The Beauty of an Extra Chair

In very early 2000, after Dh completed Basic Training and Battle School and all the rest, he was posted to the base in Edmonton to join his Regiment.

And being an 18 year old single man, he moved into the Shacks.  Military single quarters that look a little like dorm rooms.  Teeny tiny rooms with cement walls and a bed, shared bathroom and no kitchen because they eat at the mess.  They fill a need, but warm and friendly, they are not.

But that was OK, because most weekend I would either go up to stay with him (obviously, for those reading who are in charge, I wouldn’t stay there because you aren’t allowed.  I would stay….somewhere else…. that’s not there…. moving on) or once he bought his own truck he would come back to Calgary where he had both his family and my family who loved him, close enough to drive to see.

Thanksgiving that year, if my memory serves but I could have the wrong year, when he returned from his big turkey dinners surrounded by those loved ones, he found out that over the holidays a soldier in those Shacks had been there alone.  And he had taken his own life.  

I was stunned.

In my bubble, I didn’t know.
There were people who stayed there alone.
There were people who had no one to spend the weekends with, the holidays with.
There were people who were too far from family to travel to see, those who couldn’t afford the plane ticket or maybe even the gas money.

And some of those people, they had felt so alone for so long, they saw no other options.

And I made a promise to myself.


My home is also their home.

It started with holidays but it became an every-meal fact.

There is an extra chair at my table.  

And we have driven to pick people up.  And I have mercilessly and annoyingly stalked people who I worried about until they agreed to join us. And sometimes, people just arrived at that exact time.

And not every one was in danger of hopelessness.  Many times it was a couple or family with no one else around to spend the holiday’s with. Some were old friends passing through.  Some just a solider on their own, going through a rough season.  Some I worried about more than I probably needed to.


But one thing is for absolute sure – every single one of them did ME a favor by joining us.

You might have guessed if you were following along last year, that I am not prone to traditions.

Last year our table had Pogos and fries for Christmas dinner.  This year, we ignored Thanksgiving dinner altogether. I am far more about the spirit of the season than the big meal.  Many times Dh isn’t home and I just don’t really care if we eat green bean casserole or not.

We’ve never lived near family.  In fact, until we moved here about an hour from my lovely aunts and Poppa, our closest family was always 4+ hours away, which is close to some military families.

All our big traditional dinners on have mostly shared with friends, many of whom have opened their door to us the same way we have, we’ve shared joy and laughter and a Christmas meal with many different people over the years, each one a huge blessing in our lives.

But its been those years that Dh has said ‘I have invited someone for Christmas/Easter/Tuesday‘ that I have set a big table and cooked a passable turkey/ham/lasagna. 

And those years a lot of time just by cooking it, we ended up serving more than we expected.  Because we would be at church and there would always be another family who didn’t have plans, or I’d call someone to ask how long you cook a ham and end up asked them to join us.

And every single time that’s happened, it has been my privilege.  I am not doing them a favor by having them.  They have always, always been the ones who have blessed me by saying yes.

Because my table has seen love and laughter and kids who make me crazy, it’s seen noise and temper tantrums and the occasional tear.

But it is not MY table.

I don’t deserve to sit at it with family any more than anyone deserves to be alone.

I get the privilege to share it.  And I look forward to the next time I do.

Suicides in the military are splashing the news this week, but the fact that there are those out there who feel completely alone, especially this time of year, is not new.

There are many reasons people have for taking their life.
I don’t mean to make this sound like it is an easy answer, and if only someone had done for others, because it’s not.
I worked as a crisis line volunteer for years.
I know that sometimes, sometimes there is nothing you can say, do, or promise to make them change their mind.

But I do know you can make someone feel less alone.

Friends, give awkward invitations where you might get shot down.
Make more food that might not get eaten, just in case.

Soldiers, make that call to a friend you haven’t seen since deployment and find out how they are doing.
Send that email you’ve been meaning to send today.
Do that awkward small talk ‘how are you really doing?‘ dance that soldier’s do when they are trying to have deep conversation.
I know it’s hard, but let me tell you,
sometimes the alternative is harder. 

It’s been a long war.  There’s been a lot of brokenness.  And lonliness.
You  may not realize who is hurting.

Life is precious, my friends.
And it was made to be shared.

You will regret the invitation you never gave,

You will never regret setting that extra place at your table.

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