Category: anxiety

Dealing With The Darkness

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It’s one of those memories that stands out because of its unexpectedness: A glorious autumn day, golden sunlight shimmering through the kaleidoscope of colors in the rolling Adirondack foothills. The air is still warm but there is a touch of fresh coolness that pushes away any lingering heat and humidity. It makes you want to breathe in deeply. Trees are approaching “peak” color- flamboyant shades of red, orange, yellow, and green- as they mark the end of a flourishing summer season. It makes up for a hundred dreary days. I turn toward my grandfather and remark about the glorious colors. He looks squarely back at me and acknowledges, “They are pretty, but I hate to see them.”

Stunned out of my admiration of the scene, I ask him why.

“Because it means winter is coming,” he responds, scanning the landscape as if it were already covered in stark frost.

I’m surprised. Up until that point in my young life, I saw our northern winters as a simple trading of activities. Skating instead of swimming. Skiing instead of hiking. Then I remember he has difficulty walking in the best of conditions, but ice and snow make it treacherous and impossible to navigate alone. That was the obvious part of his story.

Decades later, I realized there was more to his dread than slippery conditions and cold. It is the unrelenting darkness that I now find myself battling every year.

These days it has a label: Seasonal Affective Disorder. For me, the world seems dark and heavy. Well, it is dark. At the lowest point, there is a little over 7 hours of light before we begin adding minutes of daylight again. I also live in the “shadow of the Great Lakes” where cloudy days are plentiful due to the moisture swept up from the surface of the lakes. Ice and snow can make it harder to navigate, harder to get outside. Lethargy creeps in. Low mood. Life and work start to feel overwhelming. The overwhelm seems never-ending. Anxiety grabs hold of those perceptions and I wake with an undefined feeling of dread.

Are the days really heavy? I guess that’s where my state of mind comes in. I do like winter. The refreshing cold, the sparkle of frost, the different textures of snow, the way it makes the world look so stark and yet so pure. The stillness of a winter’s night. The crispness of the air. Still, if I am not vigilant, I begin to feel heavy and despondent despite my best campaign against it. February, when daylight finally becomes noticeably longer, is often my hardest month.

How is a lack of peace consistent with a proclaimed follower of Jesus? Shouldn’t I be walking in freedom and peace of mind? The reality is that I am living in a fallen world. For things to be different I’ve discovered that I have to act in ways that go against the grain of how I’m feeling. Ways that align my self better with my Creator, who knows me and cares about my struggles. These actions work only when I am disciplined and attentive to doing them daily. Like a soldier, I have to be vigilant. Here is my battle plan:

-Brisk outdoor activity or an indoor workout when the weather is bad. I truly look forward to skiing, snowshoeing, and hiking with my Great Pyrenees, who loves winter like no other. Many days I get up early so we can get 30 – 40 minutes outside before work. These pre-dawn moments have become a savored time of prayer and listening to my Bible app before the onslaught of work activity and distractions. The beauty of those moments makes up for any inconvenience in getting there.

-Light therapy. Long ago I purchased a light lamp but didn’t realize there is a protocol for making it work. I won’t describe the entire process here, but for those interested I suggest checking out the work done by Dr. Andrew Huberman, a neuroscientist who has done extensive research in this area. He can be found at http://www.hubermanlab.com or on the Huberman Lab podcast.

-Hear me out: Cold showers. I know, I know, it’s already plenty cold outside, why add to the misery? Again, I refer to Dr. Huberman on this, and others have done a great deal of research in this area too. Dr. Huberman does an excellent job presenting the science and do’s & don’ts. Some people prefer ice baths, but I find cold showers to be effective, fast, and easy to execute. I can share from experience that doing this gets easier with repetition.

-Spiritually speaking, I return every winter to the theme of Jesus as the Light of the World. Winter is a time when the world seems particularly dark to me, not just in a natural light sense. It is vitally important to my spiritual life that I remain consistent with daily time in prayer and the Word of God. I cannot emphasize enough how important this consistency is.

