As mentioned last week, this has been a difficult season, remembering the people lost in the past year. I found this story in my archives of material written years ago. It helps me. I hope it will do the same for you.
Mike Frickstad
Jason loved that church, and on his frequent visits to his grandparents he always asked permission to play with it. But every time when his grandfather rose from his special chair to bring the church down, his grandmother always stopped him saying, “Save it for Christmas, Grandpa. Otherwise it won’t be special anymore.”
Reluctantly, Grandpa always sighed and agreed, placing the church back on the shelf. “Sorry, pal. Grandma’s right.”
Jason stood far below the shelf, anticipating the Christmas season when he might get to wind the precious “music church."
Finally, Thanksgiving was the big day. After the unending meal, after all the dishes had been washed, his grandmother took him up to the attic to dig out both the the outdoor and indoor lights, the nativity set, and the Christmas candles.
Grandpa and Jason’s dad strung the outdoor lights around the windows and doors. His mom put the Santa Claus, reindeer, and tree candles in their holders and spread them throughout the house. In the meantime, Grandma and Jason arranged the nativity scene, making sure the angels, the wise men, and the shepherds were in exactly the right place.
With all the decoration finished and only the tree to be added to the scene, Grandma looked down at Jason. smiled, and said, “Okay, Jaysie. It’s time.”
Then she climbed onto a chair, took the church carefully in one hand and brought it down to the eagerly awaiting boy. “Sit down in Grandpa’s chair,” she told him.
Jason glanced at Grandpa to ask, “Can I?”
His grandfather gave a fake scowl, the grinned broadly and nodded. Jason climbed into the soft, green recliner as his grandmother brought him the church. Grandma wound the spring and the notes of the familiar carol rang throughout he room.
Enthralled, Jason watched as the doors opened, then closed, then opened, revealing the Christmas scene with the smiling infant. When it was finished, he looked up and asked, “Can I try it, Grandma?”
“All right," she told him, "but be careful. We don’t want to break the spring.”
Carefully, Jason wound the tiny crank on the back of the church until the music began to play and the doors began to move. He then held it on his lap and watched as the doors closed, opened, then closed. The music stopped.
“That’s not right,” he thought.
“Grandma, the doors are shut,” he said.
She shook her head. “Hmm. Try agin,” she told him.
Again Jason wound the box, and again as the music slowed to a stop, the doors shut. “Grandma, you try. Okay?”
Grandma squeezed into the chair next to Jason, then set the church on her lap. She wound it, but this time, when the music finished playing, the doors remained open.
She and Jason looked at each other, confused. She tried again. The music played. The doors opened, shut, and opened. Every time Grandma wound the music church, the doors stopped open, but when Jason tried, they always stopped closed.
After the fourth time attempting tries with his grandmother, Jason began to giggle. Then Grandma started. Before long the living room sang with laughter at the music church doors that would stay open only for Grandma.
Jason pointed to the picture behind the doors. "Jesus is happy," he said.
"Yes, he is," Grandma said, kissing Jason on the forehead. "Where do you think we should put the church of season?" she asked him.
"I know!" Jason down, carried the church across the room and placed the church on the television. "That way you and Grandpa can see it every day, right?"
"You are so right," his grandmother said.
Then, as Christmas neared, Grandpa brought home and set up the tree. Grandma, Jason's mom Nancy, and Jason decorated it. Grandpa and Jason's dad Ken brought the piles of neatly wrapped gifts Grandma had hidden in the upstairs bedroom and arrange them under the tree.
While those presents intrigued Jason, especially those with his with his name attached, he had no trouble keeping his patience when Grandma went to the television for the music church. The church with the doors that would open only for her. The church with the baby that smiled.
It was a great Christmas time. It was a great Christmas day.
The next Christmas, however, was different. Thanksgiving was at Jason’s house. His mom was there; his dad was there; Grandma was there; but his grandfather was not. The funeral had been the week before.
Jason’s mother cooked the traditional turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, corn and pumpkin pie. As good as it all was, it was not the same as at Grandma’s.
Nobody talked to each other, other than to say, “Pass the butter. Pass the turkey. Pass the milk.”
Halfway through the meal, Jason’s mom got up and ran to her bedroom. Jason thought he heard her crying. Grandma put down her fork, folded her napkin, and asked Jason’s dad to take her home.
