They said I was reaching for too much.
But they didn’t see the blueprint in my belly.
Didn’t hear the whisper that said,
“Prepare the table, even if they laugh at the plates.”
I set it anyway.
With chipped china and borrowed linen.
With a plastic fork and a diamond napkin ring.
Because I knew—
He doesn’t need perfect to pour.
They thought I was delusional.
But I was just discerning.
I saw the overflow before the pitcher tilted.
I heard the “yes” before the door creaked open.
I danced in the hallway like it was the ballroom.
Because I knew—
The invitation was already signed.
So now when they ask,
“How did you know?”
I smile and say,
“I didn’t. I just believed anyway.”
And when the tables turn—
Don’t scramble for a seat.
Don’t beg for a bite.
Just know your place.
Because the table was never empty.
It was just waiting for the right name card.
When the Tables Turn, Know Your Place
