Nearly fifty percent of what I’ve been reading on Facebook this week has been tributes to Dolly Parton. In my opinion, they are well deserved. I am heavyhearted, like many of us. Dolly always seemed so full of life that I never thought about the day she might not be here.

Back in the ’70s, I remember turning on the transistor radio beside my bed and tuning in to KOMA out of Oklahoma City. Nearly everyone at my high school listened to that station in the evenings because of its powerful signal. Dolly Parton was in the early years of her career then. Her distinct voice appealed to me, as it did to the vast majority of people who enjoyed country music.

Fans have embraced her music for six decades. Just as appealing as her music was her personality. She brought a dazzling quality, a bright countenance, and a wonderful sense of humor to every talk-show set she appeared on. She credits The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson with helping launch her into stardom.

I imagine every fan has a favorite Dolly Parton song. There wasn’t a single one I didn’t like, but my favorite has always been “Coat of Many Colors,” which is based on a true story from Dolly’s childhood. As her mother stitched the coat together, she told Dolly the story of Joseph in the Bible and his coat of many colors.

What most people don’t know is that the fabric used to make the coat had originally been intended for a baby brother who had passed away. Dolly’s mother made the coat to ease the pain of the grief that consumed her. It’s not only my favorite song; Dolly admitted that it was hers as well.

Dolly never shied away from singing or talking about her strong Christian beliefs. She gave credit to her faith for guiding her through the hard times of life. When people were surprised that she talked so freely about God, she would say, “Why not? That’s who I am; that’s what keeps me going.”

The selfish part of me is sad that Dolly is gone from this world. But when I take the focus off myself and put it on Dolly, I can’t imagine that she could be any happier than she must be now. Imagine—singing with the angels! I smile, wondering whether it’s the angels or Dolly who is singing backup.

I also picture her sitting next to Joseph and swapping family stories. With a twinkle in her eye, she says, “I know what it’s like to be the favorite of a dozen children. It puts us in a really difficult position sometimes.”

Yes, Dolly brought a lot of pleasure to so many people! She will be greatly missed. But I think she would agree with Paul: “To live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

Until next time, keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

I grew up in a rather sheltered environment—living thirty miles from town and having only my two siblings to play and work with. I did attend a small country school, but exposure to worldly ways was minimal there as well. My parents were good folks, and I could always count on them to answer my questions honestly. They both possessed a good sense of humor, but they weren’t jokesters.

The only downside of all this was that it instilled in me a sense of trust in everyone and in what they said. In that unsuspecting state, I became quite gullible when it came to what my peers told me, and some of them enjoyed having a bit of fun at my expense.

As I grew older, I became more cautious of friends trying to “pull my leg.” So, when my husband spun this yarn about his parents ordering a donkey from Montgomery Ward when he was around five years old, I proudly didn’t fall for such a tall tale.

Oh, he made it sound believable. He said Frances was brought home in his dad’s enclosed delivery van after being picked up at the railroad station. The shipping invoice came with her, along with the bill of sale for $77.00.

“Yeah, right!” I said.

I asked him several questions, hoping to discredit his story, but he didn’t budge. He just kept adding small details that made it sound even more plausible.

“That donkey lived to be thirty years old,” he said with a straight face.

He even threw in some emotion. “Don (his older brother) was disappointed it wasn’t a pony instead.”

Then he whipped out a picture of the three brothers sitting on Frances’s back.

“Humph,” I thought to myself. That didn’t prove anything except that they had a donkey—probably one they had bought from the neighbor down the road.

But he had created just enough doubt in my mind that I had to wonder. Surely, he was just trying to hook me…wasn’t he? I had heard of Montgomery Ward selling prebuilt homes, but donkeys? No way!

One minute I was convinced it was just a wild story, and the next I was pondering whether it could really be true. I snuck away to consult Google.

“Did Montgomery Ward sell donkeys?” I entered into Google’s search bar.

Immediately, I had my answer. Yes, Montgomery Ward did sell donkeys. In the mid-1950s, the famous mail-order retailer featured two pages of live animals in its catalogs, including donkeys, dogs, purebred Shetland ponies, and even monkeys.

Well…I’ll be. That’s a story anyone would have had a hard time believing without proof.

I’m so grateful that when I go to the Word of God, I don’t have to wonder if it’s true. It is the inspired Word of God (2 Timothy 3:16), and His purpose is never to deceive us. How many times have I leaned into the Word and been comforted by such things as: “Do not fear,” “Do not be anxious,” “Trust in the Lord with all your heart,” and “God causes all things to work together for the good of those who love God.”

So many promises—and we can stand on every one of them, never having to wonder whether the words are really so.

Until next time…keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

Trees have always fascinated me. Drop me off at an arboretum, and I’ll wander happily for hours. I have three favorite trees in my backyard: a huge blue spruce, a red maple, and an aspen. (They were actually the determining factor in buying this property.) My front yard is lined with linden trees, while my side yard is home to thornless honey locusts.

Did you know trees go through an amazing process to prepare for winter in colder climates? They know when to begin this process by the length of daylight. We know it has begun when the leaves start to fall. All those bags of leaves we rake up each autumn are part of the tree’s strategy to prevent water loss. But that’s only the beginning of its preparation for winter.

Starches within the tree are converted into sugars, creating a natural antifreeze. These sugars lower the freezing point of the liquid inside the tree’s cells. While this is happening, water is drawn out of the cells and moves into the spaces between them. This prevents the cells themselves from freezing and allows the tree to withstand extreme subzero temperatures. Amazing!

When I think about how God created trees with this astounding ability, I’m humbled by the intricacies of our own human bodies. We are not only complex physical beings, but we are also uniquely created with different features, temperaments, and personalities. Even identical twins do not have identical fingerprints because those tiny ridges are formed in the womb through factors such as slight fluctuations in amniotic fluid pressure and differences in the babies’ positions and movements.