“Are you sure you want to be alone?” he asked her.
“I…I don’t know. I just know I want to go home. I need to go home.”
“Maybe Nancy could…”
“No, Ken. She needs to be with you right now. Just take me home. I’ll be all right.”
“If there’s anything…”
“I know. Thank you.”
Grandma looked across the table and saw Jason stirring his cranberries with his fork.
“Ken, do you think it would be all right if Jason stayed with me a couple days?” she asked her son-in-law.
“Are you sure you want to…?”
“Would it be all right with your, Jaysie? We can decorate the house for Christmas. Your dad can pick you up on Sunday.”
Jason brightened and looked inquiringly at his father.
“You can bring whatever toys you want. I’ve got lots of room,” Grandma said.
“Is it okay, Dad?”
After a moment’s hesitation, his father said, “Sure. I’ll tell your mom.”
Two days later, Jason wasn’t sure why his grandmother had wanted him to stay with her. She took care of him fine –– feeding him, tucking him into bed, picking up his toys, but they had not decorated anything.
The lights, the candles, the nativity set, all remained in the attic. There was no tree. There were no presents. And worst of all, the music church remained on the top bookshelf, the doors shut.
Grandma barely talked, seldom came out of her room, and let Jason do pretty much as he pleased –– although he didn’t feel like doing much. He didn’t want to disturb her. When Saturday night came, the house remained in the same condition as when Jason had arrived.
Sunday morning Jason awoke late. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew he should be getting ready for church. Grandma hadn’t awakened him yet. Quietly, he padded down the stairs, wondering if something were wrong.
When he reached the living room, he saw his grandmother sitting on the couch, her head resting on her right hand, staring at his grandfather’s empty recliner.
Jason looked at her a moment as she sat lost in her memories.
“Grandma? Are we going to church?” he asked.
There was no answer. He wanted to ask her again, but knew he shouldn’t. Instead, he crawled onto the couch and laid his head in her lap. Gently, she looked down, stroked his tousled hair, then returned her gaze to the silent, lonely chair.
After a moment of quiet, Jason spoke again. “Grandma?”
There was a pause. Then, “Yes?”
“Are we gonna have Christmas?”
He heard a sniffle, then turned up to see tears forming in his grandmother’s eyes. Her lips trembled. She looked down at him as she wiped the tears away.
“What do you mean?” she whispered, haltingly, patting Jason’s chest.
Jason looked up at the bookshelf and pointed. “The music church.”
Grandma smiled, nodded, and patted Jason's chest again. She rose, got a chair, climbed onto it and brought down the box.
“Sit in Grandpa’s chair,” she told him.
Jason looked at her quizzically, unsure what to do.
“It’s all right,” she told him.
Jason scrambled into the chair and Grandma squeezed in beside him.
“Can I try first, Grandma?” he asked.
“Be careful,” she told him.
“I know. The spring.”
Slowly, Jason turned the crank on the back of the church. When the music the began, he stopped turning. Both watched as the doors opened, then closed –– and opened again. The music stopped with the doors open.
“Grandma, the doors are open!” Jason shouted.
“I know,” she said, amazed. “Try again.”
Once more Jason wound the church and again the music stopped with the doors open. “They’re open again, Grandma!”
“They sure are.”
“Here, Grandma. You try.”
“Jason, I don’t…”
“Come on. You try.”
Jason’s grandmother took the music church in her hands and then paused.
"Come on, Grandma. Wind it!"
She took a deep breath and wound the spring as she always had. The music started. The doors closed, opened –– and closed. The music stopped.
Grandma and Jason looked first at the church, then at each other. Laughter burst from them both at the same time. The laughed and hugged –– and laughed and hugged.
Abruptly, Grandma placed the church on the floor, stood up, and said, “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Jason asked.
“To the attic,” she said. “We’re going to have Christmas.”
“Yea!” Jason shouted, and hugged his grandmother’s legs. The, suddenly, he broke away, and said, “Just a minute.”
Before his grandmother could ask, he picked up the church and wound it once more. When the music stopped with the doors open, he nodded at the picture of Mary and Jesus and placed the church on the television.
Grabbing his grandmother’s hand, he led her to the stairs and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
The baby smiled.
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