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.