The Woman in Rhinestones Who Reminded Me to Dream

Today, the world lost Dolly Parton.

And somehow, this one feels personal.

I never knew Dolly.

She never sat in my chair.

We never shared a stage, a cup of coffee, or a conversation.

But she has been in the background of my life for as long as I can remember.

Her music. Her faith. Her humor. Her femininity.

Her refusal to make herself smaller so other people could feel more comfortable.

And most of all, her courage to dream.

Dolly grew up with very little in the mountains of Tennessee.

She sang in church as a little girl, picked up a guitar, wrote the songs in her head, and believed there might be something bigger waiting for her.

And then she went after it.

Not by becoming someone else.

By becoming more fully herself.

Maybe that is why today's news stopped me.

Because that is Welcome Home.

For so much of my life, music lived inside me.

The little girl who sang This Little Light of Mine at five years old never disappeared.

She just got buried underneath adulthood.

I became a mom. A wife. A business owner. A hairstylist. An entrepreneur. A Realtor. A business broker.

I built businesses. Raised children. Took care of people. Survived heartbreak. Started over.

And somewhere in all of that living, the little girl who wanted to sing learned how to wait.

Dolly's music has always reminded me that there is nothing foolish about the dream God planted inside you.

There is nothing embarrassing about wanting more.

And there is certainly no expiration date on becoming the person you were created to be.

She did not choose between being a songwriter, a singer, an actress, a businesswoman, a philanthropist or a woman of faith.

She allowed herself to be all of it.

I think I needed that example more than I realized.

Because when I finally walked into that recording studio, there was a part of me that wondered...

Who do you think you are?

You're not twenty.

You've already built a life.

You already have careers.

Why start this now?

But maybe the better question was...

Why not now?

That question became bigger than music.

It became Welcome Home.

This book, these songs, the stories I am writing, and even stepping onto stages to speak are not about reinventing myself.

They are about returning to myself.

Returning to the girl who dreamed before she understood all the reasons dreams might not work.

Returning to the woman God created before fear, responsibility, disappointment and other people's expectations started adding their own definitions.

Dolly understood something about that.

You can wear the rhinestones.

You can dream ridiculously big.

You can build businesses and make money and create beautiful things.

You can love people fiercely and give generously.

You can laugh at yourself.

You can love God.

And you can still remember where you came from.

Maybe that is what I admire most.

She never seemed ashamed of the girl from the mountains.

She carried her with her.

Today, Dolly's family and millions of people around the world are mourning an extraordinary woman.

But I also find myself thinking about the millions of dreams she gave other people permission to have.

Mine included.

There is something bittersweet about losing someone who helped soundtrack pieces of your life just as you are finally stepping fully into your own music.

But maybe there is also a gift in the timing.

A reminder.

Don't wait.

Sing the song.

Write the book.

Tell the story.

Walk onto the stage.

Wear the dress.

Take the chance.

Use the gifts God gave you.

Love people well.

And don't spend so much time becoming who the world expects you to be that you forget the person God created in the first place.

That is what Welcome Home has become for me.

And today, I am especially grateful for a little girl from the mountains of Tennessee who grew up, covered herself in rhinestones, wrote the songs in her heart, and showed generations of women that you do not have to apologize for dreaming big.

Thank you, Dolly.

For the songs.

For the laughter.

For the courage.

And for reminding this dreamer that sometimes following your dreams is not about becoming someone new at all.

Sometimes it is simply finding your way back home.

With light and love,

Kristi J

Welcome Home