[Faith-talk] Daily Thought for Thursday, December 26, 2013

[Paul]

Well folks, 'tis the day after Christmas, but I hope and pray that the real reason for the season remains with us for a little while.  That's why the rest of the month and year will still contain articles and stories around this most wonderful of Christian seasons.

I may have given this one to most of you last year, but I can't remember.  Suffice it to say that if it were possible I'd like to play a music box selection while I verbally read this piece, but alas I don't know how to attach an audio file, and perhaps many of you wouldn't know how to open it even if I could.  Anyway the title of this story by Brenda West is entitled "Mom's Christmas Music Box," rendered as follows:

I carefully lifted the small box from the top of the shelf of the bedroom closet.  Standing tiptoe on a dining room chair, I stretched farther than gravity allowed and lurched forward.  As I struggled to regain my balance, I envisioned a long-dreaded disaster.  "Oh, no," I muttered, "after all these years, all I need to do now is drop this treasure.  After all, it's an irreplaceable keepsake."

I managed to retain my composure and climb down, planting my feet firmly on the floor.  Shakily, I clutched the box in both hands and sank into the living room recliner.  After resting momentarily, I removed the lid from the cardboard container and pushed aside a mound of tissue paper.  Nestled safely inside was a tiny, molded plastic church, complete with a key-wound music box.  Its original white color had turned to ivory over time, but the miniature had remained in almost perfect condition.

The small house of worship featured authentic detailing, from the steepl topped with a "gold" cross to the double entrance doors and "stained glass" windows.  Four surrounding steps formed the base.  I plugged in the detachable cord holding a clear glass bulb.  Instantly, brilliant illumination flooded the interior and shone through the delicate windows, evoking serenity and reverence while creating varicolored hues.

I wound the key and placed the memento on the mantel.  The tinkling sounds of "Silent Night" floated through the quiet house.  Missy and Tuffy, my nonchalant cats, were quickly roused.  Forgetting the intrusion on their naps, they padded toward me and stared intently at the new attraction.  Eyeing the music box curiously, the two curled up beside my chair and purred contentedly.

When the last note faded, I twisted the key once more.  Slowly, the present faded to mid December 1952.  Mom was supervising my two younger brothers and me as we trimmed our fresh-cut evergreen.  The piquant scent of pine filled the rooms as it mingled with other pleasing aromas of homemade cakes, cookies, and candy.  We three were bursting with pre-Christmas excitement, hoping Santa Claus would be generous on his visit to our house.

As we finished tossing tinsel on the tree, Mom's eyes gleamed and a secretive smile spread across her face.  We watched in anticipation as she opened a newly delivered package from a mail order house.  As she took her time to cut the strings and remove the brown paper wrapping, we barely contained our mounting curiosity.  With the aplomb of a skillful magician anxious to mesmerize his audience, Mom revealed her surprise, a church music box.  Tenderly, she held up the small object, allowing us to inspect it from every angle.  We were permitted to look but not touch.

My brothers and I squirmed in anticipation as Mom, clearly amused by our reaction, ceremoniously turned the key.  Within our hushed circle, the first notes of "Silent Night" burst forth.  We listened attentively until the last note quivered abruptly to an end.  Then, we urged Mom to play it again, and again.

The evening passed quickly as we became enchanted by the sound and sight of Mom's music box.  While we listened repeatedly to the familiar refrain, we could almost picture the manger scene being reenacted in the sanctuary before a hushed congregation.

How powerful is the childish imagination! Often, it is the cushion that softens the harsh blows of life.  If only the elusive trait survived the transition to adulthood, perhaps we could retain our childlike wonder of the miracle of Christmas.

The church music box became a tradition at our home, filling a role as vital as the tree, lights, and other decorations, but as we rushed headlong into growing up, the music box, like the other decorations, grew less prominent until it was put away and nearly forgotten.

Somehow, the church escaped damage during its faithful service, including several moves to other houses.  Recently, Mom relinquished the cherished possession to me because I had an expressed a sentimental attraction to it.

Many Christmases have come and gone, yet the miniature church continues faithfully to sing forth the beloved carol.  Its presence serves as a reminder of the Living Gift bestowed upon our troubled Earth many centuries ago on a silent, starlit night.

That Gracious Gift offers peace and joy to all who will accept.

And there you have Brenda's article which I hope was a blessing to you.  Many years ago in 1980, I was in Brawner's Christmas Store in Frankenmuth Michigan about 100 miles north of Detroit, and saw a very similar-looking music box, although it didn't play "Silent Night." It played an old German Christmas carol whose first verse is as follows:

O come, little children;
Oh come, let us all,
Come to the stable
In Bethlehem's stall.

This article brought back memories of that visit.  I'm not sure, but I think that Mr. Brawner and family have sadly closed down the store, although I'm not sure.  For those who don't know, Frankenmuth, located on the banks of the Cass River, was up until 1945 100% German Lutheran.  The village got its name from the Franconia area of Bavaria, and the bells of St. Lawrence Lutheran Church were hand-made in Germany.  At one point before modern buildings were erected, it was said that they could be heard for seven miles, though I have no way of confirming that.  I had a delightful time visiting the town, including recording the bus tour of the place and the recording, in English and German, the glockenspiel rendition of "The Pied Piper of Hamlin," although in truth that wasn't Bavarian, but took place in Westphalia, as at least one person reading this will testify.

Oh well, enough of my reminiscing.  Until tomorrow when, Lord willing another daily thought message will be presented, may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, in these last days in which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul