Continuing the patchwork of kindness

A week ago, I wrote a story about Dolly Parton and my patchwork bear I purchased from Dollywood. I was pleasantly surprised to find it in USA Today’s Nashville Tennessean early in the morning on August 25.

I submitted the story to the editor the Friday before, and it was unusual to see it published online so quickly, but I was grateful. They included pictures of Dolly’s patchwork coat and the bear from Dollywood.

At 9 a.m. that same Tuesday, my friend and I were doing our usual workout when I showed her the story and the nice pictures they used. A song played on my Amazon Echo in my garage gym as we began to warm up. It was sung by another artist who had recently passed away.

“Deborah, there have been so many great artists who have gone on to sing in the sky. What in the world would happen if Dolly were to pass? I can’t imagine.”

After lunch, I was in my office when my phone beeped with a news alert. It reported that Dolly Parton had passed away that day, August 25, at the Vanderbilt-Ingram Cancer Center in Nashville, at the age of 80.

I read the notification twice, hoping the words would change, but they remained the same: Dolly Parton was gone.

During my years of writing weekly columns, at least five have focused on the Tennessee mountain girl who transformed the mountains.

I was born not far from Dolly Parton, and our ancestors traveled many of the same paths. When I was young, my mother didn’t enjoy country music, so I didn’t listen to the Grand Ole Opry like many of my Tennessee relatives did every afternoon on the radio.

Later, I recall watching Dolly Parton on the Porter Wagoner show and thinking she was very pretty and funny. But it wasn’t until I began writing that I realized just who and what Dolly Parton meant—not only to me, but to people everywhere.

From songs to movies, and one business venture after another, Dolly was always in charge.   Whether it was a flood, fire, healthcare need, or a child reaching out for help, Dolly took control. She could handle anything.

She never let go of her Appalachian roots or God’s hand. She had a purpose on this earth, and she fulfilled it with remarkable dedication.

Of all her accolades and awards, the most important was that she followed God’s calling: to love all people. She embraced everyone, not just a select few. Through her humor and compassion, she taught us the best of who we can be. She lived by the Golden Rule, generously giving without the need for reward.

In today’s world, the hatred and anger we see are appalling. Dolly reminded us that true strength comes from the heart, not from our loud words. It has nothing to do with wealth, power, or achievements. It’s about choosing to walk with God each day.

Some people come into our lives and quietly illuminate them.  We may not fully realize how much they mean until they are gone. I suppose that is why the thought of losing Dolly seemed almost impossible. How could the world continue without someone who brought so much light?

I’ve encountered few people like Dolly Parton, and they are rare. Yet those I have known share one common trait: they love the Lord, and He comes first in their lives. They never judge others and are always willing to share what they have. These individuals consistently bring a smile, a pie, or a prayer to anyone in need.

These remarkable people thrive on love because they understand its importance. Their philosophy is, “What is mine is yours,” knowing that without that mindset, the world would grow dark.

Mother Nature brings enough storms to darken our days, so why make them darker? Compassion, humility, love, and faith are the sources of light, and we need to make them shine brighter—just like Dolly did.

And perhaps that is what has stayed with me most. Once we send our words into the world, we never know where they may travel—or whose heart they may touch. Sometimes a story we think is finished turns out to have another chapter.

“Miss Dolly, I hope you are enjoying your heavenly days. Shoot, you went straight through the gates without question. You did good, girl, and I picture you singing a song while flying with the butterflies.

Thank you for being part of the patchwork of our lives.”

Maybe that’s part of what faith is—the realization that sometimes we are walking down a road without knowing where all the turns will lead. Then one day, we look back and see the patchwork—and understand that somehow, even the pieces we never expected belonged there all along.