John 8:12 says, “Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, ‘I am the Light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the Light of life.’ ” There is a promise and hope that I do not have to struggle in darkness, but as I follow Jesus daily I can have an abundant life. A life of inner peace and freedom from darkness and anxiety no matter what else is happening. The ability to walk in guiltlessness, to recognize I have a place in God’s family, to accept new ways of thinking and behaving that lead to life, not death.

This is not a “name it and claim it” mentality. Instead, like dear Pilgrim in “Pilgrim’s Progress” (John Bunyan), I put one foot in front of the other, receiving grace hour by hour, learning as I go and making many human mistakes along the way. It is as Paul says in Philippians 2:12, “Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” When despondency is a companion, keep walking toward the Light.

From that perspective I can sometimes utter a prayer of thankfulness for this struggle. Would I have sought God and clung to Him as tightly if I hadn’t had this gnawing darkness of soul pursuing me? What human trials could be our strength when illuminated in the brilliant light of God?

Sandra Jantzi, February 2025

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Led Where You Do Not Want To Go

It just so happened that the day my son started his military deployment, war broke out between Israel and Hamas. In the pre-dawn darkness he waved goodbye, and a few hours later I was watching news coverage of the Hamas attack. Conflict had already been raging between Russia and Ukraine and that situation had become quite desperate. There were perhaps hundreds of other lesser known but no less volatile struggles between tribes, governments, sects, and countries playing out the day he left.

My son was launched into another part of the world where there are threats and points of view I do not understand and where there are people with agendas who are also worried about the futures of their own sons. A place where peace is anemic, wobbly, and often shoved out of the way.

This has caused me to think more carefully about what God gave up in order to reach you and me. I’m guilty of glossing over that part of John 3:16 where it says, “God… sent His only begotten Son into the world” so I can get to the part where He offers everlasting life. But these days when I’m watching the world more closely and praying more fervently, I think about what a risk it was to send His only Son as a defenseless baby into a rough and tumble world to be cared for by faulty humans. My son is an adult who has been trained to be aware of his surroundings and potential dangers, despite my mind’s insistent memory of his panicked five-year-old face on the first day of school. But God sent his Son as a baby even though He knew full well that we were incapable of handling or understanding Him, so that in every way He would face the same trials and temptations that we do. The reason is simple. Because He also loves us with a great, longing tenderness.

If you have ever been a parent, guardian, or mentor then you know parental love. I miss my son in multiple ways, every day. The first few months of his life he cried constantly with a colic I could not seem to soothe. My husband and I walked him through sleeplessness and sickness, birthday parties, pets, and that sweet summer when his baseball team won the championship and he walked with a swagger for weeks. There are few things I wouldn’t endure to ensure his safety. But now, each day I mentally put him in God’s hands for God’s purposes. The outcome of which is up to God. At times, this feels like a place I do not want to go.

Recently, a book came to mind that I had not thought about for many years. “The Hiding Place” by Corrie Ten Boom chronicles her life as a Dutch Christian who, with her family, risked life and livelihood by hiding many Jewish people from the Nazis during World War II. Eventually her family was arrested and sent to a concentration camp. Corrie and her sister experienced unimaginable conditions: hunger, thirst, brutality, dehumanization, ridicule, threats, dangers, and filthy conditions. Ultimately Corrie’s sister and elderly father died during their confinement. Corrie evaded extermination through a clerical error and went on to be a witness for Christ in several countries.

What was striking was that Corrie did not set out to be a hero or an evangelist. She just knew she could not call herself a Christian and turn a blind eye to the discrimination and murder that was happening under Nazi rule in her hometown. The more she assisted, the more was asked of her. She found herself being led where she did not necessarily want to go as the danger of what she was doing increased. By this step by step release of what was important to her in order to embrace what was important to God, she was able to bring hope and accomplish what would seem impossible, even in Ravensbruck concentration camp while she was starving and infested with fleas.

It was Corrie who said, “Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.”

