The eighteen-wheeler plowed through the standing water in the right lane of the freeway and threw up a thick spray of road grime. The man driving the car following it braked too late to miss being completely covered. He cursed the driver of the truck and turned on the windshield wipers. The inundation prevented him from seeing the girl on the side of the freeway, her thumb poking back over her shoulder. She, too, was caught in the deluge and tugged her jacket tighter around herself, but it failed to keep her any warmer since it was now soaked completely through. She shivered and bent down to pick up her back pack, shouldered it and turned to resume trudging south. At least walking was work and should keep her warmer. If only she knew exactly where she was going it would be better. Discovering she had over-shot the exit she probably should have taken and had to retrace about 30 miles just kind of fit the pattern her life had taken over the last eight months or so. She had accepted the information resignedly and just turned around and started walking back. She didn't dare to wonder about what she might find at her destination. Just getting there was as much as she could attempt now.

          Angela had just pulled on the freeway but slowed when the car in front of her braked suddenly and had time to see the girl begin walking. She had automatically jerked her head to the side as she donned the heavy back pack to swing her long, fat, red-gold braid over her shoulder and out of the way. She looked grim and dirty as she pulled the skimpy hood of the Army field jacket over her head before she turned her back to the on-coming traffic. Angela had a hard time keeping her eyes on the road as she passed the girl, but she NEVER picked up hitch-hikers (except once) and certainly didn't want to make any eye contact. It wasn't safe. Both her husband and her dad would have conniption fits.

          Her common sense and her emotions began a heated skirmish that escalated in direct proportion to the distance she drove away from the girl. Something about her tugged at Angela as if she was an irresistible magnet instead of a dirty teenage hitch-hiker of indeterminate origin and even more dubious repute. Besides, Angela would only be on the freeway another five or six miles max before her own exit so she probably would be of no use to the girl anyway. Still, there was something resolute in those stocky legs clad in jeans with holes in the knees. She must be going somewhere. Angela wondered where. Why would any decent girl be hitch-hiking in Oregon in December? She put on her turn signal and took the Sherwood exit.

          She was only half way to her own exit. She wondered how far the girl had walked since she saw her. She berated herself for even considering picking up a stranger and went through plausible reasons in her head. She rehearsed what she would tell her husband. And her dad. Now that she had somehow determined that she was going to get the girl, she worried that she wouldn't be there anymore and begin worrying about her safety. She watched her speedometer and decided she could go about 10 miles faster than the speed limit without getting a ticket. It had stopped raining and she switched off the wipers to quiet their incessant squawking on the mostly dry windshield. It was nerve wracking and the thoughts of the forlorn girl had become a desperation in her mind.

          Tiffany trudged on. She had walked almost all the way from Malibu, California to the outskirts of Portland, Oregon. She didn't know how far it was and had lost track of how many days it had taken. Although she was officially hitch-hiking, she had turned down far more rides than she had accepted because she didn't trust the drivers or other people in the cars. Once the guys in the back seat of a car had tried to drag her in but she fought them and a passing truck honked, scaring them away. Since then, the presence of the eighteen wheelers on the road had provided her with some sense of comfort. She imagined that they were there just to watch over her and make sure no one hurt her. They didn't give her rides, though, so she continued her walk. The last ride she accepted was just out of Salem, Oregon and the old man dropped her off in Tualatin. That's when she asked at a gas station and the man there thought she had to back-track to the Woodburn exit. He thought. She didn't know. "I stink at hitch-hiking," she thought and then laughed ruefully, realizing that she hadn't had a shower since her trip started. She did the best she could at rest stops, but her hair was filthy and, frankly, so was she. She decided it wasn't raining anymore, but she was still being pelted with road spray and kept her head down to minimize it's effect. She shifted the backpack to a more comfortable position and trudged on.

