Where the Palm Tree Flourishes

Are there palm trees where you live? There weren’t where I grew up in Wethersfield, Connecticut. But over the last several years, God has brought me to three different places where the palm tree flourishes. The first was Seville, where this journey began (pictured above). The second was Santa Barbara, California, where my marriage and family began. And the third was Puerto Rico, where my life with Christ began.

He also brought my brothers in faith, the Gypsy families of Dios Con Nosotros, to a land where the palm tree thrives. Why? What did that mean? With God, nothing is a coincidence.

This weekend I was at a retreat with my church in Rincón, Puerto Rico. We stayed at an ocean-front hotel lined with palm trees. Every morning, I walked on the beach, along a grove of stately palms. As I walked, I reflected upon a Bible verse that stayed with me after one of the workshops: “The righteous will flourish like a palm tree. They will grow like a cedar of Lebanon, planted in the house of God. They will flourish in the courts of our Lord. They will still bear fruit in old age. They will stay fresh and green.” (Psalm 92:12-14). Curious, I searched the internet.

Here are some of the special qualities of this particular tree:

1. UPRIGHTNESS. The palm tree stretches itself straight up into the air. It is a tall tree, erect, stately, and strong.

2. USEFULNESS. The palm-tree is valued for its many practical uses. It bears edible fruit and is cultivated for medicinal purposes. Camels feed upon the date stone. Its fronds are woven into baskets and a variety of other items suitable for domestic use. From the fibres of the trunk, thread, rope, and rigging are manufactured. From the sap, spirituous liquor is prepared. And the body of the tree furnishes fuel.

3. BEAUTY. The palm tree is often seen as an emblem of beauty (Song 7:7-8) and used as decoration in the temple (1 King 6:29,32,35; 2 Chronicles 3:5).

4. POWER. Palm-branches were carried as tokens of victory or joy (Leviticus 23:40, John 12:13; Revelation 7:9)

5. FRUITFULNESS. The palm tree bears fruit (either date or coconut). It arrives at full maturity in about thirty years, and continues to bear fruit for about seventy years. The palm tree is the staff of life to the peoples amongst whom it is found. (John 15:1–8).

6. GUIDANCE. It is the sure sign of the presence of water (Exodus 15:27). Across the burning sands the caravan, parched with thirst, makes for the cluster of palms they see far off, for they know that water is there.

7. PERMANENCE. The palm tree is tough. It survives in a harsh environment. Choking sand surrounds it. Burning heat scorches it. It is battered and bent by fierce winds and desert storms. But despite the elements, man, the beasts of the desert, all combining to injure it, the stately palm survives.

And so do the Gypsies. After centuries of persecution (religious and otherwise) they still stand tall. As will you. And I. We may get battered. And bent. But despite the tumultuous winds that blow our way, we will survive. And more importantly. We will thrive.

If you are walking through the desert now, look for the grove of palm trees in the distance. When you reach the grove, you will find fresh water. Your body will find rest. And your strength will be restored.

The Burden of Trust

On May 12, 2010, I had penciled into my agenda: post “The Burden of Trust” on White Tent blog. Over four months later, I am finally posting that title. I guess I didn’t carry my burden well—until I got a wake up call from a fellow Christian from London. Thomas “Mash” Herbert was God’s instrument and answer to prayer. For several months, I have felt rudderless, distracted. Last week, I prayed to God for direction, asking Him where He wanted me to use the talent He had given me. I was a writer, and I was writing a lot, but what did He really want me to be saying with all those words? A few days ago, I received my answer. Thomas wrote to me saying (and I quote) “You don't know me, but I came across your blog "the white tent" a few months ago and checked back today to see if you had any updates. It seems not.” Wow, God, could you be any more direct?! Thanks, “Mash,” for being God’s messenger and gently nudging me back to where God wants me to be.

Before I sat down to write this entry, I looked back at the journal I had kept during my time with the Gypsies, and found myself reading my own words, But I have to ask you, Lord, what do you want from me? What is the story you want me to tell? What are the truths you want me to reveal?

I wrote those words the first night I entered Pastor Pepe’s church in Tres Mil Viviendas. The pastor had announced to the congregation why I was among them, that I was a writer doing research for a book, and then he turned to me and said—with total candor and sincerity—that the Gypsies as a people do not usually reveal the secrets of their culture to anyone outside of it—often telling lies before they would speak the truth about themselves. “But,” added the pastor’s wife, Pura, “We will tell you the truth, because you are one of us in Spirit.”

