by Marie Davies & Margaret Hultz.
Best Mary could remember on this unforgivingly, hot August day was that she met Juan Diego on a Monday. He was an interesting young man; more miles had passed under his feet than the average person. Great calluses rimmed Diego’s well-traveled feet, lifting him an additional four inches off the ground.
As a baby, Juan Diego learned to walk at only ten months old. He mastered the skill with his first step—and just kept on walking. He walked right out the front door of the family casa along the small town’s dusty street, and out into the dry Mexican landscape. Diego walked through the scrub brush, circling twice around every agave plant just to make a game of it. Except for the first ten months of his life, a barefoot Juan Diego walked day and night—asleep or awake. At fifteen years old, Juan Diego reached the not-so-great height of four-feet, nine inches tall—great calluses included. So, on that particular Monday afternoon, December 9, 1531, when Juan Diego met Mary, he was a tad more than a boy, with very well used lower appendages.
Mary and Diego—their summit happened sometime around three o’clock. Diego’s lowest extremities—his worldly toes—twinkled and glowed unscathed by the multitude of miles that had passed beneath them. Yes, all ten of Juan Diego’s smiling toes revealed themselves to Mary, wooing her out into the open.
Just as this young man crowned Tepeyac Hill out of the bush appeared a young girl who looked about fifteen too. Pointing to his feet she remarked, “What lovely toes!”
Startled,Diego stopped in his tracks, “Que?”
Mary blushed and then stammered, “Well . . . I was just saying that you have ten perfectly shaped toes, they are such a beautiful roasted sort of brown.”
“Dedos de las pies? Juan Diego wrinkled his brow and scratched his head, “My toes? You’re talking about my toes?”
“Juan Diego, you were walking by and I . . .”
“Well, I was walking to . . . somewhere. . . .” The young man’s voice trailed off as he noticed something very peculiar about this girl—a vision really—in blue and gold. How strange? Diego thought, and then he asked, “How do you know my name? Do I know you? Maybe you are from Teyekte?”
The young girl squirmed, “Well . . .”
Diego tried again, “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” Mary searched for the right words.
Just then a breeze rose off the sandy path. Grains of sand carried by the wind spread out like rays emitting from Mary’s body. Every agave plant bloomed, ants stopped in their tracks. Clouds parted. Birds sang. The sun was outshone by her radiance. Heavens parted and angels sang out one long, sustained musical note of glee.
Juan Diego fell to his knees and bowed his head, “La Virgen Maria, Our Holy Mother!!”
The Virgin Mary looked up and said in a hurried, hushed voice, “Get up Juan Diego, I can’t see your feet!”