          Angela watched the rush-hour traffic streaming by and waited impatiently to pull back onto the freeway at the same entrance ramp she had taken less than a half-hour earlier when traffic was still light. Now she gritted her teeth looking for a space large enough for her Camero. She spotted a space and sped out into the flow, straining her eyes to see the girl on the roadside. The freeway curved to the left at that point, though, and she could see nothing but trucks in the right lane. She hoped against hope. Was the girl still there? Had someone else picked her up? Would she be safe? Where WAS she going? Why had her presence created such a turmoil for Angela? Why, exactly, had she come back? As these thoughts raced through her head, she spotted the stocky legs beneath the backpack, just a speck in the distance. The girl wasn't walking fast, but she had obviously been walking steadily and was almost to the Sherwood exit. There was an irony in that. If Angela had just waited patiently, the girl would have caught up with her. She honked as she came abreast of the girl and pulled off the freeway ahead of her to wait.

          Tiffany looked up when the car honked and watched the metallic gold Camero swing off the freeway in front of her. She continued to walk at the same pace. Young guys usually drove Cameros and right at that moment she acknowledged to herself that she didn't have the energy to put up another fight. She also realized that she might not have the energy to even continue. All her fight was gone. She didn't even have the energy to feel the anger she had harbored for her parents or to feel sorry for herself. She was just numb and walking which finally brought her even with the car. The passenger door opened and she leaned down to look inside, not knowing what she was going to say. What plausible excuse could she give to turn down his ride?

          Angela saw the girl's face for the first time when she bent to look in the car and watched a strange mix of emotions pass visibly across it: distrust, rejection, surprise, uncertainty . . . hope. She wasn't exactly pretty, except for the little tendrils of glorious red-gold hair that curled wetly along her forehead, but her face was sturdy with a nice nose and chin. Her lips were red from cold and partly open as if she was about to say something but had forgotten what it was. Her eyes were a beautiful, intense blue but looked old and haggard and more tired than any she had ever seen. Angela's heart melted. "Hop in," she said and smiled, "I won't be on the freeway long, but I can take you a little way. Will your backpack fit in the back or do I need to open the trunk?"

          Tiffany closed her mouth. Having been unprepared to find a nice, seemingly normal young woman in the car, she was equally at a loss as to what to say. She hadn't prepared any response to this unexpected event. "Uh," she looked in the back seat than stepped back from the car. "I'm .. . I'm filthy dirty. I . . . I can't get in your nice car " Her face contorted but she managed a weak smile. "Thank you anyway."

          Angela watched as tears floated up and the blue iris of her eyes seemed to float like bobbers on broken fish lines. "It's OK. The car will wash if you're really all that dirty. And you're certainly not going to get cleaner by walking. Just wetter." She tipped the back of the passenger seat forward. "Why don't you see if your backpack will go in? Here, I'll pull from this end if you just get it on the seat."

          Tiffany wanted to get in the car so bad that she could hardly breathe. Her eyes were threatening to spill tears at any moment and she had promised herself that she would NOT cry. She had finished all of her crying months before. It only made her more tired and she couldn't afford it. She needed all of her energy. OK, if this woman wasn't on the level they'd probably find her body in a ditch somewhere and it'd only be a problem because there wouldn't be anyone to notify. In truth, maybe death wouldn't be so bad after all. She slid the weight of the backpack from her aching shoulders and pitched it onto the back seat. The woman in the car grabbed it and hauled it all the way in, laughing.

          "OK, that's done," Angela smiled at her again, "now get in and we'll turn up the heat and get you partly thawed and dried out a bit. I'm Angela." She held out her hand to the girl.

          "Thanks," Tiffany said, taking her hand but turning suddenly shy, "Uh, I'm Tiffany."

          "Hi, Tiffany, I'm glad you finally accepted my ride." Angela turned her attention to the traffic and looked for an opening to enter the endless stream for yet a third time.

