“How did the wise men know what star to follow and when to stop?”
The five-year-old’s question of her grandfather came out of nowhere as they walked along, hand-in-hand. The morning air was crispy cold, a light dusting of snow lay like clusters of millions of stars in the shadows not yet touched by the sun, and feathery silvergrass seemed frozen in space.
The little one was to be in her first ever Christmas play and had been tasked with memorizing “When they saw the star they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.”
“Was that how it was grandpa?”
She was pointing to the light pole on which was affixed a lighted star and below it a stop sign with an arrow pointing up as if, she thought anyway, directing passers-by (wise men?) to stop at the star.
Grandpa laughed.
“Can you imagine,” he said, “what it must have been like? Here they go on a great journey and no doubt lose sight of the star on the way? So, they go into the great city and ask around in the palace where certainly the little king would be found or at least someone would know?
“But people of great intelligence, men of power and prestige, of rank and degree and no one knew? No tidings of great joy?
“How discouraging would that have been?
“But then.
“But then they saw the star.
“And that’s why, little one, when you recite your simple line in the upcoming Christmas play, what you will say will need to be said with great enthusiasm. You must throw your arms wide toward the heavens. You must look up with that sweet little face of yours and shout those words!
“For they are the words of anyone at any time ever who has journeyed long and perhaps lost sight of their purpose and reason for being and who then find what it is in their heart they have longed for, and what they have sought for, and hoped for, and dreamed for.
“Believe me I know, little one, over the course of my life, what are the often weary miles of the journey.
“But then.
“But then one day to realize that what I have long sought for has been found.”
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