It was early evening, somewhere in the middle of a long drive back home from Kansas.

We hadn’t planned to stop for a sit-down meal.
You know how you just want to get home?

Just saw a sign for a steakhouse, looked at each other, and nodded. We were all hungry enough that anything would’ve tasted good.

At least, that’s what I thought.

The place was simple. Dim lights. Low hum of conversation. Nothing fancy.

But when the steak came out… I remember the smell hitting first.

Then the first bite.

I actually stopped chewing for a second.

It wasn’t just good. It was the kind of good that makes you sit back, like your body needs a second to catch up to what just happened.

I laughed out loud, it was that good.

I looked across the table and said, “This might be the best steak I’ve ever had.”

And I meant it.

My daughter asked for a taste… she smiled and then laughed with childlike pleasure.

It wasn’t just me.

—

Before we left, I asked the waiter what they used on it.

He smiled, like it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked, and told me the seasoning.

Simple enough.

I remember thinking, Perfect. I can do this at home.

—

A couple weeks later, I tried.

Same cut of meat.
Same seasoning.

I looked up cooking instructions and followed them… added the magic spice

And when it was done, I sat down, took a bite…

It was good.

But it wasn’t that.

Not even close.

—

I stood there for a bit, fork in hand, trying to figure out what was missing.

Was it the grill?
The way they cooked it?
The fact that I’d been starving that day?

Or something I couldn’t quite name?

—

I’ve noticed I do this more than I realize.

Not just with food.

With worship.

There have been moments—leading or just standing in the room—where God felt… close.

Not because everything was perfect.
But because something in me was open.
Aware.
Alive.

And afterward, I catch myself trying to go back.

Same songs.
Same transitions.
Same kind of build.

Hoping if I line it all up just right… it’ll happen again.

—

But it doesn’t. It’s good but…

At least not like that.

—

I wonder if I’ve been approaching those moments the wrong way.

Like I’ve been trying to recreate something that was never meant to be repeated.

Like I’ve been treating presence as if it were a product.

—

That night at the restaurant wasn’t just about seasoning.

It was the hunger.
The timing.
The people I was with.
The fact that I wasn’t trying to control the moment—I was just in it.

—

And I wonder how often I miss that in worship.

Not because God isn’t near…
but because I’m busy trying to rebuild something He already did.

—

Lately, I’ve been coming in a little differently.

Less focused on getting it right.

More aware that He’s already here.

Less trying to lead people into something…

More willing to recognize what’s already happening.

—

I still cook steak sometimes.

It’s good.

But I don’t try to recreate that night anymore.

Some things aren’t meant to be manufactured.

They’re meant to be received.

—

And maybe worship was never about getting the recipe right…

but about recognizing Who’s already at the table.

—

See you next Friday.