A Different Kind of Star
The Twelve Days of Christmas
To appreciate fully the warmth of family and friends at Christmas, I
am convinced that one, at some time in his or her life, must have
experienced a Christmas Eve without them. I remember such a
Christmas Eve during the Great Depression. Homeless and penniless, I
was wandering the country searching for a job.
This night--a cold one--I was in the railroad yard of a Midwest town I
no longer recall. To escape the penetrating cold, four other men and I
climbed into a boxcar. Soon the train began to move, and as it picked
up speed, the wind pushed through the cracks in the doors. The cold
inside soon became as fierce as it had been outside. The car had been
used for hauling flour and had some sheets of paper in it. We wrapped
them around our shivering bodies, but we were still cold.
Then one young man with a Spanish accent said, "We make a star for
warm. We sit on the floor back to back."
He tucked the paper all around us and took a place for himself. We
sat huddled there with knees drawn and toes pointed out; gradually
heat from our bodies spread from one man to another, warming us. The
young fellow began to sing..."Noche de amor, noche de paz." The rest
of us joined in for a long time, cozy and warm, until I dozed off,
dreaming of other Christmases. When dawn came, and the train stopped,
we went out separate, lonely ways.
That was a long ago, and my Christmases are comfortable and happy ones
now. But, I've never forgotten those fellows who shared the boxcar
with me, and I give thanks for them often. Especially to the young
Spanish man who showed us that no matter how bleak and difficult
circumstances may be, it is always possible to be warmed by the light
of the Christmas star.
Rod Dyer
