Today was one of those days. The kind where you fantasize about disappearing into a cabin in the woods with nothing but a blanket, a hot cup of coffee, and zero notifications. A day where the technology gremlins rise up in full rebellion, locking you out of social media, jamming your printer, and basically daring you to lose your sanity. Add in the looming holidays, four kids who are so over school, a workload that refuses to slow down just because Thanksgiving is next week, and a sick husband… and yeah. I hit my limit.

It was one of those moments where quitting everything sounded like a solid life plan.

But then I remembered why I started.
And that took me home.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday since I was a little kid. Not because it’s picture-perfect (it never was), not because everything was easy (it definitely wasn’t), but because of what it meant in our house. My parents shaped that meaning long before I had kids of my own or a life full of responsibilities that tend to weigh heavy this time of year.

Growing up, my dad had a habit of bringing home stray people the way some people bring home stray animals. Throughout the year, he’d show up at the door with someone who needed a place to land. A traveler whose car had broken down, a lonely neighbor, someone he’d met while running errands who looked like life had been a little extra cruel that day. And my mom? She never batted an eye. She just pulled another chair up to the table and added a little more water to the soup.

Thanksgiving was the Super Bowl of this tradition.

Every year, without fail, our table was filled with people we didn’t know until that day. The widower facing his first holiday alone. The family who couldn’t afford a Thanksgiving meal even though our own groceries often came from the scratch-and-dent section at the back of the store. Someone passing through town with a story that simultaneously broke your heart and made you grateful.

My dad never met a stranger, and honestly, he could have sold ice to an Eskimo. But his real superpower wasn’t charm…it was compassion. He could spot the person in the room carrying the heaviest burden and somehow know exactly what they needed most: a meal, a moment, a place to belong.

From him, I learned what love in action looks like.
From my mom, I learned how quietly powerful hospitality can be.
From both, I learned that every soul has worth.

So even on days like today, days when overwhelm sits heavy on my shoulders, I still look forward to Thanksgiving. Because for one day, people really do come together. There are no expectations other than good food, warm conversation, and being fully present with the people gathered around you. All are welcome at our table. Old friends, new friends, and the ones who just needed a place to be. By the time the pie is served, you’re family.

And honestly? That’s what I want to carry forward, even when life feels loud and divided.

Because let’s be real: our world is a mess right now. Politicians are shouting, media is stirring the pot, and everyone seems one disagreement away from unfriending each other over the pettiest things. So this holiday season, let’s do something radically simple.

Reach out to someone who doesn’t think like you.
Or vote like you.
Or love like you.
Not to debate. Not to convert. Not to win.
But to listen. To hear their heartbeat instead of planning your response.

My parents have been gone for years now, but I can still hear my mom’s voice every time I set the table:

“There’s always room for one more.”
(Or two. Or ten.)

And on the days when I feel like quitting everything, that reminder pulls me back to center. Because this is why I started. To build a life, a home, and a table where there is always room for others. Even when I’m tired. Even when things don’t go right. Even when the world feels heavy.

Especially then.

So if you’re exhausted today, you’re not alone. Pour another cup of coffee, take a deep breath, and remember: the things that matter most aren’t asking you to be perfect…just present.

And there is still so much good to look forward to.

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