“You can never learn that Christ is all you need, until Christ is all you have.”

And this, “The measure of a life, after all, is not its duration, but its donation.”

She would know, because she lost everything in this world and still remained faithful to Jesus, even in her humiliation and grief. Because of that faithfulness, she brought rescue, hope, and the message of God’s salvation to thousands throughout her life and after her death.

No matter who you are or how good you are at controlling your circumstances, you will eventually be led where you do not want to go. Maybe it is a loved one’s sickness or disease in your own body. Maybe you have lost someone you love. Maybe something you really wanted, even something good, is not going to happen after all your efforts. Maybe you are saying a long goodbye, or maybe the goodbye did not happen and it’s too late. Maybe all the pieces you were trying to fit together have come crashing down around you in some way and hope seems to be sinking.

It might even seem like the end. But as you look around the landscape of this place where you do not want to be, there is another path. It may not look like a practical answer right now, but it is a path of no regrets. Now is the time to release what you thought you could not bear to lose and take a step toward God.

“The Lord is at hand; be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7, NKJV).

While He did not promise to make every situation rosy, He did promise His peace- not the world’s fleeting peace, but a lasting peace that is beyond our comprehension or control even in our darkest moments. What are you clinging to that might be keeping you from knowing that peace?

Sandra Jantzi

Copyright November 2023

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Posted on by Sandra Jantzi Featured 1

Big White Fluffy Prayers

“It’s up to you,” my husband said as we looked out at the sunny winter afternoon. “You’re the one that will have to deal with all of the headaches.”

I knew this to be true. The sweet smell of puppy was still on my coat that January day in 2021, but I was unable to decide what to do. I considered the significant changes that had occurred in the previous 18 months: one son married off and the other off to college. The family dog died weeks before my youngest left for college, so the house felt empty indeed. A new grandchild had entered the world, and I was eager to spend my free time with her. Then a global pandemic swept in and completely changed our business resulting in long workdays, constant changes, disrupted schedules. The slow realization that our company would not go back to its former way of doing business began to take hold. New employees were being hired and trained. New processes put into place. Trial and error honed our system. Trying to make family time in the 50+ hour weeks my husband and I were putting in became increasingly difficult. I’m not sure when overthinking, anxiety, impatience and dread crowded into my busy hours, but there was no doubt that they were my eager companions as soon as I woke every morning. There were days I spent 14 plus hours working, tossing up a few hurried prayers when I could.

What kind of lunatic invites a puppy into this chaos, I wondered.

I even asked God if it was a good idea for me to get a dog, but it was so hard discern any kind of answer over the constant overthinking and anxiety that swirled in my mind. It makes sense to me now that I would have felt that way. But at the time I was struggling. I used to think I could handle almost anything until almost anything happened.

I had gone to the “puppy viewing” we had arranged with the attitude that there was no way we were going to get one of these Great Pyrenees pups. For those who aren’t familiar, Great Pyrenees are a large breed dog, typically white in color and double-coated, suited for cold climates and outdoor work such as guarding livestock. I had no experience dealing with large breed dogs and since we were spending so much time at work, we would need a dog that could be incorporated into our workday fairly easily. I was thinking an older dog that already had the basic training down would be a better choice. But where to find one, with the animal shelters practically empty because of Covid? Our good friends who were also seeking a dog had met us there and quickly picked out one of the roly-poly fluffy female pups. Only the male puppy was left. After the breeder honestly answered our questions about the pros and cons of the breed, I heard him tell my husband, “These dogs are pretty mellow. This is the kind of dog that could just hang out at your auction house.”

We were home on Covid quarantine when the Great Pyrenees puppy we named Samson was dropped off at our house. He was timid and adorably cute with his tan ears, soft fluffy white coat and round puppy belly. I’m not about to tell you it was easy. We were training a puppy after all! We both knew that the puppy phase wouldn’t last forever, so we kept our eye on the prize. It was definitely more work for my already busy days. I learned to type with one hand for hours while dangling a toy in the other hand to keep Samson occupied. I had to pause work every 2 hours to take him outside, whether or not I wanted to. The every-2-hour breaks were a bit frustrating but not completely unwelcome to a woman who had spent the past several months tethered to a computer for 10-14 hours a day.

