I was about eight years old when I noticed that Jesus had started showing up at our house.

A man called Reverend Martinson stopped by to talk to my parents about Jesus, God’s Son. I can’t remember the exact reason my parents decided to start attending church, but Reverend Martinson followed up by coming to our house after we showed up at his church. These visits were so unusual that our whole family was assembled in the living room to listen to Reverend Martinson’s words. I was often situated on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, taking it all in.

Up to that point, we were occasional churchgoers, mostly on holidays or for weddings. But suddenly (to me, anyway) we began consistently attending a very traditional Baptist church, complete with steeple, balcony, heavy wooden pews, choir, and pipe organ. We participated in a host of novel activities, like eating tiny bread cubes and singing out of a very large book of songs to the thundering accompaniment of the organ. I found the stained glass windows quite fascinating, especially the way the light streamed through the colors so brilliantly on sunny days.

But now Reverend Martinson sat in our living room talking about Jesus. The Jesus he spoke of didn’t live in stained glass, frozen in an image of benevolence. I was both captivated and uncomfortable with this Jesus he described. A Jesus who had lived long ago, died a horrific death to save us from sin and separation from God the Father, rose to live again, and lives still- redeeming all who believe in him.

My mind swirled with new words and concepts I could not fully absorb. Crucifixion. Sin. Repentance. Resurrection. Salvation. Redemption. Faith. Eternity. And a mysterious figure, the Holy Spirit, who would come to dwell within us.

Even at the age of eight or nine, these words created a deep unrest within my being; a guilt, a kind of festering dread. I would try to dismiss it. I would think it was gone. But there it was again. Something not right. Something needing resolution and relief. I couldn’t reason it away or fix it on my own.

Although I protested the “loss” of Sunday morning and was too shy to attend Sunday School, we continued to attend church every week, and secretly, I was engrossed. I loved the billowing notes from the pipe organ, balanced by the comforting tones of the piano. I loved the choir’s harmonies and shiny robes. I couldn’t get enough of the poetry and images from the hymnal. I was so impressed when we sang “When Morning Gilds The Skies”, I later looked up the word “gild” in the worn Merriam-Webster Dictionary at home. Eventually, I found such a kind-hearted and gentle Sunday School teacher that I agreed to attend her class.

Even so, the internal unrest continued until the day I said the word “yes”.

The organ was playing one of my favorite hymns, “I Need Thee Every Hour”, and I was wrestling with the feeling of private dread and discomfort when Reverend Martinson suggested that those who wanted to put their faith in Jesus Christ as Lord of their lives might come to the front of the church so he could pray with them.

The congregation sang: “I need Thee every hour/ Most Gracious Lord/ No tender voice like Thine/ Can peace afford/ I need Thee, Oh I need Thee/ Every hour I need Thee/ Oh bless me now, My Savior/ I come to Thee.” *

Awkward but determined, I stood up and stepped over the necessary feet to get to the aisle. I remember the creak of the wood floor and how we finished all five verses of the hymn while I stood alone next to Reverend Martinson at the front of the church. I also remember the flood of peace and relief as I prayed for God’s forgiveness that morning.

The Word says that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23), even though we were created in his image (Genesis 9:6). But the Word also says that God loved us so much that he gave his only Son as a sacrifice for our wrongs and rebellion against him, so that whoever believes in Jesus will not die in that state of rebellion, but have a peaceful relationship with God and life (John 3:16 & 17). That is the simple message I heard, but it was the Holy Spirit that created the internal unrest and desire for peace with God that ultimately led me to him.

I’m so grateful that he saw me all those years ago, sitting in the last row of pews at First Baptist Church of Carthage, NY. What a gift that he did not consider me too insignificant or young to offer forgiveness and salvation.

That day, the truth of God’s Word changed my life and marked the beginning of a journey of growth. Since then, there have been times I’ve gotten off track and taken detours. But God’s Word, the Bible, has always been there to guide me back to the certainty of his love and my need for salvation. The truth is, the Word has the power to change us. Rather than focusing on experiences and how I feel, it is the steady, unchanging Word of God that has provided clarity when I’m confused, hope in my despondence, and health when my spirit is bruised.

Salvation isn’t just about saying “yes” once. Putting faith in Jesus is a start. It takes countless more “yeses” for faith and fellowship with God to grow. Yes, I will humble myself in this situation. Yes, I will sacrifice my time or resources over here. Yes, I will forgive this person again. Yes, I will give up “my time” to worship God. Yes, I will visit the new family who visited the church. Yes, I will show love and kindness to the shy, awkward child in class. Yes, I will do the hard thing. Yes, I will allow myself to be changed by a loving God. And yes, I need him. Every hour.

*”I Need Thee Every Hour” by Annie S. Hawks and Robert Lowry, 1872; Public domain.

2025 Sandra Jantzi