          Tiffany looked at Angela and wondered if she'd made a mistake. Her experience with strangers had been pretty bad in her short sixteen years. The woman looked harmless, though, and actually seemed friendly. She also seemed to be telling the truth. Tiffany began to relax a little and the heater really did feel good. She could tell by the way her feet ached that they had been very cold. And the seat of the Camero was comfortable. She wriggled deeper into it and stretched her legs out, wiggling her thawing toes inside her boots.

          "Well, Tiffany, I usually take the Hubbard exit," Angela turned her back to the girl once they were back on the freeway, "but I can go clear to Woodburn if that will help you. Where are you going?"

          "Woodburn?" Tiffany could hardly believe it, "Woodburn is where the man at the gas station said I should go!"

          Angela looked puzzled. "Wait a minute," she said, "What do you mean Woodburn's where you're supposed go? Is that where you're going or are you really going somewhere else?"

          "Well, actually I'm trying to go to my Aunt and Uncle's house but they live in a little place in the middle of the country somewhere that has a name but I guess it's not really a town and no one's ever heard of it."

          "I've probably heard of all the little places. Maybe I can help." Angela laughed at her sideways.

          "Actually I found two people who've heard of it but they couldn't really tell me where it is. The last old guy picked me up at Salem and dropped me off at Tualatin but the guy at the gas station there thought it might be somewhere around Woodburn so I think I need to ask at a gas station there." Tiffany's eyebrows knitted together in a worried line.

          "You mean you're actually coming from the south and not from the north?" Angela asked.

          "Yah," Tiffany nodded, "from California. It's December the 22nd I've been longing to be up north. You know, like dreaming of a white Christmas."

          "Sorry, all we've got is rain. And cold. Tiffany," Angela asked softly, "are your Aunt and Uncle expecting you?" Tiffany's silence confirmed what Angela had already known. "Do you have their phone number? Have you called them?"

          Tiffany's lower lip quivered but her voice stayed firm if quiet, "I have their phone number and I've tried to call but there hasn't been an answer. At least it's not disconnected so I think they must still be there." She didn't look at Angela.

          "Well, listen," Angela said kindly, "I live close to Woodburn so if your Aunt and Uncle are close I can take you right over after you call them and get directions. In fact, I could take you to my house and you can call them from there. That way you could get a shower and clean up before you meet them. Here's the Woodburn exit already. What do you say?"

          "I don't know . . ." Tiffany felt very uneasy and it showed.

          "I'm fixing pizza for dinner as soon as I get home. Are you hungry?" Angela figured pizza was the most persuasive thing to offer a teen.

          "Well, OK," Tiffany conceded finally.

          "So," Angela asked, "what's the name of this unknown berg you're headed to?"

          "It's a place called Monitor," Tiffany replied. She watched Angela actually flinch.

          "Tiffany," Angela said slowly, "Monitor is where I live."

          Tiffany shivered. She could feel the little hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She didn't know what to say. This was impossible. It couldn't be real. It was a dream. She couldn't think beyond the magnitude of it. Who was this woman and where had she come from, anyway?

          Angela, too, was at a loss for words. Shivers were running down her spine and she glanced sideways at Tiffany. Where had this girl come from? This was only the second time she had picked up a hitch-hiker and the last time the hiker was going to the apartment house directly behind the restaurant she and her husband owned at the time. Now this girl who came from who-knows-why in California and going to the exact little bump in the road where she lived. God must have planned it and who was she to question. She knew positively that Tiffany was going to her house for dinner, though. Tiffany knew it, too. They didn't talk for the rest of the trip, each lost in her own deep thoughts.

          They pulled into Angela's driveway and Tiffany looked up at the house. It was a small, old, two-story farm house. There was nothing remarkable about it.

          "Get your backpack," Angela said. "We're kind of perpetually in the middle of remodeling so things are always in disarray and I'm a lousy housekeeper but it's cozy and warm. We actually finished remodeling the bathroom last year when the water heater broke and flooded the floor so it's the best room in the house. Come on in," she said as she unlocked the door and swung it wide.

