Category: peace

When A Word Changes Everything

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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

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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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The Servant and the Undeserved Gift

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As I opened the letter I felt a jolt of disbelief when a check dropped onto my lap. Perplexed, I could not understand why this man would be sending a check. Back then, I did not think of him as a servant, but I realize now that’s exactly what he was. 

When we first met he was in his nineties, but there was nothing about him that suggested the feebleness or detachment that so many who reach that decade exhibit. He was in remarkably good health and I don’t remember him mentioning any ailment more than in passing. Whether this was by choice or because he had the fortune to know few illnesses, I don’t know. He was tall and lean, slightly bent with age but his bending forward gave one the impression that you were the sole focus of his attention. And you were. He spoke pleasantly, with the charm of his southern roots- and always about the subjects that interested his company. He looked you in the eye and sought reasons to smile at you. He could disagree with you in a way that made you feel you had been heard and valued, even though his convictions were strong. In the few years I knew him before he passed, he made such a marked impression that to this day I frequently compare my behavior in any given situation- even my Christian walk- with his.

His name was Paul Swope, and he was my husband’s grandfather. Born in Virginia to Mennonite parents, he eventually moved to Ohio where he married, raised a family, was active in the community and church, and worked well into his nineties. He carried himself with a rare grace, humility and kindness. We enjoyed his company so much that my husband and I packed up the kids as often as was practical and drove three hours just to spend a weekend with him. In between visits, he wrote us letters. Some addressed to my husband, some to me. The letters were always encouraging, praising our efforts. He always seemed to think the best of us. 

I never saw him join in gossip or sarcasm. But his lack of participation was never cold or self-righteous. When he picked up the conversation, his words were kind. I’ve asked his family and even his own children do not remember hearing him say anything negative about anyone. 

My husband tells of a story involving an individual who had been the source of much conflict and grief in the family. This person had once helped my husband transport a vehicle a few hours’ drive to his grandfather’s house. Upon their arrival, Grandpa Swope stepped out of his kitchen door to offer a glass of water to the person who had brought so much offense to his family. He had every right to hide inside and pretend he didn’t see the person- just let the moment pass. Instead he took the opportunity to show kind-hearted forgiveness, not allowing his pain to excuse him from following the example of Jesus. I think of the times I could have laid down my pride for someone whose soul might have benefitted from compassion rather than my sense of justice.   

Salvation and forgiveness is free, but true Christianity will cost you something. Earnest followers of Jesus soon learn that they will be letting go of their own pride, plans, and prejudices to become a servant. I have rarely seen this exemplified in another person as well as in Paul Swope. I felt it most when I was the undeserving recipient of that kind of love.

The day had really just been awful. Hugely pregnant, I had waddled uncomfortably through my workday as a school social worker. Driving home I was preoccupied with some of the more desperate cases with which I worked. As well, my husband and I had just bought a house and were trying to prepare it for the arrival of our first baby. Finances were already stretched when we realized that we could not start any additional house projects until we replaced the roof. It was expensive. It was discouraging. But we started scrimping and saving even further. That particular day was one of those “everything-I-touch-goes-wrong” types, and I remember feeling defeated when I pulled the car into the driveway and switched off the ignition. 

Too tired to get out of the car, I began flipping through the day’s mail and found the letter from Grandpa Swope addressed to me. Tearing open the envelope, I found the check that dropped out was also made out to me, not my husband. I scanned the letter for an explanation. ”…On our last visit I remember you mentioned that you had hoped to make some improvements on the new house before the baby arrives, but the roof would need to be repaired instead… Please accept this gift so that you may make those improvements sooner rather than later…” 

Tears rolled down my face, not just because I had received an undeserved gift from a generous and good-natured man. More than that, his actions had painted a picture of what God is like at a time when I felt beaten down:

  • God cares about the things that concern us. 
  • God gives gifts that we do not deserve and have no right to receive. 
  • When God adopted me into his family, I was all in. There are no in-law “outlaws” in the family of God. 

Paul Swope exemplified humble servanthood in his daily life. I am so grateful to have known him, not only because he was such a remarkable person, but because his Christian walk has given me much to consider. Jesus said, “Freely you have received, freely give.” (Matt. 10:8) When I realize how very undeserving I have received God’s gift, I am motivated to give that much more. Would my willingness to give of myself -to be a servant today -change someone’s life?

“…be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” Ephesians 5:1-2

Copyright Jan. 2024 Sandra Jantzi

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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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On Ending Well: An Open Letter To A Pastor

It was desperation that made me do it.

My ears perked up when your weekly message ended with the familiar reminder that the pastors are available to meet with people experiencing various issues in their spiritual walk.

A troubled relationship with one person had created ripples of conflict in other areas of my life and I had found myself in what I thought was an inescapable and intolerable situation. I was certain I was right, but that provided no resolution to the conflict in which I was engulfed.

