The Christmas party had been wonderful. It was great to be among friends on Christmas Eve, sipping eggnog and singing carols. I was sorry it had to end. Finally, at a little past one in the morning, I headed home. I was almost at the freeway exit when I saw the sign: CLOSED FOR NIGHT CONSTRUCTION/PLEASE TAKE ALTERNATE ROUTE.
Alternate route? What alternate route? The 55 Freeway was the only way I knew back home, and there weren’t any detour signs. The next exit was coming up fast. Maybe this will put me on the right road, I thought, turning off.
Big mistake. Now I was in the parking lot of a shopping mall. I drove in circles around the deserted lot, trying to get my bearings. I didn’t have a GPS, didn’t have a cell phone. At this hour, on Christmas Eve, there wasn’t anybody to ask for directions.
I glanced at my gas gauge and groaned. Almost empty. Pulling into a spot, I shut off the engine. I leaned my head against the steering wheel. I hoped what I heard about miracles on Christmas was true. I needed one right now.
All of a sudden, I felt a bright light shine on me. The star of Bethlehem? No, just a streetlight on top of a pole that seemed to be sticking up from one of the used car dealerships that lined the street. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Maybe the lot has a night watchman, I thought.
I drove slowly, staring at the light. There was something comforting about it . . . even if I didn’t know what I’d find when I got there.
I passed some buildings and trees and the full lot came into view. The building next to it was dark. No night watchman. But there was something that made me believe in Christmas miracles.
Attached to the light pole was a sign. 55 FREEWAY: STRAIGHT AHEAD. The way back home.