          Tiffany stepped into the utility room and Angela took her on into the kitchen turning on lights as she went. "Do you want to call your Aunt and Uncle first or get a shower and clean up first?"

          "Um, maybe I'll call first. That way I can give them a little time to get used to the idea that I'm here."

          "The phone's right over there on the wall. Help yourself," Angela offered.

          Tiffany dug through her pockets and finally came up with a tattered piece of paper and carefully dialed the number she had written on it. Again the lower lip quivered as she hung up. "There's still no answer."

          "Well, don't worry about it. If you've got dirty clothes in that pack of yours we'll toss them in the washer and you can get your shower while I get dinner on. Do you have something clean to put on? If not I can find you a robe and some slippers 'til we get your clothes clean. And, honey, don't worry about your Aunt and Uncle yet. We've got a nice, lumpy, uncomfortable sofa you can crash on for a while, OK?" She smiled encouragingly. "You know what? If you've got their phone number or name we can find out easy where they live. Want to try? The entire phone list for our prefix is only about six pages long total. We'll look up their address."

          Tiffany nodded and handed over the slip of paper with the barely discernible phone number. Angela grabbed the phone book, plunked it down on the kitchen table and started running her finger down the list of numbers. "There!" she said, looking up from the third page, "Is this them?" she turned the book around and pointed to the name opposite the number on Tiffany's note. Tiffany nodded an affirmative. "Well, guess what? They only live about a mile from here. We go right down that road in front and take the first road to the left. It's the last house on the right. I know because I know everyone else who lives on that road. In fact, they live next door to my husband's cousin. Can you believe it?"

          "No," Tiffany said bluntly. "No, I can't believe it. How did all this happen? I think I'll take a shower first. Maybe I can think better after that. I do have clean clothes, too. Thanks, Angela. I just need shampoo and soap."

          "Your wish is my command. This way" Angela grabbed clean towels and thrust them at Tiffany. "We'll figure out what we should do after dinner."

          By the time Tiffany was out of the shower, her field jacket was in the dryer, a second tub of clothes was in the washer and dinner was just coming out of the oven. "Come eat and tell me how you came to be in Oregon. My husband is working swing-shift today and won't be home until about 11:30 so we've got lots of time to visit. I think I know the best way to find your Aunt and Uncle, too."

          So they sat and had dinner and visited. Tiffany was an only child. Her parents had finally married when she was four but their relationship had gone from rocky to lousy to impossible. In April they discovered that both were cheating on each other. They screamed at each other and built a big bonfire in their backyard and took turns throwing each other's stuff on it. Her dad got drunk and moved in with his girlfriend. She never saw him sober again. Her mother started doing drugs with her boyfriend and was gone for days at a time. Every once in a while they ended up at the house at the same time and if they did there was always a big fight and things got broken.

          She stayed in school through the end of the year but when the electricity and water got turned off at the house she moved out. It was OK through the summer. She managed to stay with friends and acquaintances or on the beach while it was warm. She went back and broke into the house in the fall to get as much of her stuff as she could fit in her backpack and get her mom's address book. There was a for sale sign on the front lawn. She didn't know where her parents were. Then she hung out on the street and just didn't go back to school. She did some petty theft for food but refused to do drugs and was afraid of prostitution.

          At last she decided she had to go somewhere and decided to try her Aunt and Uncle in Oregon. It was her mom's brother and his wife. She remembered that they were a lot older than her mom and they had had five kids who should all be grown and gone by now. They had been to California once on vacation when she was about eight and had told her she could come live with them any time. It finally occurred to her it was time when it seemed like she had no other options and it was getting cold outside. She also thought they were poor. Her parents had been rich and used to make fun of her Aunt and Uncle. It didn't matter. Maybe the change would be good. Besides, in the last eight months she had gotten used to being poor. Poor wasn't so bad. She just had to convince them she wouldn't cost them anything. She hoped they'd let her stay but she hadn't even been able to reach them. She came anyway because there wasn't anywhere else she could go. This was the end of the line for her. And she was only 16 years old.

