Caspar (Rolf Olson)

Balthasar and Melchior were bedded down already on the other side of the dimming campfire, and the camels had stopped their plaintive mumbling.  All was quiet on that dark night. For two days we had been traveling slowly westward under cloudy skies becoming less sure of our course for each mile we covered. Already, our homes were five days’ journey behind us. The clouds had seemed to roll in every day at sunset, obscuring the bright star we had been setting our course by. We had plenty of provisions, and my fellow travelers were even more trained in the power and importance of the stars.

The bright star had appeared a week earlier.  Balthasar was the first to notice it, and he quickly pointed it out to Melchior and me. All three of us had been dumbstruck with astonishment as we gazed at the new star to the west. What we know of the heavens told us immediately that this starry messenger was herald of something truly miraculous, and we were meant to be witnesses.  So after some hurried preparations, we had set out to follow that star.
 
Like I said, for two solid days, heavy clouds denied us a view of the bright, new star, and so we had continued in the direction we had set using what we knew of the sun.  Would our faith in the direction we had set and our faith in the meaning of the star bring us to the promised miracle?  I looked up into the darkness again, straining my eyes against the gloom.  “Maybe tomorrow night,” I muttered into the quiet night air.