One Day, Dear Dee Dee

“And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope” (I Thessalonians 4:13 NLT).

One day…

Behind the humble old farmhouse on Camp Branch Road, I discovered her forsythia adorned with ribbons, each fluttering in the breeze. Every knotted piece of fabric is a testimony. A story.

Indeed, a prayer.

She called it her Prayer Bush, and my family was blessed to have a ribbon or two tied to that forsythia’s branches.

Dee Dee Parker wore a variety of hats—that of wife, mother, storyteller, friend—but what she was known for by many was being…

A prayer warrior.

I’m grateful to have lived in the same small Western North Carolina community as Dee Dee, and we first met at our Christian writers’ fellowship in Lake Junaluska. One Wednesday afternoon many years ago, through tears, she shared her daughter Brooke’s book, a children’s picture book the young woman published prior to her passing. “Breast cancer,” we were told. “Took her too soon.”

Although Dee Dee didn’t attend our writers’ group every month, she’d show up now and then, always with a smile, with outstretched arms. I came to know her bit by bit—how she adored her husband Jim, had enjoyed children’s ministry, teaching through puppetry and, along with Brooke, clowning. (I told her this was her one and only fault. “Buffonery,” I teased with an exaggerated shudder, my body language confessing my personal fear of clowns.)

Dee Dee was also a long-time conferee of Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference each spring. There she’d collect friendships like one searching for seashells, and she treasured each one.

“How can I pray for you?”

Dee Dee always inquired in her gracious Appalachian drawl. Sometimes she petitioned the heavens right then and there. After amen, she promised, “I’ll tie a ribbon ’round my Prayer Bush.”

Her beloved Jim passed away several years ago after a lengthy stay at Autumn Care, a nursing home in Waynesville, and she missed him so. “One day, I’ll see my dear Jim again,” she often said, a far-off look in her eyes. And she knew…

It was true.

In October 2024, I taught a bread-making class, and Dee Dee arrived with friend Linda. Both donned aprons, wearing grins, and over the course of several hours, we visited while mixing easy ingredients, finding spiritual symbolism in the simplicity.

“Jesus—the Bread of Life…”

Dee Dee shared with a smile, and Linda and I nodded, believing it true as well.

A couple months later, Dee Dee and I visited a mutual friend in Leicester, North Carolina just before Christmas. We giggled like girls as we wound along the rural roads to Michelle Cox’s home. I learned more about Dee Dee as I drove—hearing about years of ministry alongside pastor-husband Jim, her writing, her friendships.

Yes, her heartaches.

“With each loss, heaven gets closer,” she sighed. “But one day…” and she smiled through tears.

That was the last time I saw my friend. We’d talk on the phone now and then, catching up. She asked for prayer—her rheumatoid arthritis and other ailments causing pain and, at times, worry—and she asked for prayer, too, for her son with whom she lived. But she never failed to inquire–

“How can I pray for you?”

And I knew. There were ribbons on her Prayer Bush for my husband who faced cancer. For a child who was struggling. For a grand-baby in the NIC unit.

“Can I write an article about your forsythia?” I asked some time ago, and I could hear her smile. “I’d love that.”

Sadly, I didn’t get that article written prior to her passing. I learned through a friend that Dee Dee, who turned seventy-eight the end of March, passed away peacefully on Monday, April 20^th after a brief stay in the hospital.

Though those who knew and loved her rejoice knowing she’s no longer in pain—now reunited with loved ones she’s missed who stepped into heaven before her—Dee Dee’s absence here leaves a bittersweet void.

Still…

I smile as I think about her Prayer Bush, each ribbon’s flutter a whisper of a promise made. A promise kept.

After all, the forsythia represents new beginnings, joy, and renewal. And that’s what our precious sister is experiencing now—the promise of joy in Jesus, the beginning of her new life with him.

One day, dear Dee Dee.

One day.

Father, thank you for the gift of dear Dee Dee Parker–a woman whose love for you made a difference in this world. May the seeds she planted in her seventy-eight years bear much fruit for the kingdom. Amen.