At this precise moment, the three wise men were not feeling very wise, instead, they were feeling hungry and crabby. All of this following the North Star for days on end appeared futile, maybe even stupid. It was wearing them down physically and spiritually. Yet, somehow faith won out over reason, and they forged ahead. They grumbled about the combined stink of frankincense, myrrh, the camel, and Bethlehem.

Hours of indecipherable bantering later, they arrived. One wise man grabbed his foot, “Remind me, do you pop a blister or…”

All at once, they were taken. It was time to be mesmerized. The manger was glowing on the verge of combustion. The greatest story ever told was unraveling. The baby Jesus Christ was less human baby, and more a blinding bright orb on a bed of hay. Mary wore a mystical maternal aura tending to the newborn, as Joseph shook his head, eyes closed, clenching a serious overbite, and grooving to the rhythm.

The Little Drummer Boy was finishing up a brilliant set, one flashy drum roll after another, twirling the drumstick between his fingers. He was killing it. No question that the real miracle here was this monster drum solo. Classic case of an opening act blowing away the headliner. The three men stood there, paralyzed, mouths agape, with the collective thought, “I’m not following that.”

In unison, the three men pivoted away, heads hung low, walking away from the North Star, into the darkness.

Brilliant