My tradition, as an adult, is to have an open-door policy on

Gena Lee Nolin, with a heart attuned to generosity, once said: “My tradition, as an adult, is to have an open-door policy on Thanksgiving. I always host, and I welcome absolutely anyone into my home. I think it's really special. If people are going through hard times or not getting along well with their family, they flock to my house. And I'll have my tree up!” In these words we see the eternal spirit of hospitality, a virtue cherished by the ancients and honored across civilizations. Her reflection reminds us that Thanksgiving is not merely a private feast but a time when doors should be opened, when the lonely are gathered, and when love expands to embrace the stranger.

The origin of such generosity stretches back to the earliest traditions of humankind. In Greece, hospitality was known as xenia, the sacred duty of welcoming the traveler, for the gods themselves were believed to walk among mortals disguised as strangers. In every culture, from the Bedouin tents of the desert to the hearths of medieval Europe, those who opened their homes to the weary were considered blessed. Nolin’s practice of an open-door policy continues this ancient legacy, weaving it into the fabric of a modern holiday.

Her words also carry a truth about the brokenness of families and the ache of human hearts. Not all approach Thanksgiving with joy; some are burdened by estrangement, grief, or hardship. To them, a closed door is another wound. But Nolin’s tradition transforms the holiday into a refuge, a sanctuary where no one is judged, where the displaced find belonging. Her table becomes an altar of healing, where the wounds of isolation are bound by the simple act of being welcomed.

History gives us striking examples of such open-heartedness. During the Great Depression, when poverty and despair weighed heavily upon the nation, some families set an extra plate at the table for any hungry traveler who might pass by. In war-torn lands, villagers often shared their last scraps of food with soldiers or refugees, understanding that community in hardship was stronger than the isolation of fear. These acts of generosity echoed through generations, teaching that the truest abundance is not in what we possess, but in what we are willing to share.

The mention of her tree already standing adds another layer of meaning. It is a symbol of anticipation, of joy spilling over from Thanksgiving into the coming season of Christmas. It shows that her welcome is not temporary but enduring, her home always prepared to bring warmth and light into the lives of others. The tree, evergreen and radiant, stands as a beacon—just as her home becomes a beacon—for all who need comfort.

The deeper lesson for future generations is this: the essence of Thanksgiving lies not only in gratitude for what we have, but in sharing it with those who have less. A feast enjoyed in isolation is only half a feast; its joy is multiplied when the table is widened and the circle of fellowship expands. By opening your doors, you transform your house into more than a dwelling—it becomes a place of community, of healing, of love incarnate.

Practical wisdom flows from Nolin’s tradition. Each family may not be able to host all, but every person can find ways to include the excluded—whether through an invitation to dinner, a shared meal with a neighbor, or a visit to those who are alone. Teach your children that the measure of a holiday is not in its perfection, but in its generosity. Encourage them to see beyond the boundaries of family to the wider family of humanity. In this way, gratitude blossoms into action, and action into love.

Thus, Gena Lee Nolin’s words shine with the wisdom of the ages. Her open door is more than a tradition; it is a teaching, a living reminder that holidays are not for the few, but for all. Let this truth be carried forward: that the highest honor of a home is not in its beauty or wealth, but in its welcome. And when the day of Thanksgiving comes, let every table be set not only for the familiar faces of kin, but for the unexpected guest, who may carry within them the very blessing of the divine.