If God took such care in designing trees to survive the harshest winters, how much more care did He take in creating you and me?

When we consider these wonders of creation, how can we not believe in God?

Psalm 139, in The Message translation of the Bible, plainly tells us of God’s involvement in creating us:

You shaped me first inside, then out;
you formed me in my mother’s womb.
Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
you know every bone in my body;
you know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

It seems He knew exactly what He was doing with trees—and with me.

Until next time, keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

Nothing stirs up memories like a death. This month, I lost my last remaining uncle. We were blessed to enjoy his life for ninety-three years. A lot of memories can be gathered in that amount of time. He and I shared a love of writing, and even though we lived states apart, we stayed connected through that common interest and our love for family.

The week he passed, I thought a lot about the memories I had formed with Uncle Wendell. One of the first I remember was when I was four years old. Because my dad owned a stock truck, Mom and Dad helped Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila move from Nebraska to Wisconsin. I perched between my parents on a big black case. From there, I could see out the windshield and through the smaller window behind me, where I could keep an eye on all my aunt and uncle’s belongings. It was my job to holler if anything tumbled out. But that wasn’t always enough to keep me from being bored. When my parents grew tired of containing an antsy four-year-old in those cramped quarters, I was allowed (or pushed off) to ride with my aunt and uncle. To me, that seemed like a real treat.

A warning popped up on my phone, interrupting my pleasant memory of riding with Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila. “Your Voicemail folder is nearly full,” it read. I began going through the messages and deleting most of them. Then one from a close friend appeared. He had sent it on April 4, 2025, hoping to reach me about some banking business. I knew it would stir up emotions if I listened to it, but I wanted to hear his voice again.

A lump formed in my throat as he spoke. As I continued listening, I wanted so badly to believe he was still here with us. For those few brief seconds, I was saddened by my loss. Thankfully, I didn’t linger long on that sorrowful note, as pleasant memories soon began crowding out the sadness. Our families had shared so many wonderful times together!

Dr. Seuss once said, “Sometimes you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” I look back on all the great moments I shared with my uncle and my friend—moments I never gave much thought to when they happened—and now they mean so much.

I’m convinced that memories are one of the greatest gifts God has given us. What else would allow us to live a wonderful moment one thousand times over? A picture can help, but it captures only a visual image. Memory digs deep into our minds and can envelop all the senses. For instance, some of my most cherished memories of my grandmother are the smell of her soap and the sound of her playing the piano.

We know that God considered memory important; otherwise, words such as “memory,” “remember,” “recall,” “remembrance,” and “do not forget” would not appear some 1,200 times throughout Scripture.

I may not recall things as quickly as I once did, but I’m grateful for the things I do remember. It’s a great day when special moments from the past are brought to the forefront of our minds and we get to relive them once again.

Until next time… keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

Generosity comes more easily to some than to others. From what I’ve seen, whether it is given freely or with great sacrifice, it touches hearts just the same. I’d like to share a personal story about being the recipient of a near stranger’s generosity—and the gratitude that settled deep within my heart for this man and his wife.

Country Magazine was a colorful publication from several years ago. As its name implies, it focused on country living, filled with beautiful photographs and homegrown stories. They accepted a piece I had written about the simple grace of the clothesline for their May 2008 edition. The story was even paired with a front-cover image of clothes gently dancing in a sunny breeze.

A couple of weeks after the article appeared, I received an appreciative email from a man named Earl in upper Michigan. He shared how the story stirred memories of fresh-smelling sheets on his boyhood bed and of dashing to the clothesline when the first drops of a summer storm caught his mother’s attention. Earl and I continued to exchange emails now and then, often sharing photos of the countryside—Earl in Michigan and me in Wyoming.

A few years later, as Stan and I talked about taking a vacation somewhere new, we decided on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. We had recently seen beautiful pictures of the area in Country Magazine. As we leaned over maps and searched online for places to visit, I thought of Earl.

“I’m going to email Earl and see if he can give us some pointers on what to see and do,” I said to my husband.

I received a reply almost immediately. Not only did Earl offer suggestions, but he and his wife, Rachel, also wanted to meet us. It felt exciting to finally put a face to the man who had sent that thoughtful email so many years before.

We agreed to meet at a casino in Christmas, Michigan, just a few miles from their home. They were a delightful retired couple, and by the time we finished our meal, it felt as though we had known each other for years. Rachel had another commitment that afternoon, but Earl insisted on showing us some of the area’s scenic highlights—including the Pictured Rocks along the shores of Lake Superior. We ended up spending the entire afternoon together.

As the day drew on, Earl asked, “Where will you be staying tonight?”

After a full day of sightseeing, we were ready to settle in. We told him we planned to stay in Christmas for the night and head out in the morning.

“Well then,” he said, “if Rachel and I weren’t leaving early ourselves, you could stay with us. But since we are, we’re going to book you a suite at the Holiday Inn so you can enjoy Lake Superior right outside your window.”

Earl simply would not take no for an answer. We were overwhelmed by such generosity from a couple who, until that day, had been little more than email acquaintances.

Whenever I hear a sermon, read a story, or study scripture about generosity, you can imagine who comes to mind. I will never forget what Earl and Rachel did for us or the impact they had on our hearts. They went far beyond anything we could have expected. The day we spent with Earl—experiencing his kindness, generosity, and warmth—became our favorite memory of our trip to the Upper Peninsula.

I have no doubt their lives are richly blessed because of the way they give to others. Psalm 112:5 reminds us that good will come to those who are generous and lend freely. Earl and Rachel do that so well.

Until next time…keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.