          Angela wanted to just put her arms around her and tell her it was OK to cry and things really were going to be all right but she knew it would embarrass Tiffany. Besides, she couldn't guarantee that things would be any better. All she could do was provide a port in the storm and pray like crazy for this brave girl. "Listen," she said, "I've given this a lot of thought. Why don't we just scoot over to your Aunt and Uncle's house and leave a note on their door for them to call you here. That way we won't have to be discouraged every time we call and there's no one there. I'll stop and talk to my husband's cousin and see if they know where they are. Maybe that will give us something to be encouraged about. How about it?"

          "OK," Tiffany agreed, "but you don't need to worry about me. I can manage by myself. I've gotten pretty good at it. I don't want to be a burden to anyone."

          "Sweetie, you would never be a burden. Besides, this is Oregon and it's December. I wouldn't turn a dog out in this weather. Let alone a beautiful young woman like you. God would get me for sure!" Angela laughed, but she meant it!

          As soon as they had done the dishes together and cleaned up the kitchen, they piled back in the car and headed to Tiffany's relative's house. It was an old farm house with a wide and inviting porch. It needed a lot of work but it looked like someone was still living there. Angela wrote a brief note and tacked it to the front door. She then worked her way through the weeds and left a similar note on the back door. Back in the car, she headed next door to ask her husband's cousin what they knew. She was beaming when she returned to the Camero and Tiffany.

          "You absolutely are NOT going to believe this!" Angela turned to Tiffany. "They went to California to look for their niece because no one knows where she is. Seems that your Uncle happened to call around and finally talked to his sister about four weeks ago and went ballistic. They scraped up whatever money they could get their hands on and left for California as soon as they could. They called last night completely devastated because they hadn't found a trace of their niece and were headed home. They will be here tomorrow, the 23rd."

          As she was talking, Angela watched Tiffany begin to shake and the tears start rolling down her cheeks. She reached out and folded her arms around the girl. "Honey," she said, "I think you're home."

          Tiffany met Angela's husband, Matt, when he got home from work and joined them around the table while he ate before they had dessert together. Matt was nice and made her feel genuinely welcome in their home. Still she spent a sleepless night on the sofa; not because it was lumpy and uncomfortable, but because she was so excited she wouldn't have slept anywhere. She was actually going to have a family by Christmas. And she'd make sure they would never be sorry she was here. Why, she could clean the yard up and fix the porch and if they could buy paint, she could paint the house. She could do the cooking and the dishes and the laundry. She could vacuum and dust and she'd make straight A's so they wouldn't be ashamed of her. That house was going to be her home. A place where she belonged. A place with people who wanted her. Maybe, and her heart beat with hope, a place where people loved her and each other.

          The next morning, December 23, was Sunday and Angela got her up in time to accompany them to Church which was just across the road from their house. Without embarrassing her, Angela shared the miracle of picking up a stray hitch-hiker only to find out this is where she belonged. Everyone in the Church hugged her like she was someone special but she didn't remember any of their names. She couldn't wait to get back to Angela's and wait for the phone call that she knew now was coming for sure. And come it did.

          "Tiffany," Angela called, "phone for you," and she beamed as she held out the receiver.

          Her had shook so hard she barely got the phone to her ear. "Hello?" And there was her Aunt Tina on the other end, beside herself with joy at finding her. Angela already had her backpack in the car and was waiting for her when she hung up. It took less then five minutes to get her home. HOME! She stepped into a giant bear hug from her Uncle Alan the minute she opened the door. Aunt Tina stepped outside to thank Angela and talk with her for a few minutes. Before she left, she came in to tell Tiffany goodbye. "Remember that you are always welcome at my house, honey, " Angela told her, "so if Tina and Alan lose their minds and run off, just come on over." She winked at Tina, "The key's under the big rock by the dog house and even walking you can make it in about ten minutes. You'll always be welcome at the Church, too. It's a community Church so we don't hold too much to denominations. Just love." She wrapped her arms around the girl and hugged her. Both had tears running down their cheeks.

