Tag: God

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 Spirit of Christmas Past: A Journey

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Our car pulled up to the farmhouse in the chilly Christmas Eve darkness, and I strained from the back seat to see who else was parked in the semi-circle drive. My mother came from a large family of 19 children, so there were dozens of cousins, aunts and uncles. It was a lottery to see who might also be visiting my grandparents on the farm. My brother and I clambered out of the back seat with great expectancy.

The white clapboard house and dairy barn were nestled comfortably in snow-covered hills and pastureland on the edge of the Tug Hill Plateau, known for legendary winter weather. A faint scent of cow manure hung in the frigid outdoors as I stood in the driveway waiting for Mom and Dad to pull a gift out of the car trunk. Snowflakes floated lazily onto my nose, where they melted with astonishing speed. I watched my breath rise in clouds on the frosty air. We walked single file into the garage, past the friendly, smelly collie, and up the few steps to the large kitchen, where the aroma of dinner still hung.

As excited as I was to be there, I hesitated suddenly on the threshold, and my mother had to push me into the kitchen gently. In those preschool years, I often found myself shy and at a loss for words outside our home. Some of my cousins and aunts were gathered around the long farmhouse table. I could hear Grandpa in the living room telling a story to my uncles. Grandma was in the other living room, where the Christmas tree twinkled, visiting with more cousins, aunts, and uncles. My great aunt, Edith, who was developmentally disabled and largely nonverbal, sat beaming at us grandchildren from her overstuffed chair. Voices were everywhere; narrating, interrupting, laughing, teasing. The house had curiously slanted floors from years of use. Some of the fixtures dated back to the 1930’s. But it was warm, inviting, and comfortable.

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A sharp clatter rang out as the clinging snow was released from the shovel, then heavy boots stomped onto the little wood porch we shared with our neighbors. I could barely see through the steam my breath was forming on the windows, but at the age of four it was a great show to watch Dad shovel the walk between our house and his parents’. I turned from the window as an icy gust swirled into the small living room and my father burst through the door to the duplex apartment. Clumps of snow fell onto the floor, doomed to become the kind of puddles that worry socks. My mother appeared with my blue hooded coat and my cherished white boots. A plastic bread bag was standard gear for each foot before tugging the boots over my feet. Outfitted with white hat, mittens, and my coat, I was ready to accompany Dad and my brother to my grandparents’ house so he could shovel the walk before my cousins arrived for Christmas morning. My brother entered, similarly bundled and booted with heavy “snowmobile” boots.

The freezing air stung my face, and my lovely boots made a deliciously crispy crunch with every step. Wrapping my tiny mittened hand around Dad’s finger, the three of us proceeded down the freshly shoveled walk. As Dad began shoveling their driveway, my older brother led the way through my grandparents’ sunporch to their kitchen door.

A welcoming warmth greeted us, and my stepgrandmother was already in the kitchen making preparations. Colorful Christmas hand towels seemed to wink at me from the towel bar on the back door. Grandpa was seated next to the picture window, and I climbed up on his lap after extracting myself from my winter gear.

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When I knew you, Christmas was a time of eager anticipation, excitement for the gifts I might have, and wishes fulfilled. Days bustled with holiday preparations and events. The backdrop was the time spent with each of you, in your homes, at your tables. At the time, those celebrations and traditions were secondary to The Big Gift Day.

Christmases have passed and you have been gone for many years. The tangible offerings of the season are sweet, but I find that one of my greater longings is for you. All of you. My dear grandparents, whose lives of labor and love become more meaningful as I grow in years and understanding. Aunts, uncles, cousins, now departed from this life and very much missed. I wish I had stopped to consider what life might be like without you. I wish I had spent more time with you, asked more questions. And those who live on, likely unaware of how much I treasure them, are mostly far away from the life I lead now. My mind goes back to our days together, especially at Christmastime, but this is a part of my life about which my husband, sons, and grandchildren know very little. It is a yearning that I keep to myself.

I think God has a similar longing.

In His own way, I think God is also saying, “Christmases have passed and you have been gone for many years. The tangible offerings of the season are sweet, but I find that my greater longing is for you.”

