On March 1, 2026, my grandmother, Dorothy Louise Cooper Medlin (Grammy) took her last breath on this earth and woke up in thOn March 1, 2026, my grandmother, Dorothy Louise Cooper Medlin (Grammy), took her last breath on this earth and woke up in the presence of Jesus. I cannot fathom the glories that she has seen as she now stands in paradise, perfect and complete, lacking no good thing. And yet, I miss her so, but I would never wish her back to a broken earth stained with sin. She is with Jesus, and I long to be there with her. One day, I will be.
Dorothy grew up in Christiana, a small town about 30 minutes south of Nashville, Tennessee. She was the oldest of three children. I remember her telling stories of her childhood, of walking her younger sister, Brenda, to the bus station each morning, and of how she would play tricks on her favorite teacher, Mrs. Alvira, when she was tired of sitting still in class.
Her parents, largely absent from her life, left her to raise her younger siblings, and she did so joyfully. Her younger sister told me a story of how my grandmother sent her bus money so that Aunt Brenda could head downtown to Nashville to visit Grammy at her boarding house while she was in nursing school. Brenda went to the wrong bus stop, but my Grammy found her and brought her home.
She met my grandfather, Marvin Medlin, while she was in nursing school. He was a Navy Seabee, and her roommate invited her to go on a double date with her and her beau. Somewhere during their dating relationship, they fell in love, and my grandfather was deployed. I’ll never forget my grandmother telling me that when he got back, she told him he was “lucky he never got a tattoo, or she wouldn’t have married him.” They got married in a little house that my Grammy had lived in while she was living in downtown Nashville. Shortly after getting married, they moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, where they had their first two sons, Jeff and Joe and then later moved to Columbia, Tennessee. They spent the last 30+ years on a farm with a sun porch and a perfect patio, with a giant bell that Grammy would ring to call Pop, Jeff, Joe, Jim and all the grandkids back home for supper, where we would gather together in the kitchen around the little red bistro table and reflect on the gospel and what Christ had done and is still doing today.
I’ve thought a lot about what I want to share as I reflect on the life of my grandmother. She is a treasure made in the Image of God, and she taught me so much throughout the first thirty years of my life. I want to be like her in the way that she loved and served other people, created for the glory of God, was slow to anger and quick to listen, and had joy that radiated through her smile and her life no matter what her circumstances looked like — through raising her younger siblings, to working hard, through great loss and through facing Dementia with grace.
I think I would be remiss if I did not begin by acknowledging that my grandmother was a sinner, which probably seems like an odd place to start. Though she was kind and deeply loving, and I don’t think she ever said a mean thing about anyone, she was still a sinner who desperately needed a Savior.
God, in His loving-kindness and rich mercy, because He loved Dorothy Louise Cooper Medlin, rescued her from death. He made atonement for her sins through the cross, made her alive in Christ, and that changed everything about her life: where she found her hope, the things she loved, how she served, and what she created.
Grammy lived a praying life.
She taught me the importance of prayer. She lived a life of prayer, consistently meeting with the Lord as she read her Bible each morning and wrote out prayers for each of her children, her daughters-in-law, and her grandchildren in the margins of her worn leather Bible. She did this quietly, without seeking attention, and yet she did it faithfully.
Her mornings were spent focused on eternal things as she faithfully and steadfastly interceded for her family on their behalf. We knew that she prayed for us. We knew that she thanked the Lord for us, and that she prayed that He would be known in our lives. What a blessing it is to have a grandmother who lived a praying life.
She loved without expectation.
As a firstborn daughter, I’ve always been driven by achievement, and throughout my life, I have felt the need to earn people’s love or the good approval of man. In fact, more often than not, I have sought to earn man’s approval more than I have stopped to think of the kindness that the Lord has shown me despite the list of sins that I have committed.
While I was still dead in my trespasses and sins, Christ died for me. He did not die for me because of the things that I would accomplish in this life (which are but rags compared to the glories of the King of all Glory). God always saves because of Christ alone and for His glory alone.
Grammy was a precious reminder to me that there wasn’t a list of achievements I had to accomplish in order to be loved by her. She loved me no matter what my flaws were, and she patiently taught me so many things — from dulcimer lessons to art lessons at her dining room table, to buying my first sewing machine that I unwrapped in the living room while I’m sure Bonanza was playing on TV.
Grammy created beautiful things, all pointing to the greatest Creator
Growing up, one of my favorite things about my grandmother was that she was never too busy for me. It didn’t matter what she was doing; she would invite me into the activity. If she was practicing her dulcimer, she took the time to teach me a song so that I could play alongside her. And for a grandchild like me, who had zero musical talent (besides a handful of piano lessons I attended before skipping the rest in fifth grade), it took a lot of patience to teach me that.
She invited me in to create, to learn, and to ideate. She spent time investing in the tools that would help me create, and she spent time teaching me how to use them.
I remember when I would spend hours watching her sew, and I couldn’t wait to spend a week with her, where we would sit by the sewing machine for hours as we made all kinds of projects, from tote bags to blankets to little quilts. I loved getting to sew with my grandmother, and I remember after we spent months sewing, she purchased a sewing machine for me for my next birthday so that we could create when she came to visit me in Georgia, and so I could practice and improve.
I made countless blankets for friends, doll clothes for each of my dolls, and so many other projects just for fun.
She was an incredible artist and worked with so many mediums. Just recently, I was perusing some of her old artwork that she had created and found a beautiful set of acrylic and oil paintings that she had made. While I was growing up, she predominately used pencil and would draw the most stunning houses and portraits of each of her grandchildren, whom she dearly loved.