          Aunt Tina and Uncle Alan put up a Christmas tree that evening and Tiffany helped decorate it. Both apologized that there weren't any gifts under it, but affirmed that they considered Tiffany their gift. Tiffany, too, felt that in coming here she had received the best gift of her life. She couldn't tell them in words what she felt in her heart, but no gift could compare to this.

          They spent Christmas eve in the kitchen baking cookies and making fudge and listening to Tiffany's story. Aunt Tina clucked and Uncle Alan just shook his head. "Why didn't you ever call us and tell us what was happening?" Aunt Tina finally demanded with tears in her eyes.

          "I was too ashamed," Tiffany admitted, "besides, I didn't really know you."

          Her Uncle Alan simply got up and wrapped his strong flannel clad arms around her. "I guess you were just too little to know it wasn't your fault," he said, "I should have guessed. I'm sorry we left you there so long. We're going to try to make it up to you, though." That evening they popped corn in the fireplace and sang Christmas carols and drank hot cocoa. Tiffany went to bed in Nancy and Ellen's old room and slept better than she had her whole life.

          They were awakened Christmas morning by a knock on the door and people in Santa hats singing Christmas carols. Tiffany peered out the upstairs window and watched as what seemed like a whole pickup load of stuff was packed into the house: food and wrapped gifts. She hastily pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and headed downstairs. One of the Santa hats saw her coming. "Well," he greeted her, "this must be the miracle we heard about! I think there are about a ton of packages here meant for you." With that he plopped a large, gold-foil covered box in her arms. It was tied with a big red bow.

          "Aunt Tina," Tiffany whispered to her Aunt, "who are these people?"

          "I really don't know, honey," her Aunt replied, "isn't it wonderful? We've had hard times before but this year was particularly bad. I guess someone knew we could use some help." Before the day was over, three different pickups of strangers unloaded food and gifts at the house. Not everything was new, but everything was usable. There was a VCR (something they didn't have) and a Nintendo and clothes for all three of them. In fact, Tiffany ended up with a whole wardrobe right down to underwear and it all fit. There was a beautiful, warm, flannel lined jacket and fleece-lined suede boots with gloves to match. There was a complete make-up kit with nail polish and hair spray and bath oil. There were games and costume jewelry and notebooks and paper and books. There was a tape player and tapes. A box with Tiffany's name on it revealed a beautiful, brand new silver hairbrush and hand mirror. Tiffany had received lots of Christmas gifts from her rich parents while they still played at being a family, but nothing, no matter how new and expensive, compared with these gifts.

          But the most wonderful thing of all was in a small box with no tag and a muchly-used bow. In it was a home-made tree angel. It was white with a face drawn on in indelible ink and it had real feathers for wings. It had a small stuffed-pillow body and a silver chenille stem for a halo. Tiffany looked at her Aunt. "Can this be mine?" she asked, "Please?"

          "Of course, darling," Tina answered, "what will you name it?"

          "Her name is Angela," Tiffany replied without hesitation, "my very own Christmas angel."

          And Angela has been on the top of every one of Tiffany's Christmas trees since then. The feathers have all disintegrated, but she beams down with her indelible smile and blesses everyone who sees her. Tiffany is not ashamed to tell the story of where she came from and knows that her angel will always be the proof of the miracle of love. And she'll always remember that families are made of and maintained by love and sometimes that has nothing to do with who your parents are or where you were born. And it has nothing to do with money for love, after all, costs nothing. And love, after all, costs everything yet is still the one thing everyone can afford.