As we settled into a routine, Samson accompanied me to work every afternoon, and I made sure he got at least a 30 minute romp outside each day, no matter the weather. We reached a stage where he could just run in the fields we owned while I circled the perimeter for exercise. It felt pretty good to get away from work for a few minutes. I was providing for the dog what I rarely had taken the time to do for myself! The peace and calm of nature around us began to settle my mind. Samson stayed within eyesight, always coming back when I toned his training collar.

One day, as I marched around the field and Samson ran ahead of me, I started thanking God for this time, usually in the middle of the day, when I had a legitimate excuse to leave the office and find a few moments of quiet. I find a lot of satisfaction in working with and assisting my husband. But at that time, work was incredibly overwhelming. It started with a few words of thankfulness each day. Eventually I started praying for people I knew. I have a Bible app on my phone and I began listening to it while I walked. Daily I did some combination of those 3 things- thankful praise, praying for others, listening to the Word. Sometimes I walked in silence and asked God just to be with me as I walked. I have prayed for people who have faced death or the death of loved ones; people who are ill or have family conflicts. I have prayed for guidance for people who are struggling. I’ve prayed for my pastors and their families. I’ve listened to the entire Bible. Sometimes I just try to quiet my mind in the presence of the Holy Spirit. There has been snow, wind, sleet, drizzle, downpours, mud… and also plenty of gorgeous, balmy, sunny days where the clouds chase each other across the blue sky. Still, we walk.

That is our routine to this day. Samson is now 2 1/2 years old. He recently weighed in at 104 pounds, which is average for his breed. He comes with me to work almost every day and is known as a gentle giant. Our staff love him and our customers look for him. He is happiest when he is with people or frolicking in the fields. What I feared would be, literally, a huge problem has become a huge blessing.

This is, to me, a testimony that God works unrelentingly and in ways we cannot understand or predict. I love to tell people the story of the time Samson began circling me and patrolling the border of our field with his resounding bark when we heard coyotes in a nearby field at dusk. But the real story is this: Over time, my comrades- anxiety, dread, overthinking- have taken a back seat. They know that I will be checking in with a God who cares enough about me to use a Great Pyrenees named Samson to get my attention.

Sandra Jantzi

Copyright March 2023

All rights reserved

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It Wasn’t Supposed To Be Like This

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Christmas was not bathed in the comfortable glow of tinsel and electric lights for Blanche and Louie that year.

For much of the world, life was getting back to normal in December, 1947. World War II had ended two years before, and the US economy was almost inexplicably burgeoning as it transitioned from wartime production to consumer goods. An article about the mid-1940’s US economy perseverates on toaster production- an interestingly appropriate gauge of the new focus on home and modern efficiency in those years.

The bang of the heavy front door as Louie came home from work each day broke the silence of a hushed house where serious illness had taken up residence. His days were busy at the barber shop and hardware store he co-owned with his older brother but there was no falling away of tensions as he entered their house. Cancer had ravaged his wife’s body and she had been gravely ill for some time, although she was not yet 44. Enough had been spent on treatments and medications that both of their children later recalled money being less plentiful in the household. Louie had been driving Blanche to a nearby city for treatments that left her nauseated and exhausted. Their days had taken on a gradual desperation. When her sisters visited, she pleaded with them to take care of her children when she was gone. By Christmas it was clear that her determined grip on her life, family, and all that she loved in this world was weakening. This knowledge loomed over them despite the cheery Christmas songs crooning from the table top radio as they relaxed in the living room in the dark evenings. By the end of January she had left this world, having passed in her sleep in their little home. It was clearly a very painful time that would influence my family for a long time; Blanche and Louie were my grandparents.