Wow, what an incredible honor. And a burden. I was entrusted with the responsibility of honoring the truth that they were handing over to me. But what greater truth is there than unity in the Spirit? Immediately as I entered Pastor Pepe’s humble church, I felt as if I belonged there. I was offered a seat with the women on the left side of the church, and the connection I felt with the ladies to my side was instantaneous and intimate. There were no suspicious stares. No feeling of what was this paya doing in our church. In fact quite the opposite. They embraced me. At first I couldn’t follow the cánticos—lively praise and worship songs with their distinctly flamenco beat. But even though I didn’t know the lyrics, I clapped along in joyful alabanza. And even though I was not a charismatic Christian, I was not afraid of all the noise and “confusion” that characterized this first Pentecostal encounter. Instead, I was enveloped by the contagious enthusiasm of these passionate people. God knew exactly what He was doing. He was shaking me up.

And then just to prove to me that we are one people united in Him, the congregation started to sing a song that brought me back home to my church in Puerto Rico. They started singing Dame fe, o Señor, dame fe. Dame fe, o Señor yo te lo pido. Give me faith, oh Lord, give me faith. Give me faith, oh Lord, I implore you. I recognized that song. And I could sing to it! What an awesome God I served, was all I could think at the time. In the middle of a foreign country, in a Gypsy ghetto, I felt at one with His people.

When I returned to my rented flat, I wrote in my journal, Lord, I feel the burden of their trust. I still feel that burden today.

Do you?

What part of you is struggling with God? Are you, like I was, trying to find God’s purpose in the talents and passions he has given to you?

Share your story. Put it out there. And then give up your talents to God. Rest assured, if you get distracted, he’ll send someone to set you right.

Thanks, “Mash,” for bringing me back to the spirit of God’s truth.

The Prejudice of Assumption

I was always proud in my belief that I was not a prejudiced person. The word prejudice, according to the definition provided in Merriam-Webster’s, is “an irrational attitude of hostility directed against an individual, a group, a race, or their supposed characteristics.” Well, I was proud to say that I had never held such a negative attitude toward any group of people. My attitude was, in fact, just the opposite. I embraced people’s differences. After all, I had married a brown-skinned Hindu. Nobody could call me prejudiced, right?

Wrong. I stand guilty as defined by the second definition found in Merriam-Webster’s. The second entry says that prejudice is a “preconceived, adverse opinion made without adequate basis or sufficient knowledge.” Okay. All right. Yes, it was true. I had formed a negative assumption—not about the Gypsies —but about how they lived. As I told you in an earlier posting, the church I was to visit in Seville was in a sector of the city known as Tres Mil Viviendas. Anybody who has ever lived in Seville, or has read anything about the area, knows that this barriada is a dangerous, undesirable place—infamous for its criminal activity and known for its drug points, general misery, and decay. Let’s put it this way, Las Tres Mil was not a place I felt safe to visit alone.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to. One of God’s servants, Antonio Piquera Duque—a Spanish evangelical pastor who became my bridge to another world—drove me into Tres Mil Viviendas. Quietly I observed the neighborhood from behind the car window. Some of what I expected to see, I saw. Dilapidated buildings. Piles of rotting garbage. An inebriated man urinating on the street. All classic views of ghetto life. But what I saw when I entered the Gypsy church Dios Con Nosotros was nothing like what I thought I would see. I expected to see my image of poverty: a few rusted metal chairs set up behind a makeshift altar. But instead of a run-down, worn out place, Pastor Pepe’s humble church was clean and fresh. Smooth red and white tiles that resembled marble lined the floor. Simple but elegant wooden benches were placed to either side of the room, separated by a central aisle. The altar area was raised about a foot above the floor and two large floral arrangements adorned the sides. A large wooden cross hung on the wall behind a pine wood pulpit. It was a small, intimate space that was clean and well cared for. And inside this beautiful space, there was a body of believers who taught me a valuable lesson: to guard my heart from the prejudice of assumption.

The Nature and Spirit of the Gypsy

The Gypsies have always been simple people, travelers who moved from place to place in search of work and food. They lived close to the land, many of them with nothing more than a wheeled caravan and a horse to pull it. Perhaps the picture above sums up the Gypsy spirit better than any words could do. It is an old black and white drawing of a Gypsy family stopped on the side of the road. Their horse is dead. The question written on the picture asks, “What are we supposed to do now? The answer below reads: Esperemos en un Dibel. Simple. Just wait on God. God is not named, and some will criticize that the answer literally reads, “on a God,” but the point is that the Gypsy has never had any trouble accepting that there is a God. Remember, the Gypsies are believed to have traveled to Europe from India, where they most likely worshiped many gods. They come from a mystical people, and have always been connected to Nature—which for them proves the existence of God. And according to the oral history of their people, the Gypsy has always believed in a divine being called Dibel—who brings blessings and faith to their people.