Today, a young couple gathered with friends and family to receive gifts in anticipation of their upcoming wedding. Their gift registry was modest, by anyone’s standards. Only four plates. Four glasses. The most basic kitchen needs.
It was charming, really, the simplicity with which they are looking ahead to their union and housekeeping. I appreciate the minimalist approach. There are far more important things to think about and invest in than the maintenance of much STUFF.
But even as I pieced together my gift selection for them from their registry, to try to help in meeting their needs as well as their expectations, I did invest in one item that they might consider superfluous: a fifth dinner plate.
My daughter, through whom I know this couple, had already purchased for them the four plates they had registered for and requested. I added a fifth, and along with it, an explanatory note, which was inspired by my own long history of life at this point, and the knowledge that these young two truly desire to honor Christ in their marriage.
So I wrote a note, and it said something like this, or at least, this is what I intended to say in that dashed-off missive:
Blessings of grace and peace and mercy and joy to you in your new marriage! The gift you find here of the fifth and odd-numbered dinner plate is to serve a purpose as a reminder in your marriage as you gather with others to nourish bodies and friendships, to remember the sojourner, the widow, the orphan, the single person, the lonely elderly neighbor, and to set a place for one who might not be so embraced at the table as those who are bound in pairs. For this is true religion: to visit the widow and the orphan and remain unstained by the world.
I myself have recently married after six years of singleness. It was a long six years. In that time, I realized that while I have far more than four plates (I do enjoy inviting in), neither my “good” china nor my everyday stoneware inhabit the cabinet in even numbers. There are 13 of one and 15 of another—and that wasn’t intentional. Over time, a piece here or there was broken. But the odd number still serves as a reminder.
I don’t have an extra plate to be left off as I fill the table with pairs and couples. Even now that I’m married, I don’t have an extra plate to leave in the cabinet. I have an extra opportunity. An opportunity to bring in one more, someone who, like I was all those years, may be eating alone on the night of . . . whatever event we’re having, whether it’s our annual Friendsgiving—a gathering of mostly singles I have hosted for several years and intend to continue even though I am married again now—or just dinner, at home when someone single crosses my mind.
And this I would offer: If a single person crosses your mind, don’t dismiss it. That’s very likely a God-nudge to bring that person somehow into fellowship. Clearly, God wants to talk to you about that person, and maybe what he wants to say is “Reach out. Include. Visit. Invite.”
And if you too have an odd number of plates on your shelf, think of setting an odd number of places at your table, and find that lonely soul who needs you.
