“Mom, do we have room for one more?”

In a few days, family and friends will gather at my house and around my table. My mom and I will cook our traditional Thanksgiving favorites, almost exactly the same way we do every year. We rarely deviate from the tried and true recipes that have graced our family’s Thanksgiving table for generations. 

The cranberry relish is the same recipe my great, great grandmother made and I will serve it in the same crystal bowl I’ve served it in for 26 years. The potatoes, eggnog, sweet potatoes and pies will be prepared the same way I’ve done them for all of my adult life, the way my mom did them when I was a child. Every now and then the menu will change slightly, but not often and the changes are rarely drastic. 

Sure, I’ve tried experimenting, but my kids do not want any part of that! The protests were loud and unwavering. They like our traditions. Some have been passed down for generations while other, newer traditions we’ve created together.

Whether new or old, traditions are important. 

Traditions bring us together and give us a sense of belonging, an identity.  There are things we do that are unique to our family. They are a part of who we are and they help to define us. 

Traditions provide a sense of stability and continuity. They unite the generations within a family. Every time I prepare Cranberry Relish I think of my great, great-grandmother who first prepared it. I never knew her, but I feel connected to her all the same. 

Then my mind takes me back to my own childhood. Standing next to my grandmother in her kitchen as she taught me to prepare the relish. She’s been gone for over twenty years now, but every year, as I put cranberries into my food processor she’s right here with me. 

Often, this task is now delegated to one of my daughters. They measure ingredients, add sugar and oranges and all of the things needed to make this a family favorite. They talk and chat. We laugh and tease. In their minds they are making relish but I know it’s so much more. 

In those moments we are connected to something bigger than ourselves, to more than just the here and now. It unites us with the generations who came before and those that will follow. And I think, “Gram, you should see these kids. You’d be proud!” Then I quickly swipe at my eyes, hoping no one noticed. 

Traditions are important. 

They serve as a vehicle for passing down our beliefs and values. 

One such tradition in our family is that of hospitality. It’s never much mattered if it were a holiday or the most ordinary of days. Friends, family and strangers have sat at our tables and shared our food.

More often than not, Sunday afternoon dinners at my Grandparent’s house included a few faces that were not part of our family, and often unfamiliar to me.  I’ve watched my mother and my aunt carry on that tradition. Each of them have prepared numerous meals for countless people. Family. Friends. Acquaintances who find themselves far from family and without a place to spend a holiday. Sometimes, even strangers. 

Time and time again, I’ve watched these selfless women prepare food, change beds, and set out fresh towels for the guests they would receive. I’ve watched my dad and my uncle set up extra tables and chairs then swing the door wide open in welcome. 

And I’ve tried to do the same, simply because I didn’t know any differently. Our family traditions taught me that this is what we do. This is who we are.  We welcome people into our homes. We share in their stories and offer food and friendship, compassion and companionship, and sometimes strangers become friends and friends become family.

Often, I’ve heard my children say that one of the best parts of their childhoods were the guests who regularly sat at our table. People from different cultures, different economic backgrounds, and different traditions. 

This is the practice of hospitality. As one of the truest, purest forms of religion, it’s more than rhetoric and religious dogma. It’s love in action. It’s putting other’s before ourselves. It’s allowing our abundant blessings to bless others.  It’s life and service and connection. And in serving others, we find ourselves deeply changed. 

 

So when my children ask, “Mom, do we have room for one more?” The answer is always and unhesitatingly “YES!”.