08/31/2026
I’ve almost stopped being surprised by the way the universe places exactly what we need directly in our path, exactly when we need it.
I went to church this morning dressed for the occasion: hair as big as I could get it, a pink dress with a petticoat, and a pink feathered hat—in honor of the patron saint of Appalachia herself.
And I was doing just fine.
Then Jim Garvey sat down at the organ and began an interlude of “I Will Always Love You.”
That did it.
Somewhere in those familiar notes, the enormity of losing Dolly finally found me, and I started choking up.
Then, as the universe so often does, it placed exactly what I needed directly in front of me. Our beloved Amy Morehous, herself a native of Sevier County, “just so happened” to be giving the homily. I “just so happened” to be sitting front and center beside a dear friend as Amy gave words to the grief—and the gratitude—so many of us are carrying.
Dolly and I share something especially meaningful to me: we are both lifelong Tennesseans. Tennessee isn’t simply where I live. It is home, and always has been.
Perhaps one of Dolly’s greatest gifts was her refusal to accept the false choices we so often impose upon ourselves and one another. She could be unmistakably Southern, unabashedly country, deeply rooted in faith, blonde and rhinestoned to the heavens—and still possess an expansive understanding of our shared humanity.
She showed us that loving where you come from need not close you off to anyone else; that faith need not make our world smaller; and that conviction and compassion can occupy the same heart. Beneath all that sparkle was a fierce belief in the dignity and worth of every person.
After the service, Amy gave each of us a tiny gold butterfly to keep—a small reminder that what someone gives to the world doesn’t disappear when they leave it. We carry it forward.
Dolly belonged to the world, but she was ours, too.
God bless Dolly Parton.🦋
God bless Tennessee. 💐
