The stories I share aren’t usually as personal as this one, but I’m not sure why. God’s greatest miracles aren’t usually things that happen to us; they are how He works in us, changing our hearts.

Last year about this time, I began to struggle with discontentment. It all started when a house down the road from us became available. We went and looked around with the owner one afternoon. As the tour progressed, my eyes grew wider and wider.



This house was nice. Really nice. It had not one, but two bathtubs. I would no longer have to wait for furlough to take a nice long bath. Not to mention how much Claire would enjoy bathtime; four year-olds are not fans of showers. The home also boasted a hot water heater! I immediately began to dream of washing the dishes with hot water once again. The living spaces were air-conditioned. I thought of our own kitchen, dining room and living room, and how hot they get, especially when we have company over (See, I was thinking of others!). The house was newer and prettier—I loved the colors she had chosen and the beautiful tile floors. There were real glass windows instead of the louvered kind we had. The yard was fully enclosed by a giant security wall with electric current running across the top. Wow, we certainly wouldn’t have to worry about break-ins! I thought of our chain-link fence running down one side of our current property and how insecure I felt sometimes. This would be great! Claire could play in the yard without me watching her like a hawk!


“Well, this house is beautiful, but I’m sure the rent's out of our price range,” Robbie told the owner. “We can’t pay more than $*** per month, and we have a really good deal where we are.”


“Oh, I would let you have it for that!” she agreed. “We can go to a lawyer and work on the paperwork.”


We were speechless. This is amazing! Thank you, Lord!


I was already redecorating in my mind. I measured my curtains, deciding which ones to use in the new, larger rooms. We could move the air conditioners that we had purchased for our bedrooms to the new house; since she had already installed AC in all bedrooms and the living room, I could put one of ours in the kitchen! I could cook without sweating like I’d run a marathon! I was absolutely giddy with excitement.


I never saw it coming. Had I been paying better attention to my husband’s face, I might have been forewarned. We prayed about it that night, emailed my parents to ask them to pray, and went to bed. The next morning, he told me: “Chris, I don’t have peace about taking that house.”


“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The Lord had given us that house! I was sure of it! How could I live here with no hot water, cooking in a kitchen with broken tile and no AC, being embarrassed of toilets with hard water stains (Will our company think I don’t clean them?), when such a beautiful, secure house was right down the street. And the rent was less than we had paid for our first little apartment in the States!


“I think the house is just…too nice. Can you picture the poor people from our church being comfortable there?”


"But, but…there are also people in our church who live in houses just like that! And we’re American! They expect us to live like that.”



“I just don’t have peace about it.”


And that was the end of it. Just like that, the dream died. Lord, please don’t let me become discontent over this. I had been perfectly happy in our current home for five years. But now I sat down and stared our cracked bedroom wall with its peeling paint. Why would He let a beautiful home become available, dangle it in front of me, only to snatch it away? I could not understand.


Furthermore, why were we in our thirties now with no home of our own? Other missionaries we knew had purchased homes by getting loans from churches or family members. We had been frugal with our money and saved enough for a down payment, but we simply couldn’t finance a home with the outrageous interest rates here. It wouldn’t be wise. So we saved and prayed. I often thought of just purchasing some lot out in the country back in the States and hanging on to it for an investment. At least then we’d have something in our name. That’s what you are supposed to have by our age.


My thinking was being controlled by a list of rules in my mind. Rules about what it meant to “be a good steward.” Doesn’t that sound biblical? We should have a certain percent of our income in savings, set aside a certain percent for retirement, and we should own property. Those are the rules. Robbie and I are both tightwads when it comes to spending and had worked hard to save for the future; but somehow, we’d never had the opportunity to purchase a home. What were we doing wrong?


Over the next few months, the Lord began working in my heart; He started by throwing my “Rulebook of Good Stewardship” out the window. What if He was calling our family not to own a home? What if we don’t live in the best house we can afford? Is it the right decision just because we can afford it? What does He want to do with our money? Somehow, I’d always believed that if a good thing became available and the Lord provided the funds, He wanted us to have it. Was there more to it than that?


I’ve been broken to realize how materialistic my thinking was. What a horribly limited, genie-in-a-bottle role I’d assigned to my Heavenly Father! How could I demand these “essentials” from the One who didn’t have a place to lay His head on this earth? I was the exact opposite of Christ-like.


Little by little, He’s opened my eyes to a more eternal perspective. This is not it. I know that. But I’ve not lived like it. Who cares if I never get my dream house here on earth? So what if I’m not comfortable? What if I’m not supposed to be?


With His Word, He’s been cutting right through the lies I’ve believed one at a time. And He’s still working. It’s a painful process, but I’m seeing some things clearly for the first time and I can’t wait to discover more. I'm not "there" yet; I'm still working on this area daily, praying for victory. But the joy and freedom He is giving me through this process is indescribable. I don’t know what He has in store for our family, but I don’t ever want to limit Him again.


