Be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.
Deuteronomy 6:12
Dolly Parton’s passing has affected me more than I expected. Tears have welled up off and on as I’ve read about her life, watched clips of tributes from people around the world, and reflected on the good she did for so many.
Reading and watching have reminded me how important it is to remember where we’ve come from, not just physically but also spiritually.
Remembering Dolly
Dolly never forgot her humble upbringing, her people, or what it felt like to be made fun of for being poor. Thus, it’s no surprise that so many of her philanthropic efforts focused on education, healthcare, disaster relief, and community support. Dolly began her book giveaway, “Imagination Library,”[1] in honor of her father, who couldn’t read. She donated millions of dollars to help people after the devastating wildfires in Tennessee in 2016 and again after Hurricane Helene ravaged parts of western North Carolina in 2024.
Dolly wanted to help people succeed, to give them hope and a hand up. She shared generously from her bounty, not seeking payback or glory for herself, but out of a sincere desire to make the world a better place. Despite her great accomplishments, she remembered where she came from and remained grounded in her beginnings.
Remembering God
As I’ve been reading through Deuteronomy, I’ve noticed how often God told His people to remember how He delivered them when they were slaves in Egypt. He also commanded them to recall how He sustained them throughout 40 years of wandering in the wilderness. He provided manna and water, and their clothes and shoes didn’t even wear out.
His call to remember included a warning:
When the Lord your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery (Deuteronomy 6:10-12).
God was not only their deliverer, but also their benefactor, the Giver of all good gifts (James 1:17).
In addition to His admonitions to remember, God told His people to be kind and compassionate toward the most vulnerable among them – widows, the fatherless, and sojourners, reminding them that they, too, had been sojourners in Egypt (Exodus 22:21-22; Deuteronomy 24:17-22).
These reminders sound a lot like the second greatest commandment – love your neighbor as yourself – and the Golden Rule – do unto others as you would have them do unto you. They also sound a lot like Dolly. She showed great compassion for people the world might have overlooked or deemed unimportant, people who could never repay her.
Remembering our Identity
We, too, were slaves before God rescued us and transferred us from the kingdom of darkness into His eternal Kingdom (Colossians 1:13). Even now, we are sojourners, making our way Home. While we are here, we’re to be His ambassadors (2 Corinthians 5:19-20).
Few of us will ever have a platform as big as Dolly’s, much less the material riches she had, but God has entrusted each of us with talents, abilities, material resources, and spiritual gifts. He has intentionally placed us in our particular place and time (Acts 17:26) to use what He has given us to glorify Him, to benefit others, and to bring the aroma of Christ to those around us. The good works He’s prepared for us will look different from person to person, yet they’re all important in God’s big story (Ephesians 2:10).
A Fitting Memorial
Dolly wasn’t vocal or outspoken about her faith, and she resisted being drawn into religious debates. Instead, she lived out her beliefs, putting them into action to benefit others (1 John 3:18). I have no way to express my sympathy to her family in any meaningful way, but I believe making my little part of the world a better place is a fitting memorial.
Ultimately, it will be a tribute to the One who is the source of everything I am and have, from my salvation to my next breath; every ability and material resource. The One whom I can never repay.
Once I was lost, but now I’m found; blind, but now I see.[2] O Lord, please help me to always remember!
[1] The program mails free, high-quality books directly to children from birth to age five. Since it began in 1995, the program has distributed more than 330 million books across the US, Canada, the UK, Ireland, and Australia.
[2] From “Amazing Grace,” lyrics by John Newton, 1779.
Any of you who’ve read my posts for more than a few months know I’m intentional about recognizing all kinds of milestones and anniversaries. Depending on what’s being recalled, it may be a solemn remembrance, such as marking another year without my beloved husband, or one accompanied by a special commemorative treat for an accomplishment.
I gazed in wonder at the rings and bittersweet tears filled my eyes. Gratitude for having my precious rings restored as close as possible to the originals mingled with sorrow. It took a little time and money, but I was able to replace my rings. Yet I knew if I sold all my belongings and scraped together every cent of the proceeds, I couldn’t ever pay anyone enough to get Ray back. One day, I will go to him. But he will never return to me. (2 Samuel 12:23)
As many of you’ve discerned, I love plants and do my best to care for the ones on my small suburban property. Thus, when the precipitation slowed to a halt mid-afternoon, I bundled up and ventured outside. Armed with an old broom, I began to gently poke, nudge and sweep snow from trees and bushes. Limbs of azaleas and camellias, dogwoods and maples reached skyward again once they were freed from their frosty burden. I labored for nearly an hour before retreating inside, satisfied that I’d done what I could to help my plant friends, at least the ones within my reach.
Darkness enshrouded our neighborhood. I peered frequently out my front windows, checking on trees that were once again drooping perilously. The serenity of the streetlight-illuminated scene belied the danger posed by the mounting accumulation. As I gazed in dismay, I saw a large branch of one of my favorite conifers give way, bending slowly toward the street as a horse might lower its head into a feeding trough.
I hastened to measure the accumulation before it was disturbed by frolicking children. Almost 10 inches adorned my yard, an amount unheard of since the Blizzard of ’93. With a sinking heart, I made note that many of my trees and shrubs were still pitifully bent, the branch of the juniper indeed irreparably broken, along with three others on the same specimen.
brilliant blue sky and sunshine that skipped across the now-sparkling blanket of white. As I watched, the benevolent rays and a gentle breeze began to free the trees from their frozen constraints, accomplishing much more than I could with my broom. Snow fell in flurries and chunks. Limbs commenced to thaw and unfurl.
Back 2 the Garden 