There has lived a girl whose entire life is the truest expression of living to the fullest. She has been born short of life’s promise. Born already dying, she has lived as a martyr so that others may breathe for her. Not a dry eye remains as she takes the stage.

“I am twenty-one years old. I was born with a condition known as cystic fibrosis, but you all knew that. That is why you are here today, so that with each step you take in tomorrow’s walk, and with every penny you collect, and with each prayer and every thought that you spare for me, I and the hundreds like me may be granted just one more tomorrow with the hopes that each tomorrow may grow into one more week, one more month, one more year.”

She sits in a folding chair as she speaks, for she can no longer stand for more than a few short moments. As she rises, she apologizes:
“I cannot express my regret that I will not be able to join you all tomorrow, but I will be watching, praying, and, of course, waiting with one hundred red-tipped white carnations at the finish-line.”

Her mother, weary from long nights spent restless with sobs, cradles her daughter, who at twenty is barely larger than her ten-year-old brother. With eyes empty of tears, for they have long since cried themselves dry, she confesses:
“My darling, if only I could breathe the sickness from your body -” “I would hate you for it. Nothing that you could do would please me less or hurt me more deeply than that. Mother, this is my gift. It would only be selfish for you to steal it from me.”

“Your gift! My first baby…what was God thinking!?”

“He was thinking, ‘never have I created something imperfect. Every gift from my hands has a purpose, a rhyme, and a reason of its own. This child will live. She may never grow old, and she will suffer enormous amounts of pain. Through her, others will come to know me. They will say, ‘If this suffering child can seek comfort in God, then I am ashamed, for I, without reason, do not.’” Do you see now, Mother? Do you understand?”

“No, Baby, but you do and perhaps some day, I will be so strong. Perhaps I will find it in myself to forgive our Lord. Today, I can only pray, and I do pray, every moment, that I may become half the faithful servant that you have proven yourself to be. No other mother could ever be this proud.”

This brilliant young woman is very tired. She grows frail and weak, and everyone around her gathers in prayer:
“Lord, We cast into your mercy this gentle lamb, this angel of grace. Deliver her to feel no pain, for she has lived with it every moment of her life. Dry the tears she has cried, and allow them to shed no more, for she has suffered enough. Through her, hundreds have come to be your faithful servant. We know that her life has been short and that it has been filled with unimaginable agony, yet still, she has done only Your work, with the rise and set of each sun. Now, Lord, we beg of you to return her favor, that you permit her to feel your grace as reward for her tolerance. It is in Your Holy Name that our prayers are cast, Amen.”

One year later, those same eyes weep as an iron-willed twenty-one-year-old with strength renewed crosses the finish-line to loved ones awaiting her return with one hundred white carnations tipped in red.