Hospitality

My husband’s biological family lives in Texas, and over the last three years, we’ve made several trips there to spend time with them and get to know them better. His mother, Margaret, is in her 80s and lives in a subdivision south of Houston. She understands the true meaning of hospitality.

Her house backs up to a lake. She has a small yard full of flowers, and just beyond her gate, a sidewalk winds around the water. People come out of their homes to walk, run, and ride bikes along that path every single day. The lake draws them out, and I understand why. It’s peaceful out there—ducks floating along, fountains shooting up into the air, and those big, beautiful clouds you only see when you’re close to Galveston and the coast. When we visit, we walk that path with Margaret, and it feels like the whole world slows down for an hour.

But my favorite part of visiting Margaret is how she makes us feel— like she’s so happy we came for a visit.

Every morning we spend there, we roll out of bed, pour ourselves a cup of her freshly brewed coffee, and settle into the patio chairs together. From there, we watch the martins fly in and out of her late husband, Leon’s, martin house. We also watch the whole neighborhood go by on the path around the lake. Nearly everyone out there knows Margaret. They throw up a hand, stretch out an arm, and holler, “Good morning!” She hollers it right back and calls them by name. Sometimes they stop and lean on the gate to ask about her flowers or catch up on the latest. Her patio sits at the heart of the community.

She has her regulars—friends like Marite, who opens the gate and comes up to the porch to share a cup of coffee on many mornings, followed by her little dog, Pit. Others drift in and out as well, and Margaret is always ready.

On our visit this past March, I opened her refrigerator to grab some half-and-half for my coffee and found myself staring at a whole lineup of coffee creamers. “That’s Starbucks Irish Cream,” she told me. “Kamri drinks that when she comes over. And that chocolate caramel one is for one of my neighbors—she loves it.”

I looked at her and said, “But Margaret, don’t you drink almond milk in your coffee?” She smiled and said, “I do. But I try to keep what my friends like, so they feel at home when they drop by.”

And there’s more. There’s the spare refrigerator tucked in her laundry room. That thing is stocked—bottled water, Topo Chico mineral water, a few tiny Dr. Peppers, and a few different kinds of beer. It’s ready and waiting.

“On Fridays,” she told us, “if Daniel and his yard crew finish up in the neighborhood, I’ll invite them over for a cold beer.” Daniel is her friend who does yard work in the neighborhood.

She doesn’t just welcome people— she prepares for them. She thinks ahead about what they enjoy, what makes them comfortable, and what makes them feel wanted. And she also keeps special treats for their dogs in her cabinet, too. It’s all so sweet. continued from page

Last year, for her birthday at the end of August, we sent her a coir doormat covered in bright flowers with the words, Yay! You’re Here! We meant it as a gift, but honestly, it was just us holding up a mirror. Because that is precisely how Margaret makes everyone feel—like showing up at her door is the best thing that has happened all day.

I think we can all learn a thing or two from Margaret— that sharing, caring, loving, and spending time with others are important for building and maintaining friendships and communities in today’s world. Sitting on a patio, drinking a cup of coffee or a cold beverage with a friend or family member, is a great way to start or finish a day. Perhaps it’s the best way.