Shari didn’t think it would be a very nice Christmas. In fact, she didn’t really feel like Christmas at all, and rather pouted and sulked most of her way through Advent. For her, Christmas meant going over to Grandpa’s house, listening to his stories about Christmas, "when I was a kid" – long strolls in the forest in snow as high as your knees, finding the perfect tree, and coming back to his mom’s Christmas cookies and steamy hot chocolate. And they would eat Christmas cookies too, that Grandpa had baked, until they had spoiled their appetite, as mom would say – except it didn’t really. For when mom brought out the ham, and yams, and soft, fresh rolls smelling of yeast, who wouldn’t be hungry again?

After dinner, the family would gather in the living room, in front of the fireplace, and listen as Grandpa told the Christmas story, from when the angel told Mary she was going to have a baby, right up to the point where the wise men came, following the star. Right then, Grandpa would stop, and put his old, worn Bible down, and quietly walk over to the tree, and open a box beneath it. Everyone knew what was in that box. All the decorations had been put up on the tree the week before, except for one: an old, silver star, with a light right in the middle of it. Dad said that Grandpa bought it right after he got home from the war, right before Christmas. He had been wounded in the war and sent home, and showed up on Christmas Eve with the box in his hand, with the star in it, presented it to Grandma, and asked her to marry him. Grandma was gone now – Shari didn’t even remember her, really. But dad said she was always a lot of fun and a real "Christmas person." And Grandpa became a Christmas person, keeping carefully all the rituals of the family as if they connected him a little more closely to her.

Shari, at eight years old, didn’t understand all of this, but she did treasure that moment when Grandpa would untie the ribbon around the old, beat-up box, open the lid and take out the shiny star, cradling it in his hands like a priceless gem, then reverently place it atop the tree. "The star," he would say, "showed the wise men the way to Bethlehem. It showed them the way to Jesus. As long as they followed the star, they knew they would find God’s Son, and everything would be all right." As they all sang, "Silent Night," Grandpa would reflect on how Grandma was that star to him, and as long as he could remember, and as long as he held these things in his heart, it kept him close to her. And Grandpa was Shari’s star, the center of it all – of Christmas – for her.

Which was why this Christmas was so hard for her. Grandpa had fallen a couple of times this past year, and sometimes forgot things. He finally decided he needed to be somewhere else, where he didn’t need to worry about falling, or forgetting, where there were doctors and nurses and people to take care of things you might otherwise forget. Shari didn’t like visiting him there – it wasn’t like his home. Even though there was a fireplace in the parlor, and the people were friendly, it just wasn’t like Grandpa’s place. And now, at Christmas time, it was especially hard. Shari felt that Christmas just couldn’t happen without him there, baking cookies, reading the Christmas story, putting the star on the tree, and singing "Silent Night."

Christmas Eve came, and the whole family went to church. The choir sang "O Holy Night," and the pastor gave a sermon, and everyone lit their candles, just as they always had done. But Shari didn’t sing. She didn’t hear the pastor’s sermon. And when he read the Christmas story, she cried, because she could only think of Grandpa reading it.

When they got home, and Shari entered the door of their house, the smell of fresh-baked cookies was in the air. Excitedly, she ran to the kitchen, expecting to find Grandpa there. But it was only mom. She thought the smell of cookies would brighten Shari up. But it only made her sadder. So sad that she had no appetite for the ham, and yams – no, not even for the fresh rolls or cherry pie. Afterwards, dad read the Christmas story, and placed an ornament on the top of the tree – a new one, an angel. The star, dad said, was so old and fragile, he was afraid it might break, and they wanted to keep it as a remembrance, so they could always keep those Christmases with Grandpa in their hearts. "It just isn’t right," Shari said. "I know," dad said. "We are all a little sad this Christmas. But we’re going to go see Grandpa tomorrow."

Shari thought about these things, and about Grandpa, old and frail, just like that star. Then she brightened up a bit. "Can I bring Grandpa a present?" she asked. "Of course – but there isn’t much time, so you’ll have to make him something, I guess," mom said. "I know exactly what I want to give him, and I have it already!" Shari said. Then she sat down, and drew a lovely Christmas card for Grandpa – a card with a tree on it, and a family in front of a fireplace, singing "Silent Night." And then she wrote in it, "Merry Christmas," and signed it, "love, Shari." She thought about writing, "your grand daughter," after that, but then thought better of that – "Grandpa knows who I am," she thought, and laughed.

When they walked into the retirement home, it was all decorated for Christmas. A tree stood near the door, in the lobby by the receptionist’s table, with lights and decorations on it. Wreaths were hung on the walls, and the friendly receptionist waved to them. "He’s been waiting for you all morning!" she said cheerfully. They went to Grandpa’s room, down the hall, where he was, indeed, waiting for them, all dressed, with his red and black flannel shirt on, and a button on it that said, "Jesus is the reason for the season." "They gave us these at a Christmas party last night," Grandpa said. "It was real nice. They even had ham and yams and rolls, just like home." Then he frowned a bit, "The cookies weren’t as good as mine, though." And everyone laughed.

Shari had been waiting patiently for a break in the conversation, but now came up and whispered in his ear, "I brought something for you." Grandpa smiled, "Really? A present? Did you make it yourself?" "Come and see," she whispered excitedly. And with that, she took him by the hand, and led him down the hall, down past the other rooms where families were visiting with parents and grandparents, down to the lobby, past the receptionist, to the Christmas tree, standing there with an odd assortment of ornaments dangling from its branches. Then she turned to Grandpa and said, "It needs something." Grandpa looked at the tree and laughed, "It certainly does – it’s not quite like the one at home!" Then Shari brought out her card, and Grandpa read it, and said, "It’s beautiful, honey – and look, just like our Christmases at home." Then he studied the card a little more closely, and frowned a bit. "Except you forgot something – the star – there’s no star on the tree." "I didn’t forget it Grandpa," Shari whispered. Then she brought out an old, tattered box, with a ribbon around it, and handed it to Grandpa. "I thought maybe you could put it on the tree for us."

And that’s what Grandpa did. He told them the Christmas story once again – about Joseph, and Mary, and Jesus. About how they had to move, just like he did, and about how Christmas happened anyway, because Christmas was a gift from God. And he told them about the wise men, who came to see Jesus, just like Shari and her parents came to see him. And how a star led them to Jesus, so that they could experience Christmas. He remembered it – the whole story - even without his Bible. Then he took the box, and untied the string, and took out the old, shiny star. He put it right on the top of the tree. And he remembered Grandma, and how she was the star that always led him to Jesus. And, as they sang Silent Night, they could hear other voices down the hall singing, too:

"It was bright that night, because of the star," Grandpa said. "The star always leads you home. It always leads you to Jesus." It led Grandpa home to Grandma. And now, as it shone from the top of the Christmas tree, it also led Shari home to Grandpa, and to Christmas once again.