I have been thinking a lot about prayers lately.

Not the prayers we pray once and forget about. The ones we prayed so many times that we started to believe we knew what the answer would look like.

I prayed for the table.

I prayed for community. I prayed for a life built around food, flowers, conversation, hospitality, and bringing people together. I prayed to create spaces where people could come in tired and leave a little lighter. I prayed to build something that felt like home.

And then I got a job in a high-end liquor store.

And I had to laugh. Because if you had asked me a few years ago whether I saw myself working in retail, I would have probably said absolutely not.

It wasn’t the vision. It wasn’t the dream. It wasn’t what I thought the answer looked like. But maybe that’s the point.

The Prayer Didn’t Change. The Answer Did.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the difference between an answered prayer and an answered prayer that doesn’t look like what you imagined. We are so quick to say, “God answered my prayer,” when the answer arrives beautifully packaged.

The new house.

The new business.

The new title.

The big opportunity.

The full room.

The sold-out event.

We don’t always recognize the answer when it arrives looking ordinary.

When it looks like a job. When it looks like learning something from scratch. When it looks like being a beginner again. When it looks like standing in a place you never imagined you’d be and realizing there is something here you’re supposed to learn. Maybe that’s where I am right now. Maybe I didn’t get the table because I am still learning how to gather the people around it.

I Thought I Was Building the Table

For a long time, I thought the dream was the table.

The beautiful table.

The flowers.

The food.

The wine.

The candles.

The conversation.

The women sitting around it, laughing until somebody says, “Okay, wait. I have to tell y’all what happened.” But the more I think about it, the more I realize the table was never really the dream. The people were. The feeling was. The belonging was. I want to create the kind of spaces where people don’t have to wonder if they belong. Where someone notices when you haven’t spoken. Where there is always room for one more. Where the meal doesn’t have to be perfect because the conversation is good. Where you can come as you are. Where you can stay a little longer. Where somebody remembers how you take your coffee.

That is the dream.

And if that is the dream, then perhaps I need to learn more about people before I build the place where I intend to gather them.

So Here I Am, In Training

My new position is teaching me things I didn’t know I needed to learn.

I’m learning wine. I’m learning food and beverage. I’m learning what people reach for when they’re celebrating. I’m learning what they bring home for dinner. I’m learning what questions they ask. I’m learning how people make decisions. I’m learning that customer service is not a skill I picked up for a job. It is a way of life for me.

I know people.

I know how to make people feel welcome. I know how to listen. I know how to remember. And now I’m learning how all of that intersects with food, beverage, and hospitality. I may have walked into retail, but I don’t think I’m becoming a retailer.

“I’m becoming a better gatherer.”

And there is a difference.

The Hostess and the Gatherer

I used to think I wanted to be the hostess. The woman who knows what wine to serve. The woman with the beautiful tablescape. The woman who knows exactly what to put on the menu. And I still want to know all of those things. But I have realized that I am much more interested in being the gatherer.

A hostess sets the table.

A gatherer notices who needs a seat.

A hostess prepares the meal.

A gatherer creates the reason to come together.

A hostess welcomes you into her home.

A gatherer makes you feel like you have a home here.

That distinction matters to me. Because Floral & Spice has never really been about throwing pretty events. It is about creating belonging through food, flowers, conversation, and gathering.

The supper club is a table.

The podcast is a table.

The Substack is a table.

The conversations are a table.

And every table is simply an invitation to come a little closer.

Watching Someone Else Build the House

There is another part of this season that I don’t want to overlook.

Watching Kia build her community house. There is something beautiful about watching someone create the kind of space you’ve been dreaming about yourself. It can be tempting to look at someone else’s progress and wonder when it’s going to be your turn. But I’m learning to look differently. Maybe sometimes God lets us stand close to someone else’s manifestation so we can learn what ours requires. I get to watch. I get to ask questions. I get to pay attention. I get to see what makes people come back. What makes them feel welcome. What makes a space feel alive. What makes a community become a community. And instead of asking, “When will I have mine?” I’m learning to ask, “What can I learn while I’m here?”

That question has changed something in me.

Maybe the Training Is Part of the Answer

This is the part I’m sitting with this week. Maybe the training isn’t a delay. Maybe it is the answer. Maybe God isn’t saying no. Maybe He’s saying, “Not yet. There’s something I need you to know first.” Maybe before I build the community house, I need to understand community. Before I lead a room, I need to learn how to serve the person standing in front of me. Before I create a hospitality brand, I need to understand what hospitality actually feels like from the other side of the counter. Before I gather hundreds, I need to learn how to care for one. And maybe that’s enough for this season.

I Am Learning to Enjoy the Becoming

I wish I could tell you I’ve mastered this. I haven’t. I still have days when I look around and think, “God, this is not what I thought we were doing.” I still have moments when I wonder if I’m behind. I still want the building. The big table. The beautiful room. The full calendar. The evidence that all of this is working. But then I remember something: I prayed for the table. And God gave me the training. So maybe I don’t need to rush through the training just because I’m excited about the table. Maybe I can learn. Maybe I can pay attention. Maybe I can laugh at myself when I fall. Maybe I can get back up. Maybe I can enjoy being 41 and still figuring it out.

Still dreaming.

Still trying things.

Still becoming.

Still choosing joy.

Because the woman who eventually sits at the head of that table doesn’t need to be perfect. She needs to know how to make people feel at home. And maybe that’s what God is teaching me now. Not simply how to set the table. But how to gather the people around it. So, yes. I prayed for the table. But God gave me the training.

And for the first time, I’m starting to believe that the training isn’t keeping me from the table.

It’s preparing me for it.