If I could host just one dinner—one that defied all logic, time zones, and celestial schedules—it would be for GOD. Not a prominent individual, Not a celebrity. Not a philosopher. Not even BTS. Just God. The One. The Beginning and the End. The Creator of stars, sea turtles, mangoes, kindness and love.

Now, before you raise your brows and wonder if I’ve gone off the rails, hear me out. Who wouldn’t want a front-row seat to eternity, served with a side of divine truth?

🥄 The Setup – No Candlelight, Just Soul Light

I wouldn’t go overboard with the table setting. No gold-plated cutlery or foie gras nonsense. Just a humble spread of roasted vegetables, warm bread, and probably dark chocolate gelato for dessert. Because let’s be honest, perhaps God would smile at the sweetness – and it would be our favorite. Plus, there are antioxidants. Okay, just being human here.

The real feast? That would be the conversation, the laughter, the silence, and the sacred weight of presence.

Picture this: God walks in (no thunder or trumpets, just that quiet, undeniable presence). I think I’d cry the moment I saw Him—not from pain, but from the sheer weight of grace that makes the soul tremble. If God permitted me to hug Him, I’d fall into His arms like a child who’d been lost for years in a crowded world, finally found. That kind of hug—the desperate, clinging kind that says I missed You, even though He was never far. I’d cry too much, unable to hold the flood of every prayer, every failure, every moment I thought I was alone. And if I couldn’t move, I’d bow. I’d kneel. I’d collapse under the holiness of it all, not out of fear, but out of awe. Because how do you stand in front of Love itself?

And He wouldn’t rush me. He wouldn’t ask me to explain. He’d just let me be—broken, overwhelmed, grateful. He’d hold me longer than time allows, and maybe whisper something that heals everything I never knew needed healing. In that moment, I wouldn’t feel holy—I’d feel home. The kind of home that doesn’t need walls or words. Just presence. Just peace. Just Him.

And then… I ask.

🤯 The Questions I’d Lay on the Table

Let’s be honest: I wouldn’t waste time with small talk. I’d go right in with the big, aching questions—the ones we carry in our hearts but rarely say out loud.

• Why is there war, Lord? Not just in the world, but in our homes, in our families, in our heads. Why do we keep choosing weapons over words, pride over peace? Why don’t we sit down and talk more—like this, over dinner?
• Why are some nations consumed by greed while others are quietly starving? Why is there always someone hoarding while another is begging? Why do we build taller walls when we could just build longer tables?
• Why do some people get miracles and others only get maybes? Why does healing show up for some and stay silent for others? I don’t mean to question You—I just want to understand how mercy flows and where it sometimes pauses.
• Is there really someone out there for everyone, or did the algorithm glitch? Did we miss our soulmate because we scrolled too fast? Or are some of us meant to be the love we keep looking for?
• Why does free will feel so… confusing? If we’re truly free, why do our choices so often trap us? And why does the path of goodness feel harder to walk, even when we know it leads home?
• Why do we hurt the people we love most? Is it fear? Habit? Self-sabotage? Why do we run away from the ones who see us clearly, and chase after those who never really looked?
• Do pets really go to heaven? (Because some pets knew more about loyalty than half the people we know.)
• Are You disappointed in us? In me? In how we’ve handled this precious, chaotic life?
• Why did You make the stars if we so often forget to look up? Was it for the dreamers? Or for the weary souls stumbling through dark nights, needing a reminder that even faraway light can still reach them? Were the stars always meant to be Your quiet way of saying, “I’m still here”?
• How do You hold the pain of everyone—at once? When this world weeps in so many corners, how do You stay steady? Do You gather our sorrows like rain in cupped hands, never letting even one drop go unnoticed?
• Have I disappointed You… or surprised You? Did I fall where You hoped I’d rise—or rise in places even You didn’t expect? Do You trace my life with grief, or with grace?
• Am I doing what I came here to do? In the quiet hours, I wonder—am I walking the path You dreamed for me, or just wandering? Will I ever know for sure?
• Is it okay to not always feel strong? Some days, I crumble. Some days, I doubt. Is that weakness, or the beginning of surrender? Do You still come close even when I’m curled up and silent?
• Why does faith sometimes feel like silence? I pray, I reach, I ache—and yet it’s quiet. Is silence Your answer? Or is it where You sit beside me, wordless, just waiting for me to notice You?
• Can I sit near You, quietly, even when I have no words? When I run out of prayers… when my soul is tired… can I still draw close? Will You still make room for me at Your table, even if all I do is breathe?
• Is every life really part of the plan—or do we write some pages ourselves? Lord… did You write my whole story before I was born, or do You watch me choose my words, trembling, one chapter at a time? Do You already know the ending, or are You just as curious how I’ll grow?
• What do You celebrate most in a person’s life? What makes You smile, really? Is it when we win? Or is it when we try—when we love, even after being hurt… when we forgive without being asked? What makes You whisper, “That’s my child,” with pride?
• Are the small things we do—the quiet kindnesses—just as important as the big ones? You see everything, right? Even the gentle things no one claps for? Like making space for someone in pain, or choosing patience when it’s hard. Are those the treasures You tuck into eternity?
• 💌 Does my love reach You when it’s unspoken? Some days, I don’t know how to pray. My love for You… it just sits in my chest, wordless. Do You still feel it? Does it rise to You anyway, like a sigh wrapped in hope?
• What happens in the space between death and forever? When we close our eyes here, what’s the very first thing we see next? Is it You? Is it peace? Is there music? Are the ones we love waiting with open arms?
• Do people I love in heaven still think of me? Are they watching? Do they laugh when I laugh at their old jokes? Do they pray for me the way I still pray for them? Do they miss me… even there, where everything is whole?
• Will You tell me one secret about the universe that only angels know? Just one, God. One that will make me fall in love with life again. Maybe a truth about how light bends, or how even sorrow becomes something sacred in Your hands.

And lastly…

• “Why do You still believe in us when we barely believe in ourselves?” Why, despite everything, do You keep showing up—quietly, patiently, lovingly—when we keep ghosting You?

And then, after my questions, I’d just… listen. The kind of deep, soul-soaking listening where the world fades out and every answer feels like warm sunlight cracking through old grief.

💡 But What If God Asked Me Something?

Maybe He’d lean in and ask:
“What have you done with your pain?”
“Have you loved the people I gave you well?”
“Why do you still doubt that I’ve never left?”

That’s when the chocolate would melt a little too fast, and I’d probably tear up—because deep down, we all carry quiet doubts in loud hearts.

🌌 Would I Walk Away Changed?

Absolutely. I wouldn’t just say thank You and clear the plates. I’d walk into the world differently. Slower. Softer. Braver. I’d still mess up (because, human), but I’d hold onto that invisible thread that reminds me: I am heard, I am loved, and I am not alone.

🍫 Set a Place for the Divine

You don’t need a magical dinner to talk to God. You just need silence, honesty, and maybe a little dark chocolate nearby. Whether it’s through prayer, journaling, crying in traffic, or watching the sunrise—He shows up. Every single time.

So tonight, if your heart feels heavy, your soul feels quiet, or your brain won’t stop spiraling… set a place at your table. And start talking. God’s a better listener than most therapists, and you won’t even get billed.

📌 Footnotes from The Quiet Chocolate Path

• God doesn’t require RSVP. He’s timeless.
• Hugging Him might not be literal… but try it in prayer. You’ll feel it.
• The purpose of life? Probably love. Like real, difficult, honest love.
• You’re allowed to ask big questions. Even the “why me?” ones.