As a child I have distinctly vivid memories of my grandfather telling me stories of “a woman he once knew” in odd moments when we were alone; stories I discovered years later were about my grandmother, Blanche. I was surprised to see tears flowing freely down my aunt’s cheeks when I questioned her about this grandmother I had never known. My aunt was in her eighties at the time. Some memories remain poignant.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way. We have only one life and we are shaken and broken when it doesn’t turn out the way we think it should.

Maybe it is the long nights of winter that give me time to ponder in the darkness. Or the crisp, cold air that causes me to see with unusual clarity. But isn’t this actually what Christmas is all about? Tidings of comfort and joy despite bitter regrets and feelings of loss. In the fragments of broken plans and lost destinies, peace.

I recently had my own health concern that left me entertaining a ball of anxiety in a physician’s waiting room. The stories of my grandmother’s early departure played out in my mind. After some mental wrestling I saw that I could continue to clutch this icy fear, or I could have some faith that God cares about my personal concerns, big and little. That the pathway that led me to this day was actually orchestrated by a God who wants me trust Him more, rather than questioning and turning away when my plans go awry.

Quietly putting my trust in God that the outcome will be His and not necessarily my plan has been a frequent exercise. But if I listen, I hear a silent peace that I didn’t hear before. I see a shining light through the murkiness of my daily worry. Good tidings of great joy that no matter what the end result is, God is with me, as I believe He was with Blanche. And I am with Him, not clutching at false hope or scurrying after anything that will make me feel better in the moment.

Jesus, whose birth was heralded with wonder and angelic visions, promised this: “And behold, I am always with you, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).

Are the days leading to your Christmas full of uncertainty or even dread? Are you clinging to something over which you have no control?

Then I bring tidings of comfort and joy. It is for this reason that Jesus Christ came into the world. So that you would never again have to be separated from God’s presence by the darkness in this world. “Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?” asks Psalm 139:7. “God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him” (John 3.17). Isaiah 55:6 urges, “Seek the LORD while He may be found; Call upon Him while He is near.” That is the essence of Christmas.

Copyright 2022 Sandra Jantzi

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When Trust Isn’t Broken

Every Wednesday afternoon beginning in sixth grade, I stepped out of my mother’s car and crossed the sidewalk into a wondrous world. Climbing the front steps into the vestibule of a big, old house, I could peek into the doorway that opened into many other rooms full of stillness, heavy decor, and a pleasant woody aroma. Behind one of these doorways was a lovely grand piano, but each week I settled myself onto the bench of the white student upright situated on a converted front porch. It was here that I, shy and acutely awkward, spent years learning piano (and indeed, life) lessons from one of my most memorable teachers, Louis Myers.

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He was tall, gregarious, quick-witted, and had perfect pitch. When I knew him, he was probably in his sixties and seventies but still actively playing in bands and for events. In his youth he resembled George Gershwin, whom we both admired, and he frequently recounted the tragic tale of George’s untimely death- an event that occurred in his lifetime. It seemed to me that he was a link to a past that was more sophisticated and urbane. He was a devoted fan of his hometown baseball team, the Cleveland Indians. As I grew older, I often wondered how this Jewish man ended up in my small, predominantly Catholic, northern New York town.

What he may not have known was that I had begged my parents for piano lessons for years. My parents were careful with their spending, so my mother gave up her lessons so I could go. Week in and out he pulled up a chair next to the piano bench and we pushed on through drills, scales, music primers, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Cole Porter, Paul Simon, Mozart, Carole King, Rogers & Hammerstein, and Gershwin himself. Some days were laborious, and others were lilting. No one had to tell me to practice because I loved everything about it. I loved the instrument with its dark chambers inside the weighty wood, hammers striking strings, ivory and ebony under my moist fingertips. I loved the music, the tones, the trills, the emotion it evoked. And the music became a voice for my quiet, anxious, unpolished youth. Mr. Myers taught me to play the notes with my soul as well as my hands. He told me that I played with emotion, something that could not be easily taught.

