hospitality: n. The act
or service of welcoming, receiving, hosting, or entertaining guests.
Thanksgiving 2017 is just around the corner. Perhaps that is the reason the
memory floated through my mind today, an incident I hadn’t thought about in
years.
Pulp and
paper mills operate 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, shutting down only
periodically for repair and maintenance.
As Thanksgiving Day, 1966 approached, the prospects were dismal. Having moved a distance away from our home town
and families to be employed at a newly constructed mill, my husband was scheduled to
work.
There would
be no family dinner with a bounty of food and after-dinner traditions--no football
games on television being watched by the men in the family while the women
crowded in the small kitchen, chatting and doing the dishes. There would be no chess games set up in the
middle of the living room for my grandfather and the uncles while the children created their own forms of
entertainment. There would be no
extended family.
With a single
family car, I would be staying home alone with our young 3-year-old son. Living in the country, the neighbors were few
and far between, amplifying the feeling of isolation and aloneness.
Holidays are
often viewed as sacrosanct, exclusively reserved for card-carrying family members
only. There are some who would never
consider inviting one who isn’t a relative. My own childhood has no memory of anyone
other than family being included in holiday events, so when the invitation was
given to share Thanksgiving dinner, I hesitated accepting it.
A young woman
herself, my neighbor’s sincerity and warmth assured me I was welcomed.
What a
picture we must have made, the two of us, as we trekked ¼ mile down that winding
country road on what had to have been a chilly November day. My little boy had no idea where we were going, or what we were going to do but was ever ready for an adventure.
I have no memory
of the table setting, of the meal, of who was there. I only remember being made to feel I had a place.
Hospitality
isn’t about being proper, about reciprocation, or even being inclusive; it isn't about being the "hostess with the mostest," the linens, glassware, and dishes, or the elegant food. It comes from within and is about being open and sharing self. That is what I experienced and felt.
I wonder if
my hostess remembers that day. I have never
forgotten it, and a card is going to be sent this week, thanking her for her
gracious hospitality and what it meant that Thanksgiving over 50 years ago—and what
it still means today.
Thanksgiving 2017 will be spent at this same son's home. Though I doubt he has any memory of that one from his early childhood, and I've never even shared it with him, he, too, has an "open-table" policy where any and all who have no family or place to go are invited, included, and welcomed.
Thanksgiving 2017 will be spent at this same son's home. Though I doubt he has any memory of that one from his early childhood, and I've never even shared it with him, he, too, has an "open-table" policy where any and all who have no family or place to go are invited, included, and welcomed.
Kindness and
hospitality. The two go hand-in-hand, the results and effects impacting others far into the future.
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to
strangers…” Hebrews 13:2