The multiple facets to my situation were like hundreds of strands in a knot with which I wrestled inwardly day and night. I could not see another way and I was emotionally distraught. I don’t like to ask for help, but I had come to the end of my own resources. I emailed you for a recommendation to meet with someone in our church counseling ministry, but you and your wife offered to meet with me instead.

I’m not sure what I was expecting but I know I did not expect that what I learned in our meetings would eventually alter the curve of my Christian walk forever. I know I did not expect the level of compassion that you both showed me. So often we avoid asking for help because we don’t want to dispel the church myth that we have it all worked out, and appear weekly with shiny, happy smiles. I’m utterly grateful for that compassion. When you began to slowly unravel my knot in the light of scripture, and I saw that my problem was deeper than the other person, your compassion made the hard admission of my failings so much easier.

When it would have been possible to get involved in the details of my conflict, you kept the focus on God’s Word, the Bible. It was with skill that you applied those ancient Words to my wound. I remember you telling me that no matter how wrong I thought someone else was or how badly I felt I had been treated, I was still answerable to God for my own behavior. Well of course I knew it at some superficial level, but that day it got my attention and I realized that my failure to live by that very concept was probably keeping me from growing spiritually. Although I hadn’t realized it before, I think I (and many others) believed that some poor behavior is justifiable. Some wrong reactions are admissible. But Jesus didn’t add an “except when” to the charge to love one’s enemies. It became clear that if I was going to go on saying that I believe in God, I was going to have to humble myself and do what He said. Even the hard things. The cost of which, of course, was my own pride and comfort.

As a result of our meetings, the Sermon on the Mount, perhaps Jesus’ most famous words, took on new life. And I have to tell you, I felt a fair amount of dismay when I measured my behavior against those hard words. “Love your enemy.” “If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.” “Pray for those who persecute you.” “Forgive us… as we have forgiven others.” “Lay up treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust destroy… for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” “Judge not, that you be not judged.” “Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?” “Whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them.” “The gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord’, will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.”

When I thought nothing would improve, you showed me the passage in Habakkuk 3 with this charge: “Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength…” I saw then that everything I was clutching and clinging to and thought I needed in my life was transient. When I accepted that I would live in whatever set of circumstances I was given and sincerely look to God for strength, I cracked open a treasure chest of gratitude and contentment that is unreduced in each new situation. It’s a daily, sometimes hourly choice. It is hard. But it is life-changing.

So many of us Christians seem to be consumed with the pursuit of something better in our current lives. By that I mean a nicer climate, a prettier house, a more fulfilling job, time to ourselves, a place where we agree more with the politics and mandates. All good things. But I unexpectedly found a prize in embracing the difficult things that I thought would lead to unhappiness. Like raging rivers we blast haphazardly through the rocky chasms of our lives, noisy and full of emotion, thinking we have some say in where we are going. The hardness of life in God’s masterful hands can direct to a sharpened awareness of His purpose and personality, leading to the still waters of grace and peace where there was none.

Your emphasis on God’s Word, and your encouragement to read it every day at every opportunity had a huge impact on my life. I had already been a Christian for a long time when we met, but I admit that up to that point reading the Bible was something I checked off the list everyday like any other chore. Sometimes it was hard to muster a lot of excitement for that duty. However, I came to realize in our meetings that God’s Word is one of the main tools on this earth that He uses to change me. When I am tired of the me that botches things up, struggles to forgive, and becomes too focused on myself, there is an amazing remedy at my disposal; God’s own words and the account of His interaction with other humans who have failings just like mine. I am privileged to have free access to those Words and the thrill of what this means has not diminished with time.

It should be said that in the midst of my struggle, I saw you and your wife also working to model the very things you were encouraging me to do. With the host of personalities and situations you both encounter, I can see that this would be no easy task. You were both unrelenting in that pursuit.

It was a challenge for me to share this personal story. I wrote it two months ago and wavered about whether to publish it. I finally did for a couple of reasons. One is that I’m sure there are other people out there who are in similar situations to mine, battling a situation that seems to have you down for the count. There are a lot of voices out there claiming to provide help. I encourage you to find the person in your life who can skillfully lead you through the Word of God, because that’s what changes lives.

Secondly, in a world where there is an abundance of ineffective and sometimes even abusive spiritual leaders, I am so genuinely grateful for those who have worked uncompromisingly to stay true to the message of Jesus Christ in word and deed; encouraging, coaxing, and cheering the rest of us on.

