I’ll never forget the night we rolled out a brand-new menu at one of the restaurants I cheffed at. Blood, sweat, and more profanity than I care to admit went into that prep. The suits from corporate showed up, pressed and polished, ready to taste and critique. The service went off without a hitch, rare enough to make me wonder if the kitchen gods had called in a favor.

At the end of the night, corporate came back, all smiles, and said, “Chef, you really nailed this one. Incredible work. You should be proud.” Now, I could have puffed my chest, lit a cigar, and basked in the praise like a king at his coronation. But here’s the truth: I didn’t plate every dish. I didn’t fire every ticket. I didn’t scrub the pans or mop the grease off the floor when things got ugly. My crew did that.

So, I looked at them and said, “Nope. We nailed this one. If I made a killer dish tonight, then we made a killer dish. If I had a win, then we had a win.” Because that’s the truth. You don’t get victories in the kitchen alone. And you don’t get victories in life alone, either.

That’s not just my philosophy, it’s kingdom truth. In the Bible, God doesn’t hand out trophies to lone rangers. He builds families, tribes, churches, and kingdoms. The wins are always meant to be shared. That’s where hospitality comes in.

If ancient Israel were a sitcom, this episode would be called “David Moves Up: From Fugitive to Kingpin.” We’ve got tribal drama, home renovations, and Philistines showing up like the annoying neighbors who never knock before barging in. But underneath all that action, you’ll find hospitality running like a thread through the story.

Picture this: The tribes finally crown David as king, he doesn’t pull a power grab. No chest-beating. No “bow down before me.” Instead, he takes on the role of a shepherd, unifying the tribes. He gives them identity. He makes space for belonging. That’s hospitality in leadership: creating a community where everyone feels like they have a seat at the table.

And here’s the kicker, David’s rise wasn’t really his win. It was Israel’s. The anointing wasn’t about David having a throne; it was about the people finally having peace and unity. His win was their win. Hospitality means turning your personal victories into shared blessings. Whether you’re leading a church, a family, or just a ragtag kitchen crew, it’s never about you. It’s about us.

David doesn’t just stop at being crowned king, he goes out and captures Jerusalem, renaming it the City of David. He could have put his feet up on the throne and claimed it as his personal prize. Instead, he transformed it into a hub where people could worship, gather, and live in community.

Jerusalem wasn’t just his fortress; it was their city. A home base for God’s people. David’s success in taking Jerusalem became everyone’s success, because it opened doors for connection, worship, and future blessing.

That’s biblical hospitality: taking the territory God gives you and turning it into a place others can thrive. Every “house” you win, be it a job, a home, or a season of peace, should be rebranded into a space that invites others in.

Enter King Hiram of Tyre, who shows up with cedar logs and skilled workers. Basically the ancient version of a neighbor bringing over a casserole, except his casserole came with a construction crew. David could have refused, insisting he had it covered. Instead, he accepted the gift.

That’s hospitality too. Because sometimes the most hospitable thing we can do is swallow our pride and say, “Yes, I need help.” By receiving Hiram’s generosity, David turned a foreign king’s contribution into a shared win for Israel. Don’t hog the glory and don’t block the blessing. When someone helps you, their fingerprints are on the victory too.

Now we get to the Ark of the Covenant. This is the symbol of God’s presence. David decides it’s time to bring it into Jerusalem. He gathers 30,000 men, because apparently this was going to be the mother of all moving parties.

But they botch it. Oxen stumble. The cart shakes. Uzzah tries to steady the Ark and gets struck down. The party stops dead. Fear takes over, and David parks the Ark at Obed-Edom’s house.

Think about this: David’s big “win” turns into a community tragedy. But even in failure, the community is involved. They learn together. They mourn together. And when Obed-Edom’s house starts overflowing with blessing, they witness together.

When David finally gets it right and brings the Ark home, he doesn’t say, “Look at me, I finally nailed it.” No, he dances himself into a frenzy and then throws a feast for the entire nation. Bread, date cakes, raisin cakes, basically ancient charcuterie boards for everyone. His win becomes their win.

Remember, hosting God’s presence isn’t a solo act. The victories and the blessings aren’t for your corner alone, they’re meant for the entire household of faith.

This is where it gets personal. Back in the kitchen, I learned that if one dishwasher didn’t show up, the whole night could collapse. If one server decided to bail mid-shift, the wheels came off. And sometimes, the person who saved your night wasn’t the star line cook, it was the prep cook who chopped onions until their eyes swelled shut.

It’s the same in the kingdom. Sometimes the person who helped you get your “win” wasn’t the one preaching the sermon, it was the old lady in the back praying you through. Sometimes it was a rebuke that corrected you. Sometimes it was even someone showing you what not to do.

No win is truly yours. It belongs to the whole community that shaped, prayed, rebuked, encouraged, and carried you along the way.

And ultimately, every win belongs to God. David said it best in Psalm 115:1: “Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name be the glory.”

This theme runs deep through Scripture:

Moses didn’t split the Red Sea alone. The people crossed together. His rod, their steps, God’s power.

Nehemiah rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem, but it was every family putting bricks on top of bricks that made it happen.

Jesus rose from the dead, the greatest victory of all, but He immediately shared that win with His disciples, breathing His Spirit on them and saying, “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you” (John 20:21). His resurrection was never a solo medal; it was an open invitation to the feast.

Even God celebrates communally. Revelation 19 calls it the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. Jesus didn’t just beat death for Himself, He threw open the doors to eternity and said, “Pull up a chair.” That’s the ultimate hospitality.

Here’s the cutting truth: if you’re clinging to your “personal victories” like they’re yours alone, you’ve missed the point of kingdom living. You’re hoarding manna, and it will rot in your hands.

But here’s the hope: when you learn to open your wins to the people around you, family, friends, coworkers, the church, you multiply the joy. Hospitality means setting a table, even if the only thing you’ve got to share is a raisin cake and a story of what God has done.

So the next time you land a new job, overcome a temptation, finish a project, or see someone meet Jesus through your testimony, don’t just say, “I did it.” Say, “We did it.” Because someone, somewhere, helped hold your arms up like Aaron and Hur did for Moses. And ultimately, God was the one who made it possible in the first place.

Celebrate like David did. Dance like no one’s watching (or better yet, dance like everyone’s watching and you don’t care that you are in your underwear). Then share the bread, the cakes, the feast. Make the personal win a community victory.

That’s biblical hospitality: turning life into a shared table where every victory, big or small, becomes a reason to party together and praise God.

So, invite the crew. Invite the church. Invite your neighbors. Because at the end of the day, heaven is one giant celebration, and every little win here on earth is just a rehearsal dinner.

At the end of the day, every win is just practice for the real feast. David’s raisin cakes were just a trailer for the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. Your promotion, your healing, your breakthrough, it’s not just your story, it’s an appetizer for the whole table of God’s people. So don’t eat alone. Don’t dance alone. Don’t worship alone. Throw the doors open, pass the bread, and let your life be a dress rehearsal for eternity. Because in the kingdom, victory isn’t mine, it’s ours. And it isn’t ours………..it’s His.

Stay Salty