Mighty proud I am that I am able to have a spare bed for my

"Mighty proud I am that I am able to have a spare bed for my friends." Thus wrote Samuel Pepys, the keen observer of life in 17th-century England, whose diary still speaks with a voice both intimate and immortal. In these humble words lies more than a jest of hospitality — there is the beating heart of gratitude and friendship. Pepys, who lived through plague, fire, and turmoil, understood that to have a home, a bed, and above all, the means to share them, was not merely comfort but blessing. His pride was not the arrogance of wealth, but the joy of generosity — the sacred satisfaction of being able to offer rest to the weary, and warmth to the beloved.

In the age of Samuel Pepys, England trembled between war and renewal. He himself had risen from modest beginnings to serve as a powerful naval administrator under King Charles II. Yet amid his achievements, he remained deeply human — a man who delighted in friendship, conversation, and the simple luxuries of life. When he wrote of being “mighty proud” to offer a spare bed, he revealed the spirit of one who had known want, and who now found joy not in possession but in hospitality. To welcome a friend into one’s home was, in his eyes, an act of honor — a declaration that friendship is both the duty and delight of the soul.

In those times, the spare bed was not a trivial thing. It symbolized stability, security, and care — all hard-won in an age of hardship. To open one’s doors was to open one’s heart. The ancients, too, held this truth sacred. Among the Greeks, xenia, the law of hospitality, was commanded by the gods themselves. Zeus Xenios, the protector of guests, demanded that strangers be treated as divine messengers. Likewise, in the East, the traveler found safety beneath the tent of the Bedouin, where the host was bound by honor to feed and protect even his enemy. So too did Pepys, in his modest English way, echo that ancient virtue — the nobility of welcome, the dignity of sharing one’s comfort with another.

Consider the tale of Abraham in the scriptures, who, sitting by his tent in the heat of the day, saw three travelers approaching. Without hesitation, he rose, bowed, and invited them to rest. He offered food, water, and shade, not knowing that he was entertaining angels. In that act, hospitality became holiness — a meeting between the human and the divine. Pepys, though far removed from the desert patriarch, touched the same eternal truth: that when we make room for our friends, we make room for grace.

To have a spare bed, then, is not merely to possess an extra piece of furniture. It is to have cultivated a life abundant enough to give — a life that spills over with generosity. Pepys’ pride was the pride of a man who could now repay what the world had once denied him. For when friendship comes to rest beneath one’s roof, wealth finds its truest purpose. A home without hospitality is but walls and timber; a home where friends are welcome becomes a sanctuary of the spirit.

And yet, Pepys’ words also remind us of humility. He does not boast of riches or power, but of kindness — of the quiet glory found in service. In the grand theater of life, greatness is not measured by the size of one’s house, but by the warmth within it. The philosopher Seneca once said that “no good deed is small when done with great affection.” So it is here: the spare bed, offered freely, becomes a throne of friendship, and the host, a king in the kingdom of love.

Lesson: To be able to welcome others — to share one’s home, one’s food, one’s time — is among the highest honors of human life. It is a mark not of fortune, but of the soul’s abundance.

Practical action: Cultivate hospitality in your life. Keep a place, whether in your home or in your heart, for those who journey weary. Offer kindness before comfort, and friendship before formality. Be proud not of what you own, but of what you give. For as Samuel Pepys teaches, it is no small glory to have a spare bed for one’s friends — for in that simple act, the world becomes gentler, and humanity remembers its shared warmth beneath the same roof of heaven.