My favorite family photograph
was taken in a California park one foggy Christmas morning, following a memorable
journey the night before.
The distant lights of Los
Angeles were beckoning as we traveled north on the empty I-5 corridor. It was Christmas Eve. The five of us were returning from a day
spent with old friends at San Diego’s Sea World to our hotel in an eastern
suburb of the sprawling southern California metropolis.
The Amtrak trip from Iowa,
with our sons ages 9, 6, and 3, had been organized to celebrate Christmas with
family. Both of us planners, Don and I
had secured our train tickets from Galesburg and packed sandwiches, snacks,
books, and games for the three-day, two-night trip across the western
states.
But we had not planned for
food in the city of seven million on this holy night.
The always-busy LA freeways
were deserted as Don, Chris, Jon, Alex, and I searched the exits for an open
restaurant. With stomachs grumbling and arguments coming from
the backseat, Don and I were worried that we were not demonstrating the awe and
wonder of Christmas Eve or even physically nourishing our hungry boys.
Finally, under a sky full of sparkling
stars, we found a small café with warm, welcoming lights and a friendly staff who
stayed late to serve us. Turkey
sandwiches and potato chips were a feast.
The five of us were reminded
of a night 2000 years ago when Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus found sanctuary
in a humble stable. Our family was also lifted
by hope, expectation, and the kindness of strangers that long ago Christmas
Eve.
Pat Sierk is a retired teacher.