It was God who cried out to Israel: “For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you.” (Isaiah 54:10). He refers to them as “storm-tossed”, and Himself as their “Redeemer”. Despite Israel living “far away” from God: far from His guidance and laws, far from worshiping Him alone, He repeatedly counters the message of discipline with words of longing, love, and compassion. “Thus says the Lord: The people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness; when Israel sought for rest, the Lord appeard to him from far away. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.” (Jeremiah 31: 2- 3)

In making these promises to Israel, we see a God of compassion, clemency, generosity, goodwill. Longing.

By the very act of sending His Son to the world, humbly, so that we might relate to Him, we see this great tenderness. He didn’t wait for us to get our acts together. He sent His very Son to pull us out of the wreckage of our own ignorance of Him. He longs for us to be with Him in a similar way that we long for our loved ones who are far from us. Timeworn and yet stunning, John 3:16-17 says it best: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through Him.”

Can you pause for a moment, and think about that? God longs for you. His Son suffered greatly to heal the breach between you and Him. Would you take a moment to appreciate that astounding thought during this busy season? Would you find a way to step closer to Him, the One Who longs for you?

2024- Sandra Jantzi

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The Hunger and Want of Christmas

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“Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,” said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit’s robe, “but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?”

“… From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet and clung upon the outside of its garment… They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.”

“… They are Man’s,” said the Spirit, looking down upon them. “And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware the boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased….”

– Charles Dickens in “A Christmas Carol”.

If you have lived on this earth long enough, you have pulled back the robes of pretense at some point to reveal this truth about humankind: Left to ourselves, we are hungry and insatiable. Maybe there is no time when this is more apparent than the holiday season when we ramp up our gratification efforts with buying, feasting, and lavishing.

In stark contrast, God provides us with sustenance that does not disappear when consumed. In the gospel of John, chapter 6, Jesus tells the people following Him: “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you.” Later, he reveals to them, “I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.” John 6:35 

The first record of the Bread of Life came thousands of years before Jesus, when a nation of refugees found themselves trekking through the wilderness, driving their livestock and hauling their belongings because they had put their hope in promises of freedom. At first, it was exhilarating to shake off the bonds of slavery, but now the reality of their situation came into focus: they were exposed and dependent in a terrain that showed little kindness. Then came hunger pains and their children began crying for bread. Would slavery not have been better than death? 

At just this time, bread was divinely provided to their camp, free and available to everyone. The only caution was that they must gather only what they needed for the day. With that, the picture changed and they were no longer exiles wandering in a hostile world. Instead, they were the children of Israel, tenderly cared for by God, surrounded with protection and grace.

Two thousand years ago, masses streamed to deserted places to see the mysterious Man Jesus working miracles: sick people made well, blind people given sight, frail people walking. Jesus didn’t just ignite curiosity, He ignited the hope that maybe God was nearer than they thought. That God cared about the tyranny under which they lived, their illnesses, addictions, fears, and losses. This glimmer of hope opened a hunger that had been rumbling in their very souls. They left the day’s work just to see Him and found Jesus so compelling that they stayed long and ran out of provisions. 

Jesus saw their need and instructed his disciples to share five loaves of bread with over five thousand people.  As the bread was broken and passed from hand to hand, it did not diminish. With that, Jesus proclaimed: “I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE”, and there were some in that crowd who knew they were looking at the only One who could nourish their bodies and their spirits. Here was God’s Chosen One, the Messiah. The One Who satisfies our hunger. The Bread of Life.  

Like exiles and seekers, we, too need Bread.  This world with its promises of fulfillment and a better life if we just have more- more things, more achievements, more experiences, more connections- ultimately has left many of us isolated and confused, with cravings we sometimes cannot control. No amount of money or time can satisfy our endless desires. Surely this hunger will be the death of us. 

But there is an antidote for our relentless hunger.  The same Jesus, who once broke bread to feed thousands and proclaimed, “I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE,” freely offers the gifts of adoption and eternal life with Him in Heaven. We believe and are saved, but we must also be fed. As we let go of the world’s false promises, we find the Bread of Life by spending time with Him daily to gather what we need to nourish our bodies and souls.

2024 -Sandra Jantzi

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