My Grammy embodied radically ordinary hospitality
I will never forget standing in the receiving line at my grandfather’s funeral just two years ago after we lost him in a tragic accident. Almost three decades ago, my grandparents had moved to a (then) tiny town outside of Nashville, Tennessee. My grandfather was larger than life, and you could pick him out in any crowd. My grandmother would often be found at his side or quietly serving behind the scenes.
But there in the receiving line at my grandfather’s funeral, I heard hundreds of stories from people in Lebanon, Tennessee (which is now a fairly large suburb, in case you were wondering), of ways that both of my grandparents had served them — often quietly and without applause. They saw a need in their community, and they would show up with fried pork chops and homemade biscuits, or with a tractor or a tool to fix a fence when yet another neighboring cow escaped.
My grandmother was an introvert. I remember spending a few weeks with them throughout the year, over the summer and through the holidays, and my grandmother and I would sit back and watch as my grandfather would approach everyone everywhere we went: at church, in the grocery store, at Wendy’s, or at some random garage sale we might happen upon on a Friday or Saturday.
My grandmother and I would giggle, and she would say, “You’re just like me, Caroline Grace. We would much rather sit in the corner and talk to a few people than entertain the room.”
And yet, people gravitated to my grandmother. They loved her, and they would approach her in the middle of the grocery store to tell her their life story, or flock to her at art class or her dulcimer class. She had friendships that spanned all the decades of her life, and I have found it such a joy to get to know some of her precious friends now, as an adult.
My grandmother was an introvert, but she knew that being a Christian did not mean that you could live life alone. She plugged in and faithfully served. She loved people well as she taught Vacation Bible School or woke up before the sun to cook a giant breakfast for our family of 30.
She actively practiced her hospitality muscle, and she was good at hosting. Her home felt welcoming and warm, and there were always freshly baked cookies. My grandparents were just as loved as they were known.
My Grandmother taught me the joy of service.
In the early hours of the morning, I remember waking up to the sound of a rooster or a peacock crowing. I would tiptoe down the wood-paneled staircase, open the door, and see the dining room table set with a mismatched set of plates and forks to feed over 20 people (I always sat at the seat with the cutest plate).
My grandmother would be bustling in the kitchen, scrambling eggs, frying potatoes, and checking the oven for the most mouth-watering homemade biscuits you’ve ever tasted in your life. We’d always joke that she should open a restaurant and call it “Grammy’s Country Kitchen.”
I don’t know how she did it, but without fail, she would provide the most scrumptious Southern breakfast you could ever find this side of the Mississippi, and every dish would be perfectly piping hot.
And then, after breakfast was consumed (far too quickly, I realize, as an adult, for the amount of time she put in to making an immaculate five star breakfast!), she would head to the kitchen where she would hand-wash dozens of plates, serving platters, and utensils. She did this faithfully, quietly, and without ever complaining.
For her, it was a joy to have a crowded table full of the people that she loved. And her grandchildren noticed this. We’d line up in turn, begging for a chance to wash dishes with Grammy.
She made serving others a delight, and something that we longed to do so that we could spend more time with her. Oh, what I would give to go back and hand-wash some dishes in that farmhouse sink and chat about art, a sewing project, life and Jesus next to my Grammy! But right now she stands next to the King of Kings. What glory must fill her sight.
She was a faithful and kind friend.
Over the last decade, but even more so over the last two years since my Pop passed away, I’ve had the privilege and honor of meeting and keeping in touch with many of my grandparents’ friends. They knew practically the entire town of Lebanon, Tennessee.
I’ve stood in the sanctuary at Barton’s Creek twice over the last 2.5 years and I’ve listened to countless stories told by hundreds of precious people, of ways that my grandparents had quietly and faithfully served their neighbors, friends, and extended family over the last eight decades of their lives, I have been amazed by the legacy they left behind.
Thought she is far from perfect, she has precious friends from her 20s, her dearly loved younger sister who has been a faithful and sweet part of her life since she was born (when my grandmother was 10), and so many other friends who took countless trips with my grandparents to the mountains, the beach, and so many cities in between.
Until Glory & new memories
The old adage is true: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” We feel this when our loved ones travel or live far away. But it is equally true — and we feel it all the more — when our loved ones depart this earth.
Death doesn’t cause love to die. In fact, it often amplifies love, causes offenses to fade, and makes us foster feelings of love, admiration, and fondness.
And so, although Grammy is gone (and my Pop, too), I love them dearly. I think of them often as I remember conversations we had or when a photo pops up as I’m scrolling through a photo album or my camera roll.
And just because our loved ones are gone and are now face-to-face with the God of Love, in the land that lacks no good thing, they still love us and think of us fondly.
In heaven, they are still who they were on earth, just perfected, lacking in no good thing, fully glorified before the King of all Glories.
If I treasure all of the memories with my dear grandparents on earth, don’t they still treasure those memories together? Don’t they long for the day that we will be reunited before the King of Kings and share in the feasts of heaven forevermore?
They will still be my grandparents in heaven. They will still love me and remember with fondness the memories that we have made together on Earth. And your loved ones will remember you too.
“There is much we wonder about heaven and much we discuss or debate, but not the continuity of relationships, not the continuity of love.
And so, if we treasure all the sweet memories we once made together, wouldn’t they? If our hearts yearn to make new memories with them, wouldn’t theirs? If our mouths are crying out, ‘Come, Lord Jesus,’ wouldn’t their mouths sing the same?
It is a beautiful thing to ponder that even as we remember our loved ones with such tender affection, they are remembering us with hearts just as warm. Even as we long for the day when we can throw our arms around them, they long for the day when they can throw theirs around us.
Even as we yearn for the time when what was severed will be restored, they are yearning for it too. Their love for us continues, and their love for us grows, for absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.”
I love you, Grammy and I thank God for you — you are a gift and a tangible reminder of God’s unending love and kindness to me.
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