The Palm Tree

When I was a kid, a tall palm tree stood just outside my bedroom window.

Every morning, I’d wake to a clear blue sky — the kind so bright it made the edges of the world shimmer and the slow, steady rustle of her leaves greeting the day. From the coziness of my bed, still wrapped in warmth and half-dreams, I’d stare up at her and feel something I didn’t yet have words for: peace.

While the world stirred awake, the air in my room carried the smell of scalloped potatoes baking downstairs, butter, cream, and onions blending into something that felt like love. I could hear the faint clatter of dishes, the low hum of a home alive.

And outside that window, the palm tree never hurried.

She swayed with the wind, not against it.

Rooted deep, yet reaching high.

Even then, my spirit knew that tree was preaching.

“The righteous will flourish like the palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon.”

— Psalm 92:12

I didn’t know that verse as a child, but I felt it.

The peace that comes from standing tall through the storm.

The grace that allows movement without losing ground.

The quiet confidence that growth isn’t loud — it’s faithful.

That palm tree became my first teacher of hope.

Through every season, she stayed -not striving, just steady.

She reminded me that flourishing isn’t about force, it’s about faith.

Now, years later, when I pray by my window and see another palm outside, different tree, different city, same whisper, I feel that same holy stillness rise within me.

Because God was there even then.

In the sunlight on my sheets.

In the scent of dinner drifting upstairs.

In the slow dance of a palm tree that taught a little girl what peace looked like.

And every time I see her now, I remember:

The same God who steadied that palm tree is still steadying me.