There are seasons when growth feels inspiring. And there are seasons when growth feels like standing in a doorway that takes far longer to cross than anyone tells you.
I think I am living in one of those doorways…
For a long time I believed that strength meant carrying more—anticipating every need, preventing every problem, making sure nothing important was overlooked. It was a way of loving.
It was also a way of surviving.
Life had taught me that mistakes could be costly. That trust could be fragile. So I became exceptionally attentive—the kind of attentive that notices what others miss, senses what others overlook, and quietly prepares long before anyone else realizes preparation is needed.
That attentiveness has become one of my deepest gifts.
It has also become one of my deepest temptations.
Somewhere along the way, loving well became tangled together with carrying more. I slowly began believing that if I could prepare enough, anticipate enough, or hold enough, perhaps I could protect what mattered most.
It was never a conscious decision. It simply became the way I moved through the world.
Lately, though, I have begun to notice another invitation.
Not an invitation to become less attentive.
An invitation to trust more deeply.
Recently I have found myself in places where there is no amount of preparation that can eliminate uncertainty. Every day invites me into conversations I cannot script, relationships I cannot control, and outcomes I cannot guarantee. For a while I assumed the answer was to prepare more. Then I assumed the answer was to work harder.
Now I wonder if the invitation has been to trust that Love has already gone ahead of me.
That is a quiet but profound difference.
Capability asks, What else should I prepare for?
Presence asks, Where is Love inviting me now?
Capability scans the horizon for every possible storm.
Presence begins by noticing where Love is already present.
Capability believes peace comes from anticipating every future possibility.
Presence trusts that this moment is already being held.
That shift is not happening all at once. Some days my old instincts still arrive first. My mind races ahead. My body braces before there is anything to brace for. I still find myself carrying tomorrow before today has fully arrived.
But a quieter voice is beginning to ask different questions:
What if my preparation is not a plan, but the person I have become?
What if my attentiveness is a gift to be offered rather than a burden to be carried?
What if Love has already prepared something for this moment before I arrived?
Those questions have quietly brought me back to words that first shaped my sense of calling years ago:
To be a host at the table of the Lord.
For a long time I heard the word host most clearly. I thought my responsibility was to make sure everything was ready—to anticipate every need, create safety, and somehow make certain that everyone who came to the table found exactly what they needed.
Now I am beginning to hear the rest of the invitation.
It is the table of the Lord.
And that doesn’t lessen my calling.
It clarifies it.
I still host.
I notice who is hesitant to come near. I help pull out a chair. I pay attention to who has become quiet. I make room for tears. I reassure people there is enough.
I trust there is something at this table for each person, even when neither of us yet knows exactly what that will be.
That is my calling.
What is changing is what I believe is mine to provide.
The feast is not mine to prepare.
The transformation is not mine to produce.
The table is not mine to own.
My calling is to be a faithful host at the table of the Lord, trusting that Love has already prepared what each person most needs—including me.
That is the threshold I am walking.
Not away from attentiveness. But away from anxiety.
Not away from responsibility. But away from ownership.
Not away from hospitality. But into a deeper trust in the One whose table it has always been.
Some days I still feel the familiar pull to carry more than is mine. Some days I still forget that the table is already here.
But I am learning to trust it.
I am learning to trust that there is enough.
enough grace.
enough wisdom.
enough presence.
enough love.
Not only for those I have been called to welcome…
But for me, too.
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