The Seat You Leave Open

My boys,

There is an extra chair at our table.

Most nights, nobody sits in it.

I like that.

Not because I want an empty house.

Because an empty chair means there is still room.

Room for the friend who stayed too late.

The neighbor whose house is too quiet tonight.

One of your friends who asks,

"Can I eat here?"

The person going through something they are not ready to explain.

Sometimes hospitality begins before anyone knocks.

You make enough soup for one more.

Keep another bowl in the cabinet.

Do not fill every inch of your life so completely that another person becomes an inconvenience.

That part matters beyond the table.

Leave a little room in your schedule.

A little food in the pot.

A little money you can give.

A little energy for the unexpected phone call.

A little patience for someone who arrives carrying more than you can see.

We spend a lot of life trying to fill empty spaces.

Every chair.

Every hour.

Every silence.

But some empty things are not missing something.

They are waiting.

God has brought people into my life I could never have planned for.

Some stayed years.

Some stayed one evening.

Both mattered.

So when you have homes of your own, boys, I hope there is an extra chair somewhere.

Nothing fancy.

It can wobble.

It can be the mismatched one you pull from another room.

Just make sure people know they are allowed to sit in it.

And when someone does,

don't make them feel like the extra person.

Move over.

Pass the bread.

Fill their bowl.

For that evening, the chair was always theirs.

I love you.

— Baba

Question:

Is there enough room in your life for someone you did not plan for?

Moral:

Hospitality is not only welcoming people when they arrive. It is living with enough margin that there is somewhere for them to belong when they do.

This story reflects real experiences and philosophies behind Backyard Brew. It is shared to preserve perspective, hospitality, and intention.

Author: R. Solace