From The Pastor's Desk

I hope your week as being a blessing. As I was preparing my thoughts for this week’s newsletter, I found myself reflecting on how we often underestimate the quiet, hidden work of faith. It’s not always loud or dramatic. In fact, it’s often quite the opposite.

A simple, yet profound story is told of a grandfather and his young grandson were walking through a forest trail one afternoon, talking about trees and birds and the smell of the earth after a bit of rain. As they strolled along, the boy bent down and picked up a tiny acorn from the ground. “Grandpa,” he asked, turning the little seed over in his hand, “how can something so small grow into one of those?” He pointed to a mighty oak standing nearby, tall, and wide, its branches stretching proudly into the sky.

The grandfather paused for a moment, smiled, and said, “Well, it doesn’t happen overnight. The acorn just does what it’s made to do. It lets the soil hold it. The rain waters it. The sun warms it. It waits. And all the while, something amazing happens—slowly, quietly, deep down where nobody can see. The boy was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “That’s kind of like how we grow with God, isn’t it?”

His grandfather nodded. “Exactly. Faith isn’t always about doing something big. Sometimes it’s about staying put and trusting that something bigger than you is at work.” And there it is!
So often we think of faith as something that should move mountains every day. We imagine bold leaps, dramatic moments, or grand expressions. But more often, faith is what holds us steady when nothing seems to be happening. It’s that quiet confidence in the dark, the stillness in uncertainty. It’s trusting that even when we feel small and unnoticed—like that acorn lying in the dirt—God is working on something far beyond what we can see.

We don’t see the roots forming. We don’t feel the soil slowly giving way to make space. We don’t hear the stretching of cells and the silent miracle of life happening beneath the surface. But it’s happening. That’s what real growth often looks like. It’s not flashy. It’s not always even visible. But it’s faithful.

Some of you may feel like that acorn right now small, buried, perhaps overlooked. But I want to encourage you: you are in the right place. Stay where God has planted you. Let the rain come. Let the sun rise. Let the seasons pass. And most of all, trust that growth is taking place, even if you can’t feel it.

One day, you’ll look back and realize—you weren’t buried. You were planted. And the mighty oak that will come from your faith? It will stand not just for you, but for others who need shade, strength, and shelter in their own journey.

With love,  David Peñate