I want to tell you a short story about this lighthouse and the lovely woman who gave it to me some years ago.  Her name was Marlene.  Marlene had a love for others that could only be described as uncommon.  She cleaned our offices during my time with Humana in Louisville, Kentucky.   

From the first moment I walked past her on my way out one evening, her sudsy bucket of water and long-handled mop at her feet, Marlene said the same thing: “Be careful out there.”  With her accent, careful always sounded like “curfel.”  Marlene said this every night.  She knew it was dark during the winter when I left around 7 pm.  But it wasn’t a winter thing.  It was a Marlene thing and she gently cautioned me this way for all the years we knew each other.  Her concern was genuine.  In fact, Marlene told me this until her illness kept her from being able to work.  That was about three or four years of loving farewells from Marlene.  What I didn’t know at the time was that it was I who should have told Marlene to be careful.  While I headed to my car in the secure garage for the 13-mile ride home to the suburbs, she rode the bus back home to her inner-city neighborhood after her nightly shift, leaving sometimes past 10:30 and always alone.   

It wasn’t long before I began to stop and talk with her for a few moments before heading to the elevator.  Marlene didn’t make eye contact but was pleased to engage in pleasantries.  Soon my colleagues began stopping and talking with Marlene on their way out each evening. We learned that she was a single Mom raising her two girls and that she had a large extended family of brothers and sisters who mostly lived in Louisville.  They liked to get together for special holidays and celebrate as a family.  Everyone there on the executive floor of the Humana building fell in love with Marlene, and she addressed all of us as “Ma’am” and “Sir.”  We didn’t ask for such courtesies and told her to call us by our first names to which she replied, “Yes, Ma’am. Yes, Sir.”  Finally she started to call us by our first names but insisted on adding a Mr. or Mrs.  So it became Mrs. Bonnie, Mr. Steve, and Mr. Bruce.   No, we didn’t ask for such courtesies but that was just who Marlene was:  gracious and kind.  She was brought up that way and was teaching her girls to be just as courteous and polite.

I will never forget her response that first Thanksgiving I bought her a ham large enough to serve her extended family.  A few days later when I arrived at work, there was a note from Marlene, written in pencil and on a scrap piece of paper, that read:  “My entire family enjoyed the ham.  My brother told me ‘Marlene, you certainly know how to pick your friends and your friends certainly know how to pick their hams.’  I just can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Bonnie.  And I also want to tell you that you are pretty. And kind. Love, your friend, Marlene.”   Over the years, my colleagues and I remembered Marlene with hams at Thanksgiving and Christmas along with a little bonus money.  Marlene was always grateful and tearful when she received our small gifts. 

As time went on, I received more notes from Marlene.  I framed a few of them and hung them in my office as a tribute to my lovely, gracious friend.  Her framed notes became conversation topics with visitors to my office.  It gave me a chance to tell others about this beautiful woman whose love was pure as gold.

All those years, Marlene kept my office sparkling and my orchid plant abundantly adorned.  Her care and attention to detail were her gifts to each of us. It was all she had to give us and she gave it straight from her kind and gentle heart.  But there was a time when Marlene felt she had to show her appreciation for our friendship in an even more special way.  That’s the day I walked into my office and found the lighthouse sitting there on my desk. It was bluish-green with a warm, purple-hued sunset painted in the frame. The lantern was supported on gold ceramic pillars and it looked like a little piece of art.  The sentiment on the front read “Rock of Salvation.”  And, of course, there was note.  This time on stationery.  “Mrs. Bonnie,” she wrote. “I saw this lighthouse and it made me think of you. I love you, Mrs. Bonnie. Your friend, Marlene.” She knew we shared a grounding in our faith in God, and I knew I would forever cherish that lighthouse.

I guess we thought Marlene would be with us always, showering us with her love and care.  But then one day, Marlene did not come to work.  Nor the next day nor any day that week.  We received word that she was ill with uncontrolled diabetes and it had taken its toll on her health.  There was talk of her foot needing to be amputated.  By the time she entered the hospital, it was too late for Marlene.  Even if the doctors could have saved her, Marlene’s spirit was crushed and her strong will defeated.  Marlene died after a few days in the hospital. We all mourned that day at work. Someone so precious and unassuming who had hidden her illness from all of us. If only we could have helped her some way.

I had never attended an African-American funeral.  I was raised without prejudice and embraced all colors God made His children.  And I knew I needed to be there for Marlene as she would have struggled to be there for me. But still I worried if I would be accepted by her loved ones and friends gathered to pay their respects to this lovely woman of God.   Even though most of the audience didn’t know me or my relationship with Marlene, I asked her daughter if I could say some words about her.  When I approached the front of the room, I felt all eyes on me as folks wondered who I was and what I might have to say about their beloved Marlene.  You could have heard a pin drop, and the deafening silence pierced my composure. From the moment I opened my mouth to speak, the tears started flowing as I said simply:  “Marlene was my friend.”  All through my tearful eulogy, her family and friends seemed to embrace me with a warmth I had never felt before or since.  The warmth of community, the security of love, the assurance of faith, and the validation of acceptance.  It was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life as we all banded together to show our love and appreciation for Marlene.  After the service, her loved ones and friends rushed over to thank me for kind words, to show appreciation for my love for her, and to give me hugs.  

Marlene is gone now and somewhere out there in cyber space is a voice-mail message from me waiting for her to pick up.  It was a message she was too ill to retrieve. It was our final farewell as I told her how much I loved and cherished her. Marlene was the lighthouse and her humble love lit up the world around her. Marlene was my friend. My very special friend.