The unsure sweat dampening the invite your tight fist is attached to in your pocket, the quick eye peg for the exits, the small, slight, "Thank you" slipping out of your lips as you're seated.
Yeah, that's all normal.
Or at least for me.
It took me awhile to get seated, too.
But I knew I couldn't really know Him until I sat at His table.
Reading, guessing, judging, going off word of mouth, it only went so far, really.
It was only when I was seated that the goodness of who He is fell in dishes and pots and plates.
It was only when I was seated that the strength of His presence wrapped itself around centrepieces and lit candles.
It was only when He raised His glass, His sacrifice, did I see it.
He looked over, found my eyes and paused.
"This is for you."
And He drank of that cup that took Him to the cross.
My fist released, my eyes locked and I couldn't say a word.
I couldn't escape the kindness there, the love that was carried in His gaze.
I couldn't even blink.
I have sat there ever since, calling dibs on that chair for eternity.
I want seconds, thirds, ninths, thousandths at His table.
I want the water He gives, the water I will never thirst for.
I want to note well what is before me.
And I say all of that because people tell me they aren't sure about all this God stuff.
I dunno, man. I hear you, I feel you, but I can't experience it for you.
take a seat and see for yourself.