It had been a rough day. Gunfire’s repetitive staccato had rattled his bones and jarred his nerves. But it had ended for now, and he was assigned Fire Guard while others slept. Though he was deployed in a part of the world he had always associated with heat, he could see his breath in the night air. It was downright cold!
He’d quieted himself to the point that he was better at discerning the difference between a rogue footfall and the crack of cold, but though a soldier might appear quiet or still, guard duty was never a time of rest.
Something caught his eye, and he zeroed in on it. Oh. A star. Only a star. But its brightness pulled his gaze back to the sky, and he thought of the old story – the one about wise men following a brilliant star and shepherds in the night.
Shepherds in the night. Now there was something he could understand. Men of varied ages spending time in the field. Without decent food. Smudged and dark from dirt and sun. Always slightly on edge, a result of their responsibility to protect. To fight when necessary. To be invisible, unremembered, and essential. They guarded sheep. He guarded freedom.
On a night not unlike this one and in a place relatively near to the station he guarded, those shepherds watched; watched the sheep and the undiscernible darkness. Their eyes, like his, might have 
blurred from tiredness. Some of their comrades might have been collegial – others, not so much. But, unlike him, their night had exploded in light and sound and magnificence with the announcement of the ages. Glory! To God! In the highest! A baby was born who would first save the world for all history, then rule for all eternity. History! Eternity!
The One who was announced did battle with the forces of evil. Yes, he knew something about that. And He loved. Yes, he knew love. Wished he knew it better. And He finished what He started. Yes, it was part of the Soldier’s Creed.
The soldier felt suddenly small in the grand scheme of things. He stretched and gazed as far as his eyesight would allow. He wouldn’t see magnificence tonight. He would only see the stars over the hills. His view was magnificent, was it not? It would have to be enough on this Christmas night. While those he loved and those who hated him and those who didn’t give him a thought celebrated with feasts and presents and songs and candlelight, the stars would have to be enough.
“Merry Christmas”, he whispered.
And then, then he saw . . . something. Were his eyes playing tricks? No, no, he was as sure as anything he’d seen it; if only for an instant. Angels! Not a multitude. And not glowing and beautiful like the pictures he’d seen in books when he was a child. But fierce. Profoundly scary and somehow comforting. No one would believe this. Not his buddies. Not his friends and family back home. But when you witness the unseen, you never forget it. He knew what he saw.
And his heart beat fast with awe as he blinked back grateful tears on the quiet Christmas night.
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flecks of light, turning the night into a velvety backdrop. Then the branches of the tree reach lower, and lower still until they brush the ground. 
And in the glittering, gleaming night something amazing begins to happen!
Tiny red, blue, and green berries sprout along the soft green needles. Gradually little bits of corn and pumpkin spring up in concert from the branches; and fruit of all kinds drop from the already laden boughs.
First, little chipmunks, fresh from their winter hibernation, peek up from the snow. Then squirrels: gray, red, and brown chatter to each other as they scamper near. Deer and wolves, friends for the evening, sniff the air and begin to 
munch on the feast. Birds drop down onto the higher branches and lend music to the night when they break from dining on the abundance of the old tree. The quiet of the forest erupts with happy sounds of animals, some very hungry from too many snowy days, as they enjoy the profusion of good food.
Eight quarters. That’s what did it. It was two dollars sucked into a laundromat dryer with nothing to show for them that cracked her final effort to put on her game face. And now, as she sat on a cold bench, holding a large bag of wet laundry and waiting for the bus, a few tears burned her eyes. She blinked quickly to chase them away. 
As she lay in bed the next morning, the events from the previous evening played in her memory. She could almost taste the gingerbread cookies and hot cocoa the old man had brought out while they finished decorating his tree, a tree that rivaled any she’d ever seen. 
Two hours later, I’d not only made a fresh pot, but was more awake than I’d been since my mani-pedi. I’d shown the Sergeant the pictures from my phone, I’d told him everything I’d told McBrennain, and more. I’d even told him how glorious the stranger had been. John D. was a very attentive listener, and I couldn’t seem to stop talking. The coffee didn’t help.
Detective McBrennain showed his badge and stepped across the threshold. I invited him to sit at the kitchen table, made coffee (my policy was no decaf, but he looked like someone who preferred the dark of night to the light of day anyway), and told him my story. I told him about the car, the man with glorious gray eyes, and seeing the same car on a Facebook post of a missing car. I told him the car must have been given a paint job, otherwise – and here I held up my beautifully manicured nails – it had been white. I told him I recognized the car by a triangle of tiny dings on the door handle.
