When I was a kid my mom would tell me stories from many religions and mythologies, including the one about the three kings, and I fell in love with their story. I'd always imagine them on cold nights looking up at the stars and trusting the brightest star to lead them to their destination. I could see them feeding their camels (that were sometimes horses) at the end of the day and sleeping rolled up in blankets and/or furs in big silken tents that would flap in the wind. Every day they would walk (or ride) carrying their gifts through cold winds that blew sand in their faces. I had less interest in the baby Jesus than I did for these travelers who left their warm cozy homes to carry their precious gifts to a baby they had never met. I never saw Jesus as special, -- to me he was just a baby whose mom didn't have the sense or the money to get a room. But the kings were special because they went through so much just to bring a baby some gifts. Every year, from Christmas to Three Kings Day, I imagine what it must be like for them as they made their way across the desert to deliver their gifts. At this point they are a little more than half way there. But I'm not sure that they knew that.
I am not religious in the traditional sense, but I do admire them and the faith that it took for them to make their journey.