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Where Did It Go?
by John William Smith
 
She really didn’t want to go, but she had taken the boy to the holiday pageant because she wanted to be a good mother. It was about what she’d expected — old costumes, missed lines, a hackneyed, trite repeat of familiar words and tunes, and characters played by less than amateurs.
The boy had been fascinated by the star. It was the only really well-done piece in the set. Someone had obviously put some time, experience, and thought into it. It revolved, high above the stage, sparkling and twinkling, constantly bringing back even an unwilling gaze. The boy had asked what it was, and she had give the old stock answer.
She was relieved when it was finally over.
It was dark when they left, very dark, and very cold, but it was marvelously clear. She hurried toward the car and regretted that she had had to park so far away. She kept his hand in hers, and when he stumbled, she almost fell with him.
“Watch where you’re going,” she said — perhaps more crossly than she intended. She stopped to help him to his feet.
“I was looking for the star,” he said apologetically.
“Why, there’s millions of them,” she misunderstood.
“I was looking for His star,” he corrected.
“Oh, don’t be silly, honey. That was just a play — people acting. The star went away long ago. You can’t see it anymore.”
“Where did it go? How do you know you can’t see it anymore?” He was disappointed but continued to look.
“I don’t know where it went, honey; it just went away, and that’s why you can’t see it. Come on now; we’ve got to hurry.”
“Maybe it’s that one!” He pointed to a particularly bright, friendly star. “Is that Jesus’ star?”
“No, honey, it’s not Jesus’ star. It’s just a bright star.”
“But it could be His star,” he insisted. “Maybe it’s come back.”
Across her consciousness there flashed a thought. Where it came from, who could guess? Some might say that the Spirit, ever watchful, never sleeping, seized this precious moment when her guard was down and kindled into flame a thought, a thought that had lain dormant for years.
“Oh God,” she thought, “I wish it were His star; I wish it had come back —
I wish I could believe in it like I used to.”
She did not say it out loud, but it was there — and then it was blotted out by cold, fatigue, and pressing cares — but not completely. It was a prayer, and it was heard in the heart of Him who hears the beating of our hearts and knows our every thought — and who waits for moments like these to work His will in our lives. Before she had thought of what to say to her son, His messengers were speeding faster than light to respond.
At the boy’s insistence, she finally looked up, and there was a star! I mean, it was as different from other stars as a bonfire is from a kitchen match. She glanced quickly down at her small son, and the soft iridescent glow of the star seemed to cast a gentle halo of light all around him. And then it was gone, and she shook her head like one who wishes to make certain of her alertness.
When they got home, she was still troubled by it. She helped the boy undress, and she tucked him in with more care and tenderness than usual. When he asked her to help him with his prayers, she did — and she added a special, new prayer of her own. “Dear Father,” she said, “I’m not sure just what happened tonight, but thank you.”
When she returned tot he living room, her husband, without looking up from the TV, said, “Well, how did it go?”
“If you really cared how it went, you might try going sometime. It went about the same as last year when you didn’t go with us — except...” and her voice trailed off into silence, and she couldn’t find a way of finishing.
He looked up from the show he was watching. “Except what? Did something happen?”
“No, nothing you would be interested in.”
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t go.
Did I miss something?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you did miss something. You missed being with your son and making him think he is more important than that stupid show. You missed being with me and letting me know that I am more important than that stupid show. You miss a lot of things, Andy, but tonight you missed something — something really special.”
She paused, her heart beating wildly because she knew she was making a leap into darkness — but she knew she had to take the chance. She picked up the remote control and flipped the TV off.
“You’re really worked up about this, aren’t you? Did something happen?”
“Yes,” she said, “Yes, something did happen, Andy — at least I think it did, although I’m not sure just what — but it’s not what happened that really matters. What matters is that it made me start thinking, and we need to talk.”
And they did, you know.
They talked and talked.
And things were never the same again.
At some point in every holiday season, I find myself gazing at the stars. They seem especially close and significant when it’s cold and silent. I think I want to see that star, at least to imagine the wonder of it, as it makes its majestic and purposeful way to its appointed destination. There, where it concentrates its glorious radiance on the holy ground, is where Jesus was born. God, calling to us —
“Look over here.
See my Incarnation.”
It’s not too hard for me to believe in that star. My child’s heart, awakened from months of slumber by this blessed season, is fully confident that its guiding light brought those wise men to worship Jesus. I wonder, though — where did it go? Does God still move stars to serve His purpose? Is there yet a light calling us to Bethlehem? Does His star not shine for us because we have grown so mature and practical that we dismiss it, as Scrooge dismissed his ghosts by uttering a “Humbug!” of disbelief?
The star was for all to see, but only the wise men were guided by it. When they arrived, they did not find multitudes of seekers who had also followed its light. Perhaps the guiding light of God’s special star is there yet, but our eyes are not pointed upward to Him — because we do not believe in stars. Our eyes look inward to our own wisdom and outward to our own light and around us to the light and wisdom of people like ourselves. And all the while, God calls us by His light, pleading with us to look upward to His holiness.
Where did it go?
It’s where it’s always been.
This holiday season, while your “child’s heart” is awakened, look outward and upward —
And you’ll be sure to find it.