The Fourth Chair

Your table is a simple thing: it’s made of plain, unfinished wood and only holds room for four, but though the object itself is unspectacular, you’ve poured your heart out on it to care for those who matter the most.

You pull out the first chair to honor your parental figure, or the one who took it upon themselves to guide you like they would a son or daughter. They loved you, cared for you, disciplined, and directed you when life got hard. You could cry on their shoulder and find safety in their presence. There is no one else who better deserves a seat at your humble table than they.

Your best friend drops into their usual seat with a laugh: a sister, a brother, a friend, a lover. There is no such thing as being alone when you are with them, because their presence is like the sun: warm, comforting, and capable of recharging your world-wearied soul. That seat is reserved for them, no matter the circumstance.

You find a way to clear the third seat to fit the strangers, the acquaintances, and colleagues, people you meet only once, or many times, who give you moments of joy or kindness. They deserve a spot because of the goodness they’ve provided to you without asking for anything in return, proving that people can bring heaven down to earth.

Seat number four is a bit of a conundrum, and always has been. You aren’t sure who deserves to sit here, so you’re in the habit of stacking things on it: coats, bags, or any other extra items your guests bring with them when they arrive.

“Where are you going to sit?” The stranger asks.

“I’ll just stand,” You reply with a quick smile, “So I can make sure everyone’s doing okay.”

“Come on, pull up a chair!” Your best friend insists.

You hesitate. “But what about your stuff? I don’t want to put it on the floor.”

Everyone tells you that they don’t care because they want you to sit. You clear the seat and perch on the edge of the chair, like a bird ready to take flight.

“What’s wrong?”

You recognize the voice right away, though you know no one else can hear it. You shift and turn inwards, towards the warm presence in your soul.

“I don’t know, it feels weird to be sitting down. What if someone else needs the seat?”

“Someone does need it,” The voice replies. “You need it.”

“But I want to make sure that everyone has what they need.”

“They have what they need,” The voice assures you. “You provided it. Now let me take care of things for a while.”

“But this is my house,” You say, wringing your hands. “And there’s still dishes in the sink…”

“Be still for a moment and look around you. What do you see?”

Your leg pauses mid bounce as you gaze around the table. Your guests appear relaxed and at ease, the conversation and laughter flowing together in a pleasant melody. Your heart lifts at the sight of it.

“I see the people I love, happy.”

“What was the point of bringing them all together, if you didn’t intend to be a part of the gathering? Or put another way, why do you suppose you can never find the right person to sit in the fourth chair?”

You consider the question seriously. “I guess I was just waiting for someone who deserved it.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Your throat tightens at the admission.

“Oh my child, you’ve done more than enough. Allow me to ease your burden. Everyone here has a right to sit at this table.”

“Even me?” You whisper.

“Even you,” The voice assures you with a warm smile. “Especially you.”