Note: Aside from the Bible, which has transformed my thinking more than anything, the Lord has also used two books in particular over the past 9 months to work in my heart and help me gain a more eternal perspective: Heaven by Randy Alcorn and Radical by David Platt. I highly recommend both (to read and reread!).

Up into the mango tree,
Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad on foreign lands.

I like to picture a knowing smile on my Heavenly Father's face as He listened to a younger me dreaming of looking "abroad on foreign lands" that lay beyond my own yard. Little did I know what He had in store! As He shaped and molded this great adventure for me, He put more care into each detail than Stevenson did into perfecting each line of poetry. She's going to love this!

One of the devil's most widely-accepted lies is that following God's will is dull. Nothing could be further from the truth! I've found excitement, fulfillment, and complete satisfaction in serving Him.

I often wonder where Claire's path will take her. What mountains will she climb? Which rivers will she cross? Whom will she meet along the way? I can't see the future, but I do know that if she follows God's will for her life, she'll find surprises and twists she can't possibly imagine, meticulously crafted just for her.

God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard and pressed the gas in our Nissan Frontier just a little harder. I was returning from a trip to the grocery store just before lunch time. Robbie and Claire were waiting, surely hungry by now.

To my dismay, I saw a long line of cars up ahead proceeding at a snail's pace up the steep hill to the cemetery on the side of the mountain. I was going to be seriously late.

On second thought...I had frequently been with Robbie when he whipped through some back roads in the colonias at the bottom of the hill. If I could do what he did and get ahead of the procession, I'd be home in no time! I hung a sharp left and bumped down the road, weaving my way home.

Roads in Honduras don't have names, so I had to rely on my view of the mountain to keep my bearings. At the same time, I was trying to pay close attention to the road itself, which was soggy from heavy rains. After a few minutes, I realized I had gone too far to the north and would have to correct my direction by cutting through a rough neighborhood. Not good.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I headed down the last street of the colonia and saw the steep road up the mountain up ahead. There was no sign of the procession; I had done it!

Just about that time, I felt my wheels slip. The rainy season had nearly destroyed this road, and the mud was affecting my steering. I corrected and recorrected, praying I wouldn't bump into any of the walls or fences lining the road.

I neared the final turn and saw that the road ended in a small U. Both ends connected to the next road. Why were there two? The one on the left was very muddy; the one on the right was grassy. Afraid to brake in the mud, I had to make a quick decision. Wanting out of the mire as quickly as possible, I opted for the grassy path. Bad move.

The entire front of the truck dropped into a huge ditch lying beneath the grass. My head hit the roof, and I knew...I was stuck.

I got out to inspect the damage. The grill guard was caught on the ridge of the drop off, and the entire front right tire was suspended in air. There was no way I could drive out of this one. I was going to have to call Robbie.

Back in the truck, I locked the door and grabbed the cell phone: "Robbie, can you come get me? I'm stuck at the bottom of the hill..." He was on his way before I could finish the sentence. He knew exactly what kind of neighborhood this was.

I double-checked the locks, got the cell phone out of sight, and began to pray. It wasn't too long before I was spotted.

El Chele staggered down the road and squinted at the truck leaning precariously into the ditch. “Just great,” I muttered. El Chele was a resistolero, a drug addict who got his highs from sniffing glue (a common addiction in many third-world countries). We’d been hassled by this guy before, and he was persistent. But Robbie had always been with me; this was much scarier. I sank a little lower in the seat, hoping the tint on the windows was dark enough.

It wasn’t. El Chele peered in and rapped on the glass.

“I’m fine! My husband’s coming down the road! He should be here any minute.” I tried to look confident, but my heart was beating out of my chest. El Chele continued to knock on my window. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Lord, I need your help here!”

Just then, help came flying down the hill in a gold pick-up. Robbie and Nathan (our partner) had arrived! By now, a small crowd had gathered around the truck. Most of them didn’t look any better than El Chele, but that didn’t matter now. My knight in shining armor was here!

My scary experience brought to mind a Bible verse I'd often read:

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. -Psalm 46:1

I've taken quite a few "wrong turns" on my Christian walk. But when I cry out to my Heavenly Father, He's faithful to rescue me from the mess I've made. Today, I'm praising Him for being my Knight in Shining Armor. Is He yours?

“If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"

-Alexander Solzhenitzyn, The Gulag Archipelago

Last week I headed out to the building site to work in Robbie's office. It's been a little project of mine for the past few months to get it ready for him. Now that Moving Day is almost here, it's finally time to start working on the details.

