Ancora Imparo: What Dolly Parton, Family Memories, and an Irish Blessing Taught Me About Growth

Seeing a flurry of social media posts about Dolly Parton recently sent me down a rabbit hole of reflection. Thankfully, Dolly is still very much alive and shining her light on the world! But the outpouring of love reminded me why she is so adored: she carries herself, her brand, and her faith-driven purpose with unconditional love, inclusion, and grace.

Growing up, Dolly’s faith was a constant backdrop in our home; every single Easter, without fail, my mom makes us listen to Dolly’s powerful rendition of “He’s Alive.” Hearing Dolly build that song to its glorious, resurrection-filled climax sets the tone for our family’s holiday every year.

As I scrolled through my memories on the first anniversary of my father’s celebration of life, where I had the honor of speaking at his funeral, that Easter spirit of hope and interconnected moments began to weave themselves together.

Living in the Palm of His Hand

Among my memories was a trip to Black Mountain for my sister-in-law’s bachelorette getaway, which brought to mind her wedding with my brother at Unity Church in Belmont and their reception at the Haid Theater on the Belmont Abbey Campus. Right next to those memories was a photo of my daughter alongside Sister Carmelita Hagan, known for her years of pastoral and spiritual care.

A video popped up of Sister Carmelita leaving us with the timeless Irish Blessing:

“May the road rise up to meet you, May the wind be always at your back, May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields, and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.”

Not long ago, I shared with my uncle the very first dream I had of my dad after he passed. It was quick—he was standing in the hallway of my home in a blue shirt, his palms facing up as if he were passing something to me. It happened so fast I flinched and woke up.

After hearing Sister Carmelita’s message about being held in the palm of God’s hand, I realized what a profound blessing was being passed down. It led me back to a previous blog post I wrote, Aspire and Uncle John, where I remembered celebrating the life of my great-uncle, John Marsh. When his pen pal first heard the news of John’s passing, her very first words were the Latin phrase “Ancora Imparo”—I am still learning.

In that same post, I explored the history archived at Belmont Abbey Library surrounding Father Abram Joseph Ryan, known as “The Poet-Priest of the South.” Right after the Civil War ended, Father Ryan wrote his famous poem, “The Conquered Banner.” Over and over, the poem repeated the central plea: “Furl that banner, fold it, it is best… Touch it not—unfold it never, let it droop there, furled forever.” Even then, there was a historical recognition that the time had come to put the flag away.

Learning, Evolving, and Unlearning

Looking back at my own family photos from the 1990s, I found a picture taken in front of the old Dixie Stampede sign. A photo that made me cringe. Even back then, standing in front of the sign as a young woman, I remember thinking, This feels weird. Even before fully understanding the deep historical pain attached to the Confederate flag, it always gave me a negative feeling.

Ancora Imparo. We are all still learning.

Dolly Parton modeled this exact lesson for all of us. When she realized the term “Dixie” and the symbols attached to her show carried painful weight for marginalized communities, she didn’t get defensive; she listened, aligned her actions with her faith, and changed the name to Dolly Parton’s Stampede. She chose to furl that flag, fold it away, and ensure her space was welcoming to everyone because it was simply the right thing to do.

My parents were the ones who first introduced my daughter to Dollywood. Because of that seed planted years ago, the Stampede became her favorite show—a place where her fiancé took her for her 21st birthday, and where they went on their honeymoon. On her 22nd birthday trip to Nashville, our family toured the Ryman and sat in the Grand Ole Opry watching Jason Crabb sing—the same historic Opry stage where Johnny Cash introduced a 23-year-old Dolly Parton for her debut decades ago.

When my daughter visits the Stampede today, she doesn’t see the Confederate flag that once unsettled me in the 90s. She sees a grand show that ends with Dolly’s patriotic anthem, “Color Me America”—a tribute to unity, hope, and community.

Passing the Blessing Forward

Dolly shows us what it looks like to let faith fuel purpose: whether it’s belting out “He’s Alive” on Easter morning, standing up for those on the margins, or having the wisdom to furl the flags of the past.

Like my father passing something to me in that brief dream, wisdom and faith are open-handed gifts. We don’t have to stay frozen in what was. We can hold our hands open, keep learning, and choose light, love, and grace every single day.