There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
~Edith Wharton
Mom was in the throes of breast cancer. We sat outdoors with her little dog Kati, listening to the birds chirping, and watching the bumblebees darting from flower to flower. I studied Mom’s face, wondering how I could take her mind off the pain she was experiencing. Her strong faith had always inspired and encouraged me. It was my turn to do the same for her.
“Aren’t the dandelions in the field over there beautiful?” Mom smiled wanly, gazing at the countless clusters of vibrant yellow. She managed to find beauty in all God’s creation, even weeds.
Suddenly, I had an idea.
“How would you like to go get some flowers we can plant together in front of the house? It’s a nice day for a drive in the country, too.”
Mom’s face slowly lit up like the afternoon sun.
“I think I’d like that.” The three of us slowly climbed into the car, Kati’s tail wagging in anticipation of a ride.
Soon, we were wandering through rows and rows of colorful blooms. Mom’s pain was forgotten temporarily as she bent over to choose a potted red chrysanthemum.
“Oh, how glorious,” she murmured, pressing the flowers against her cheek.
A young lady approached, her dimples welcoming, her eyes bright.
“Hello, ladies. Isn’t it a beautiful day for planting flowers? My name’s Jenny, and I’m here if you have any questions.”
“She’s young and beautiful and has no idea what we’re going through,” I whined silently, wondering if the girl was even old enough to be in college yet.
Mom winced. I hurried to her side, reaching for the pots she clutched in each hand.
“I think we have enough flowers to plant for now, Mom. Do you want to wait in the car while I pay for these?”
Kati hopped happily into the back seat.
“I’ll come with you.” Mom placed her arm through mine.
“Let me carry those for you,” Jenny smiled, taking the flowers from me.
“Thank you so much. Mom tires so easily now with this breast cancer.”
Suddenly, Jenny froze in her tracks. Her expression was compassionate, loving.
“I’m running on Saturday for breast cancer… Well, it’s really more of a fast walk. My mom has it, too. May I please add your names to hers? I’d be proud to walk and pray for you both!”
My eyes teared up as I reached for my wallet.
“We’d love that. Wouldn’t we, Mom?” I sniffed.
Mom reached out, patting Jenny’s arm.
“Thank you, beautiful one….”
Ringing up our sale, Jenny carefully placed the pots of flowers in cardboard cartons before reaching for a pen and paper.
“Now I just need your names so I can remember you both during the marathon. By the way, you’re both invited to come and have hot dogs and ice cream on Saturday. We’d love having you there.”
“I’m afraid I’m not quite up for that, dear. But thank you for praying for us; you don’t know how much that means. My daughter is named after me so it should be easy to remember us. Two Marys.”
It was Jenny’s turn to choke up.
“You’ll both be able to wear these bracelets then.”
Reaching under the counter, she retrieved two pink rubber bracelets, placing one on each of our wrists.
I took in the words printed across the bracelets: “OUR MARY.”
“It so happens that’s my mom’s name, too. And you know what Jesus says, ‘For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them’ ” (Matthew 18:20).
Mom reached for my hand, placing hers and mine with Jenny’s. Together, we lifted them in triumph.
Mom whispered a prayer for Jenny’s mom, for us, and for all the women out there suffering from such a terrible disease.
We headed to the car, hope in our hearts.
“Roll down the window,” Mom whispered.
Jenny stood waving, brushing a tear from her cheek.
Mom waved back. Then, gathering all the energy she could muster, she cried, “Walk on!”
Jenny lifted her hand once more in triumph.
Mom glanced in my direction, a smile creeping slowly across her face.
“What do you say we go plant those flowers?”
— Mary Z. Whitney —