In order to prepare concrete walls for paint, they must be scraped with a metal spatula and sanded. It took me an entire day just to smooth the walls to an acceptable finish, though I did get a late start due to a protesters' road block that morning. After the walls were sanded, I cleaned them with a heavy-duty broom. When the cloud of concrete dust finally settled, they looked pretty good.

The next morning I applied a coat of primer to seal the walls and keep the paint from popping off from the moisture. Eric (*name has been changed), a young man who trusted Christ as a child and recently rededicated his life to the Lord, works on the crew out at the building site. Although he was laying tile this particular week, his specialty is painting (You have to know how to do a little of EVERYTHING when you work construction in Honduras!). I consulted him several times about the sanding technique and how to apply the primer. He showed me a few tricks and lent me a device he had fashioned to clean excess paint off the roller right out of the bucket. He even taped off a window for me as I worked, so that I wouldn't have to stop. As we worked, we listened to BBN, one of the few Christian stations broadcast in Honduras. The program "Unshackled" was playing, and Eric commented on how much he enjoyed that particular series. I knew Eric had a drinking problem and could relate to the stories that aired.

The next morning, I was finally able to begin painting with the colors I had selected for the room. It was exciting to see it all coming together. Eric came up to check on me, and saw me struggling to cut in the edges near the ceiling with a horribly cheap brush the paint store had sold me. "They just don't have good quality brushes here!" he sighed. "Wait a minute, I've got something you can use." He came back with his backpack and removed a 45 degree angled brush with a wooden handle. He presented it to me with obvious pride. "My twin brother works as a painter in Georgia; he sends me brushes sometimes. It'll be much easier to work with this."

I thankfully accepted the brush and soon learned he was right; I was able to work twice as fast and quickly finished the first coat. When Eric saw me beginning to put my supplies away, he offered to wash out my tray, brushes, and roller. I saw him carefully wash and dry his angled brush, then place it back in its original packaging. I felt guilty for even using it; it was clearly a prized possession.

I called my mom that night and asked if she and Dad could pick up some new brushes for me before they come down on Friday. I thought it would be a nice way to thank Eric for his help on Robbie's office.

Last night I learned the main part of the crew had finished their jobs at the church and would not be working today. I called Alex the foreman first thing this morning to see if he could get in touch with Eric; I could hire him to finish the second coat on Robbie's office so that I could work here at the house.

Alex called back a few minutes ago with bad news. He had looked for Eric for a good part of the morning and finally found him at a neighborhood bar, drunk and unable to work. My heart hurts for him, knowing what a battle he is in.

It's so tempting to herd people into groups. The good and the evil. But the truth is, we all are both. We are all in a battle. I am praying that the Lord will do a work in Eric's heart and that he will one day have his own "Unshackled" story to tell.

I also pray He will work in my own heart. May I never think that I am one of the "good." My heart is no different from Eric's; there is good, but there is evil as well. I must daily surrender my will, crucify the flesh, and pray for victory. He is the only One who has the power to unshackle.

Goodbyes, a plane ride,
My life’s in a crate;
New land, strange place,
My stomach’s got an ache…

¿Como está, señor?
What did he say?
Mas lento, por favor,
A hundred times a day.

Concrete walls,
And tile on the floor
Tiny geckos scamper
Behind a cupboard door.

Tropical sun,
My coke’s in a bag,
Sitting on a porch
Where time seems to drag.

Crowding in a bank line,
Praying for grace,
These people don’t know about
My personal space.

Brown tap water
Makes your belly reel.
Trip to the pharmacy,
Parasite pill.

Man beside the road
Stabbed with a knife,
No one cares to cover up,
Forgotten life.

Late night music
From the party down the street
Put a pillow on your head,
Walls shaking to the beat.

Civil unrest
And riots downtown,
Until the weary curfew ends
We’re all on lockdown.

Bible Club bug bites,
Itchy legs and feet,
Better grab the Calamine
‘Cause we forgot the Deet.

There goes the power
But it’s all right,
We’ve got a generator
To get us through the night.

Bumping down the road
In a loaded pickup truck,
If it starts to rain,
We’re all out of luck!

Going door to door
Down the dusty street,
Precious gospel given
To everyone we meet.

Sunday morning on a porch
The seats begin to fill.
Short sermon, raised hand,
Amazing thrill!

Little brown hand
Slips into my own.
She calls me, Hermana,
But I’m the only mom she’s known.

Here comes a group
From the USA!
Debbie snacks and Slim Jims
Headed our way!

Believer’s baptism
In a mountain stream,
Living testimony
Of a heart that’s clean.

Prayer letter’s due,
Furlough’s just ahead
We’re only here because of folks
Who gave as they were led.

In a borrowed minivan
We make our stateside rounds,
Been to every Cracker Barrel,
Gained twenty pounds.

