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Long ago, a famous song captured the loneliness so many of us face:

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Loneliness may well be one of the greatest curses in our world today. It’s that staggering feeling that you no longer count, that you are unseen and that life is nothing but a painful wait until the road comes to an end.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. There is hope, and there are answers, even simple ones. Faith whispers that we are never truly alone.

The Second Plate is a tender story about the unexpected ways hope can find its way back into our lives.

The Second Plate

By J.K. Stenger

Every night he set the table with two plates and two glasses.

Two sets of cutleries. 

Two colorful napkins.

Then he lit the candle and placed it right in the middle of the table. The gentle light cast its comforting glow throughout the room. Warm and safe.

When everything was as it should be he went back to the kitchen, picked up the pots and served the meal.

On one plate only.

He never served the second plate. 

It always stayed empty. Nobody ever came to sit there and eat. The heavy wooden chair before it was never pulled out and nobody ever enjoyed his culinary skills.

That was, because nobody was supposed to sit there but Annie.

She had been his wife for over fifty years, but had crossed the river some years ago. It left him desolate and alone, and her absence stung. Particularly during dinner, when the memories were thick.

He remembered the night he ruined the expensive roast, smoke curling toward the ceiling while she waved a dish towel like a frantic conductor. They had eaten it anyway, laughing at the taste of ‘charcoal with gravy.’

And their fiftieth anniversary, at this same table, she had wiped away that one tear in his eye with her napkin, after which she kissed him with the promise of many more years to come.

But that promise had not been fulfilled and nothing had been the same anymore.

That’s why he kept setting the table for two. 

Just hoping against hope, she would return. Just hoping he would not have to feel the emptiness anymore. Hoping the joy would return and her laughter would again warm his heart and chase away the silence in the house.

Of course, it never did and all that remained were the tears.

And then something changed.

It happened one evening while he glanced at his lamb steak and aimlessly crushed his steaming, soft boiled potatoes with his fork. It had been his favorite meal when Annie cooked it. But not now. Now it was just as tasteless and empty as the feeling in his soul. While staring at her empty plate with tears in his eyes, anger rose. The empty plate on the other side of the table seemed to mock him as if it was saying, “You are alone and you always will be.”

The urge rose to throw the plate against the wall, but instead he closed his eyes and cried out, “Oh Annie, if only I could sense the joy of your presence again just one time. If only I could see the warmth of your smile, and smell the scent of your perfume… “

Of course, that would never happen.

He knew that.

And yet, something changed.

A gentle warmth rose from deep within and spread throughout his body all the way to the tips of his fingers. He dropped his fork on the table, spilling his potato.

The ache in his neck loosened.

His shoulders relaxed.

A long, steady sigh left him as he leaned back and closed his eyes, savoring the unexpected sense of peace that came over him.

The only sound he heard was the large clock on the wall; comforting, just right.

His chest, so full of tension at every dinner since Annie had died, relaxed. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, rest settled into the room.

It wasn’t Annie. That much he knew. It was infinitely better, almost as if a thousand Annies had entered the room and were now touching his heart.  

There was no anger, no guilt. No fear and no confusion. All the loneliness just melted away.

Where it came from, he could not tell. It didn’t matter, for it was there and unmistakably real. 

And then he knew. It was the assurance of faith that told him that all would be well. 

Somehow, all would be well.

He sat there in silence for the longest time, drinking in the sense of belonging like a weary traveler in the desert who had found crystal clear water in an oasis of life, just on time.

Still alone, still having to wade through a stream of questions, still struggling, but not deserted.

The assurance of faith. He did not have to face life on his own. 

That night, he shed more tears but they were no tears of anger or self-pity. These were tears of hope. Inspiration coursed through his body. New ideas formed. Life knocked once more at the door of his heart. 

He continued to set the second plate.

The place was still empty but from that day forth, he was not. 

And then one day, he met someone; a widow.

She was lonely, just as he had been. But she was gentle and kind.

He could see the pain in her eyes. The same pain he knew so well and understood.

He invited her to his house for a meal.

She sat there that night, right where Annie had always been.

The clock ticked its familiar tick and the atmosphere was warm as he served her the potatoes and a lamb steak he had prepared. 

She did not sit there to replace Annie. She didn’t have to. 

He had the assurance of faith.

And that was enough.

____

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