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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There is an ancient pine tree deep in the Forest of Dirgel that stands taller and stronger than any other variety, of its own and others. No one knows when it sprouted nor how long it grew. Perhaps the mysterious forest originated with the tree, or maybe lucky placement gave it enough room and light to stretch to the beckoning sky. But whether it was the first in the forest around it or was the result of a pinecone dropped by tree or animal, it became the reigning presence that lent itself to the old story.

The legend is nearly as old as the forest, itself, handed down from generation to generation; though two pilots recounted seeing the very tree on Christmas Eve, and a rugged ranger, long gone, witnessed it, himself.

On the day before Christmas, goes the story, as the light dims, fading from winter white to periwinkle to black, the moon dips slightly lower in the sky, lighting the forest with its winter beams – a spotlight on the ancient tree. The air, sharp with cold, begins to shimmer with golden 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.

Then one by one forest animals begin to gather around the old tree. Some internal knowledge tells them there is a miraculous feast awaiting them as the glittering light breaks through the darkness. 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.

And in the still and sparkling Christmas Eve the stars glimmer and shine as they watch the gathering. They know how the legend began, for they saw the One who calls them each by name and hears their songs in the night reach low and create the hidden gift in celebration of another most spectacular gift one silent night long ago.

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