A few weeks ago I boarded a plane to New York City and sat down next to a petite, fashionable, forty-ish year old woman, who from the get-go was not interested in conversation. When I figured out that my seat would not recline and my reading light was broken, I decided to ignore the stack of magazines in her lap and talk to her anyway. I learned she lived in Manhattan, worked as a real estate broker and had two teenage sons and an interest in design and architecture. I told her that Catherine and I were on our way to a four-day round of meetings with publishers to discuss Door Couture. I launched into our excitement about decorating doors, how significant they are, how every door tells a story, etc. After patiently listening to mine, she then told me a story of her own.

About a year after Katrina when New Orleans was no longer a daily news worthy subject, my seatmate packed up her two high school boys and traveled to the Big Easy’s Ninth Ward because she wanted her sons to see what had happened “in our own country.” It was Christmastime and when they stepped out of their taxi, they were instantly riveted. Where once there had been homes, now lay empty lots, strewn with bits of wreckage and debris. And yet they saw hope. In the middle of this devastation, many families had returned to prop up their front doors and decorate them for Christmas, even though no structure or home stood behind them. The locals decorated their doors with lights, wreathes, notes to lost loved ones and Christmas greetings to those who still remained. The image was profound. In the face of losing everything, families returned to celebrate their holidays, festively trimming their front doors to express their sense of home, tradition and faith.

That plane ride turned out to be a blessing and gift because the Katrina Christmas story is now my story too. I will never again think of Christmas without remembering those families and their doors rising out of empty fields of hope and promise. It gives testimony to what Catherine and I so passionately believe — every door tells a story — and these stories have the power to connect us.

- Tanis

When I traveled to India to visit our dear friends, the Sham Sunders, I knew it would be a life-altering journey for me. I was getting ready to celebrate a “big birthday” and I was hoping for an experience that would mark the milestone in my life. I was not disappointed. It came in the middle of a fourteen-hour drive south of Bangalore.

Late morning we stopped along the road where a family was harvesting silkworms. The vision of dozens of circular rattan trays stacked on wooden racks, each tray nestling hundreds of shimmering white cocoons, stopped me in my tracks. Never having seen anything like this before, my genuine awe and delight must have drawn many villagers to us. As they encircled us, I was touched by the warmth and graciousness of these people. A man stepped forward, pointed to his home across a dry, dusty field and invited us to meet his family.

As we followed our host, a beautiful little girl skipped out of the entrance of her home - a patchwork tent made of worn blankets. With a huge, open smile, she offered me a cup of water. When I bent down to look into her eyes and thank her, I saw her mother behind her, hidden in the shadows of the tent, smiling with great pride at her adorable, courageous daughter. We looked at each other, mother to mother, and in that instant our connection transcended all the miles, language and cultural differences. The entrance of the tent framed her face lovingly, for the surrounding opening was adorned with a woven garland of golden wheat and dried flowers. This was her handmade door decoration, her message to the world — this is our home… you are welcome. The lesson I was seeking was captured in this humble door decoration — the lesson of gratefulness. Being grateful…grateful for what we have — a castle, cottage, apartment or tent — this is what adds meaning to our lives.

Upon my return, I made a commitment to myself that I would welcome everyone with a handmade door decoration and create a powerful first impression for invited guests and passersby. I do this in honor of the Indian mother who wove her own garland into my heart and welcomed me into her home.

- Tanis

This year my husband Jimmy and I celebrated the New Year in the Bahamas with our daughters and a few other families.  We stayed in what was reputed to be one of the largest hotels ever built.  There seemed to be miles of indistinguishable corridors that almost required a map to navigate between our rooms and the lobby.  We wondered then about the other guests; the uniformity of the hundreds of doors masked the personalities and life stories of those who joined us from around the world.  Needless to say, it did not feel like an intimate experience.

One morning we walked out of our room to find a large, homemade, computer-printed sign posted on our next-door neighbor’s door.  The sign heralded the birth of the couple’s newest grandchild.  Immediately, Jimmy and I felt a connection to people we had never met.  We were excited for them and happy that they had taken the time to share their joy with us.  It also made us feel connected to the community around us.  The decorated door told their story and when we did finally meet the proud grandparents that evening, we were able to congratulate them in a warm and personal manner.  The simple effort of that posted message transformed the anonymity of Bahamas’ biggest hotel into a shared and treasured experience.

- Catherine