I saw a great illustration of this the day my youngest son reached his goal of a sub-five-minute mile at a high school track meet. Every ounce of his energy and focus was on the goal, the painful mental battle playing out on his face. The opponents were close on his heels as he rounded the last curve of the track. Out from the crowd of spectators, my older son- also a competitive runner- joined him, running parallel to his brother, just outside the track. As my husband and I watched from the upper level, we could hear our older son above the roar of the crowd shouting, “GO! YOU’RE ALMOST THERE! YOU’VE GOT THIS!!” He ran and cheered all the way to the end. That is what a pastor does.

To my pastors, and pastors everywhere: Thank you.

Thank you for continually encouraging us to keep running this race, pressing us to run better and faster. Thank you for reminding us that we’re almost there- that we can end well. What you do really does make a difference.

Sandra Jantzi

Copyright 2023, all rights reserved.

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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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Drowning In Freedom

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Standing indecisively at the edge of the pond, I twisted my bare toes in the warm, fragrant mud. The summer heat had so invigorated our northern town that even the mud had a warm, moist and mushroom-y smell. The humid sultriness meandered over the rolling hills and valleys, radiating ever outward until it collapsed on us like a distressed animal, unable to rise.

The pond at which I stood was fed by cool underground springs and lay glinting with promise in the afternoon stickiness. I watched my older brother and cousins as they plunked, dove, and belly-flopped into the refreshing water. There were nine cousins- plus my brother- all having rushed together to the pond in a mass of bare feet and broken-down sneakers. I lingered alone on the bank because I could not yet swim and my mother had left emphatic instructions when she dropped us off that I not go into the water without an adult. My aunt reiterated those instructions as the group headed to the pond, but because I balked at having to stay next to her she let me stand near the water to watch. I circled the pond feeling that a great injustice had been handed to me.

That pond seemed to sparkle and gleam in the summer heat with an incandescence that was hard to resist. The burden of being the only one who couldn’t slip freely into its cool, refreshing depths was very heavy on my five year old shoulders. My cousins called, “Watch this!” and I ran around the perimeter while they entertained me with their amphibious feats. The splashing and shouting was exhilarating. Sometimes the spray from a particularly impressive stunt would spritz across my flushed cheeks. As the youngest cousin in the group, it seemed there were so many interesting and fun activities from which I was barred. I convinced myself that no one was watching and lulled by the cool shimmer, I sat down and began swinging my legs in the water. Encouraged, and with a great sense of freedom, I began lowering myself further down into the pond from the safety of the bank.

“You do you” has been a resounding anthem in the last few years. It seems like a great idea, that we can all give each other permission to do what we want and just… chill. There is tremendous pressure to leave others alone or even encourage them when there are some serious pitfalls looming. To do otherwise would make you a judge, a nag, even a hater. And I agree that there can be a fine line between throwing a lifeline and being vocally opinionated. Nevertheless I am grateful, not bitter, when I think of some individuals who stepped up in my life and let me know that there were potential dangers in the course I was taking. In my teens, there was the pastor who told me to careful who I was hanging around with when I dated a young man who lacked direction. Later, a trusted co-worker warned me against sharing an office with a contentious person. A relative observed that my “side hustle” could keep me away from my growing children for more hours than was beneficial. These were gentle words delivered only once, quietly and privately, like a whisper against the shouting and foot-stomping of my own self-will. In every one of those situations, the people who cared enough to graciously say something hard proved to be right. That’s not Hollywood, where we celebrate the maverick who does things her way and proves the rest of the world is overly restrained, blind, and outdated.

On the day that I slipped into the pond despite the advice of my mother and aunt, there was something I didn’t know. Something other than how to swim.

On a similar sticky, sultry day years earlier, my mother was a recent high school graduate, working for a neighbor woman who needed assistance with some household projects and childcare. They painted, cleaned, and hung wallpaper around the house. In the midst, the woman’s children were fed, cared for and entertained. My mother remembers the youngest, a boy who was constantly in motion, would sit still while she read to him on busy mornings. This particular day the children went swimming in a neighbor’s pond and the unthinkable happened- the little boy was lost in the water. Sharply my mother remembers the phone call she answered from the sobbing neighbor and the awkwardness of trying to convey to her employer the seriousness of the situation in front of a visitor. She was there when they pulled his lifeless body from the water and saw helplessness and regret spinning agonizing webs around the child’s grief-stricken family and neighbors.

Even if my mother had told me about her experience with the little boy that drowned, I’m sure my 5 year old self, intent on my own desire, would not have believed that it could happen to me. And so it is, as we navigate our way through life…. Somehow we think we will buck the odds.

Until we don’t. Until we realize too late that the “you do you” world we all know and love is also full of addiction, brokenness, rage, and darkness.

The day I tried to slip furtively into the water that I would not have been able to navigate, my aunt assisted me out before I got into real trouble. I wasn’t grateful then, but I am now. Maybe you know someone who is about to get in over their head. Maybe someday in the future they would be grateful for your kind and gentle words now.

Copyright 2022 Sandra Jantzi

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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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