That would have been enough, but it’s not all that I learned from from him. We covered the history of music and composers and as I blundered through adolescence he tossed in some practical advice. Sit up straight. Don’t pick at the blemishes on your face. Carry yourself like a young lady. Have confidence in yourself. And when I started driving myself to piano lessons he counseled, “A car is a weapon.” Most memorable was the constant reminder to treat others with respect. “Good and bad people come from every race, religion and color,” he would tell me. “People shouldn’t be picked on for their race or religious beliefs.” By high school, I realized that he had been alive during World War II and had lived in the reality of a world where 6 million other Jews were put to death.

It was his elegant wife, Nimi who caused Louis to spend most of his adult life in rural New York. With his talent and love for music, I’m sure he could have ended up in a metropolitan environment where there were more opportunities. Her family was Lebanese. Louis never told his mother that he converted to Catholicism to be with Nimi. Pictures of the young couple revealed a striking pair; both of them tall and dark-haired. I learned years later that Nimi used to sit quietly in their living room during my lesson so she could hear me play. I wasn’t that great, but I loved the music and it was flattering to think that this polished woman set aside time to listen to my progress.

When high school ended and I was getting ready to move on, the time came for lessons to end.

For weeks afterward, I cried quietly every time I sat down at the piano. I missed this man who had taught me so much about music and life. For 30 minutes almost every week, year after year, his example, encouragement, admonishment, and experience spoke into my life and added to who I am. I practically grew up at his piano.

In a time when we are hearing almost daily about people who abuse others’ trust- adults and children, teachers and students, spiritual leaders and followers, I cling to this example of someone who gave so much more than what he was paid for and did not violate faith. His encouragement to be a good citizen, to work hard, to be respectful, to laugh once in a while, and to play music with emotion are qualities he assisted my parents in imparting to me.

In this current world of selfies and social media rants where everyone wants to be heard and seen, I think about my teacher, long since passed away, and how he quietly changed my life.

He consistently showed up, every week. He held me to a standard, but took the time to show me how to reach it. He expected good things from me and treated me respectfully- even at my most awkward times. He did not violate trust.

I wonder how I’m doing at showing those qualities to the people in my life. Am I adding something positive to the family, friends, and coworkers in my path, or just trying to be heard above the clamor of life?

Even now, decades later, when I hear certain songs- especially Gershwin’s “Rhapsody In Blue”, I remember the legacy passed to me by my teacher. What will people remember about me? Whose trust will I keep intact? To whom will I impart a legacy of goodness?

Sandra Jantzi

Copyright June 2021, all rights reserved.

Posted on by Sandra Jantzi Featured 7

Peace of Mind: Fleeting or Forfeited?

The COVID pandemic has deeply affected my life, and I know the business I co-own will never be the same. My propensity to troubleshoot, plan, control, and meticulously scrutinize details has been a big help in a pandemic-affected business. With some attitude adjustments and discipline, there were times in the summer when I thought I was killin’ it at making our business and life work in the midst of global upheaval.

But by January, my propensity to troubleshoot, plan, control, and meticulously scrutinize details left me waking up with generalized dread most mornings. An undefined worry. A dark cloud of anxiety that could not be rationalized away. A fear of everything and nothing. A gnawing, clawing, in the pit of my stomach that would come and go, but mostly perch darkly in my soul. The smallest changes and the slightest criticisms felt crushing. No one was more surprised than I.

In the midst of this, I became fascinated by the ancient narrative of a tribe of wandering people. This tribe was enslaved by another nation when several overwhelming plagues came upon their captors. After massive national losses, the captors decided to set the tribe free. Right away they regretted that decision and pursued the departing tribe into the desert. At that point the tribe managed to miraculously cross to the other side of a large body of water while their pursuers were destroyed and drowned.

A few pages later, the tribe is wandering in the wilderness, disgruntled and hungry. They hangrily address their leader: “If only the Lord had killed us back in Egypt” [where they were enslaved], they moaned. “There we sat around pots filled with meat and ate all the bread we wanted. But now you have brought us into this wilderness to starve us all to death.” (Exodus 16:3).