Then he punched in some numbers, tapped once or twice, and tapped again. Handing me my phone, he jumped into the car and started a purring engine. A perfect triangle of tiny dings on the passenger side door handle caught my eye as he pulled into the light afternoon traffic.
hungry. So we sauntered over (I know, what a word; but I believe it matched the extravagance of walking over the threshold of a place using French in its name, don’t you?) to Sissy’s Diner and ordered soup. Again, I know. But we’d just had manicures. What did you expect us to do? Break a nail carving steak? We considered sandwiches, of course; but by the time we would’ve handled the greasy fries that came with them, again, why take chances? And it wasn’t like we ordered chicken broth. We had the clam chowder Sissy’s was famous for. Plus handling a spoon gave each of us an excuse to glance at our newly polished fingertips: Pink Delish for my friend and Why Wine for me.
As we chatted on our way out the door of Sissy’s, I noticed a car just a few parking spaces down that exactly matched my mani-pedi color. What are the odds? We decided to walk (done with the sauntering now that we’d had clam chowder) over and take a hand selfie by the car. I mean, the color match was so unlikely – in our minds, at least – that it deserved a photo.
“You here for the speaker?” he asked as he offered his hand and she shook it.
She nodded, then glanced down at his hand. “Whaaat? I have one just like that!” She held up her wrist for him to see.
“Nice. Where did you get yours?”
“College. They were handing them out to whoever wanted one. You?”
“Mine was passed down from my dad and he got it from my grandpa.”
She nodded. “Wow.”
“Yea,” his voice quavered. “It holds a lot of meaning for me.”
“Oh for sure,” she replied.
“Shhh. It’s starting.”
They both sank down in nearby chairs and listened to the speaker. He wasn’t from around there, but there had been flyers and posters and curiosity simmered quietly in the crowd.
An hour passed quickly by, as one by one their charms had fallen from their bracelets.
“Do you buy what he said about stomping on the rights of the people we claim to care about?”
“I think he was just hung up on the phrase ‘right to choose’.
“Right. But the ‘stage or age’ thing he said about abortion being murder?”
“The thing that got me was that phrase he kept using.”
“Your silence is your signature on the death certificate,” the two new friends chimed together.
He looked down as his PP charm fell to the floor.
“And the thing about loving someone enough to tell them the truth about God’s laws.”
He shuddered, “Creepy, right? As though people don’t have enough to deal with without someone telling them their sex partner’s all wrong.”
“I agree! But what if he’s right?”
“You mean that our silence is . . .”
“Our signature on their ticket to hell? Our signature on their death certificate?”
“Yeaa,” he answered slowly. “But who am I to tell anyone . . .”
“What’s right and wrong? I don’t like it either.”
“It’s their choice, right?”
“But hell . . .”
He pressed his lips together. “I know.”
She looked at the LGBTQ charm on the floor.
“I thought there was going to be a riot when he started in on immigration.”
“Illegal. He kept pressing that point,” she added.
He lowered his voice. “What do you think about the trafficking?”
“I know! And the little kids he talked about.”
“And the millions of dollars in drugs brought and sold. My best friend’s brother died of an overdose last year.”
She brushed his arm with her hand.
The two looked down at the floor as some more charms fell.
“I just can’t get that phrase out of my head!” He put his hands over his ears.
“Your silence is your signature . . .”
“Stop!” He calmed himself and gave her an apologetic smile.
“Do you think killing trafficked kids for organs actually happens?”
She shook her head quickly and shut her eyes. “Whatever happened to just loving everybody? Can’t we just love everyone? Let whoever wants come and go?”
“Legally, remember?” he laughed.
“It should be more simple than he’s making it,” she said, biting her lip.
“But the worst part was his next point. How silence allows unthinkable things you shut your eyes to. Child sacrifice has made it’s way from the abortion room to secret rooms and rituals.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.
She sighed imperceptibly. She wondered if her hoping something wasn’t true would make it so.
The two new friends made their way over to a table stocked with information and charms..
She looked at her new friend. “It couldn’t hurt. I don’t have anything left, do you?”
He shook his head as he rubbed his empty bracelet between his fingers, and they sorted through the charms, 
marveling they were free.