of heaven, the welcome of Jesus, doesn’t always look like the welcome we want here on earth. Sometimes it looks like rejection that keeps us safe, or delays that save our lives. Sometimes it feels like silence, but in that silence, God is doing the loudest work of all, protecting, pruning, and preparing you for what’s next.

So here’s my charge: stop pouting at closed doors and start trusting the God who knows which ones need to stay shut. And while you’re at it, be the kind of person who opens your own doors wide, because someone else might be praying for the very hospitality you’re meant to give.

You don’t need every table. You just need His table. You don’t need every invitation. You just need His “come and see.” And when you learn to trust that, you’ll realize that sometimes the hospitality you wanted would’ve wrecked you, but the hospitality you needed is saving you, right now.

Stay Salty