Given that they had just been freed from slavery and witnessed the destruction of their pursuers, it would be kind of a funny story except that it smacks too close to home. I would like to believe that I am like the tribe’s reluctant yet heroic leader, Moses. But I know that my default is to complain and to descry what I think I lack. And despite God providing for me -and the Israelites- in practical ways, I sometimes falter in my ability to see God at work. Instead, I allow my mind to scurry from crisis to crisis. I breathe a sigh of relief when a problem is resolved, and fail to see the larger picture: that God is good and He cares about the details of our lives.

The real irony for me is that the pandemic has brought me to my knees twice. The first time, I relinquished control over my days and ways of doing life while my husband and I re-invented our business and put up with the same pandemic hassles the rest of the world was experiencing. The second time, it brought to light a quietly destructive pattern in my own mind. The same thinking ahead, troubleshooting, and controlling that served me well in one area led to endless ruminating about even small problems and things that I have no power to control. That thinking was always there, but it took a pandemic to expose it to the bright light of day and help me to see how lethal it was for me. My anxious thoughts were like a prison.

I share this personal struggle because I not only hear the echo of my voice in the complaining (and anxious) tribe of Israelites wandering in the desert, but also in the voices of people who are struggling to figure daily life out in a world that has become uncertain.

But truly, we are no worse off when the answers aren’t clear and we don’t have it all under control.

I’ve come to realize that no matter how involuntary it may seem, my anxiety is a sin (yes, ouch!) because it shows a pattern of thinking that excludes God’s work in my life. Lucy Maud Montgomery said it best: “To despair is to turn your back on God.”

This isn’t to say that you or I should blame ourselves for being anxious. Anxiety is a sin in the same way that disease and death are results of the corruption present in the world. There are levels and types of anxiety that require medical intervention. I firmly believe that if there is a positive way to eradicate someone’s suffering, it should be considered. But I think it is also right to take ownership of the things I can do something about, even if the work is hard. Ultimately, the anxious person has to face their thoughts… and take control of them.

What I am suggesting is that if I truly believe that Jesus is my Savior and that God cares about my future, I can trust Him to provide the grace I need- when the time comes. In the interest of disciplining my mind to think in ways that are more profitable for me and those around me, Philippians 4:5-8 has been a great help: “The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy- think about such things.” (NIV).

The application is that we must mentally stop ourselves, several times a day, from ruminating on a problem or worrying about how it will work itself out hours or months or years from now. We must allow ourselves to experience the current moment, with all of its sounds, smells, and sights; and remember that the Lord is at hand in that very second. Thank Him for that time, no matter how bad or good it may seem. Ask Him for help in seeing that He is there, and also in finding solutions for the day- just this day. Tomorrow, which is not even guaranteed to happen, will take care of itself.

On one recent instance, I was enjoying a moment of Spring sunshine and thanking God for the warmth when I suddenly thought of Jesus telling the people of Jerusalem how He wanted to protect them as a mother hen protects her chicks under her wings (Matt. 23:37) and how in the Psalms it talks of taking refuge in the shadow of God’s wings until the storms of destruction pass by (Psalm 57:1). The image of this in my mind was so strong that I felt a great deal of relief and comfort. That is how God thinks about us- He is caring and compassionate, present in every detail, longing to protect us. These small but no less meaningful moments are one of the ways God brings healing to an anxious mind through His word and through making Him our focus.

This is grace for today, very much like the manna that was provided for food for the ancient Israelites, but lasted only for the day in which it was gathered. And it has slowly dawned on me that perhaps God wants you and me to trust Him daily for our very being and all of its needs in a more personal way. To do this, one must believe that God is good, trustworthy, and that He does care in a very personal way. To believe anything else is to forfeit peace of mind.

Copyright 2021 by Sandra Jantzi. All rights reserved.

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