Shopping with my sis
Down every Target aisle
These shoes are all so ugly!
Wait…am I out of style?

Preacher says, “Thank you, Lord,
For those who will go
To give someone the gospel,
In a place where they don’t know.”

Some seem to pity me
“That poor missionary,
Foreign land, safety threats…
Must be pretty scary!”

My mind’s eye quickly sees
A dearly-missed brown face,
And I know without a doubt,
I’d never trade my place.


In honor of some of our missionary friends (and many others not listed!):


Matt and Dallita Goins
Honduras
www.teamhonduras.com









Nathan and Jennifer Massey
Honduras
www.teamhonduras.com








Mark and Amy Coats
Honduras
Currently in Costa Rica (language school)
Journey to Honduras









Brad and Tricia Henderson
Tanzania
truth4africa











Brad and Kelleigh Edmondson
Medical Missions Outreach











LeRoy and Amber Rolston
Honduras
Rolston Ministries

I was surprised to see a familiar face at the construction site of our new church building. How do I know that guy? Robbie exclaimed, “Do you know who that is? That’s Barracuda!”

Daniel, known as Barracuda by his friends, was a young man we had briefly met in 2005, our first year of ministry in Honduras. He had come to a Men’s Meeting where my father, Ricky Tippett, gave a lesson and spoke with him about his need for Christ. Dad was burdened for Daniel, knowing his lost condition. He took a picture of the him with Robbie, hung it on the wall in his office, and prayed for him faithfully for four years. Robbie had seen the picture on our last furlough, commenting, “Wow, I haven’t seen that guy since he came to that meeting! I wonder what ever happened to him…”

When he showed up unexpectedly a few months ago, Robbie told Alex, the foreman, about the picture. “My father-in-law has been praying for that guy every day.”

Alex raised his eyebrows and nodded with understanding, “Well, that’s why he’s still alive then! I wondered how he had survived this long…someone is praying for him!” He then went on to tell how Barracuda had made some bad choices and gotten mixed up in the wrong crowd. He’d gone back to where he’d grown up, the Bay Islands off the coast of Honduras. He lived a life of alcohol, drugs, and gangs. Through some bad dealings, he’d become a wanted man by one of the gangs. When he realized they would not stop until he was dead, he’d returned to Progreso and sought refuge with Alex. Alex found a little room where he could live and helped him out with a job. Of course, he told him that in order to live there, he would need to clean up his act and come to church. At the end of his rope, Barracuda agreed.

A couple of weeks later, Robbie called Dad with some exciting news. “You know that guy whose picture is on your wall? Well, he got saved last night!” Four years after their meeting, Daniel had trusted Christ as his personal Savior.

Daniel began his new life with almost nothing. We were able to get him a Bible, toiletries, and used clothing to wear to church. He arrived early each service and read his Bible until everyone else arrived. As excited as he was to begin his walk with the Lord, he deeply missed his family in the Bay Islands. Though his life was in danger, he packed up his bags and returned.

This young man has much to overcome, but God has preserved his life and forgiven his sins. We can’t wait to see how He will continue to work in Daniel’s life! Please pray that he will not fall into temptation to return to former sins and that he'll be a testimony of the changing power of the Holy Spirit.

I won't lie to you. Going to Elena's house was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. She needed counseling for marital problems. Serious ones. She and her husband were not on speaking terms and had not shared a bedroom for months. He and boys slept in their room, and she had moved in with the girls. She was ready to leave; if it were not for their five children, she'd have been gone already.

Going to Christian college and marrying a pastor did not make me an expert in counseling. In fact, counseling is the ministry of a pastor's wife that makes me most nervous and uncertain. There have been many times in a counseling session when someone has unloaded a big problem on me and I struggle with what to say. What usually pops into my mind is something like Whoa. Good luck with all that!

I asked Elena to describe her marriage and let her pour out her heart for about an hour. Then we came to the part I dreaded. The part where I was supposed to tell her what to do. The Holy Spirit had given me what to say, but it would be hard to hear. She had criticized and demeaned her husband for years. She had not trusted his leadership or submitted to his authority. She had even gone behind his back to get her way. Words like obedience, respect, and submission were not what she wanted to hear. But they were what she needed. So I took a deep breath and made the words come out.

To my surprise, Elena listened carefully and thoughtfully to each Bible verse I read and the counsel I offered. Then she tearfully admitted to manipulating and disrespecting her husband. We prayed together and outlined a step-by-step plan to apologize to her husband and change her habits, without expecting any reciprocation. He had made more than his share of mistakes as well. But Elena determined to change her own heart, and leave his to the Lord.

I left feeling sure that God's Word had spoken to her heart. But whether or not she would choose to obey it was yet to be seen...

Just three days later, Elena found me at church. "He bought tickets to the church Couples' Banquet" she whispered excitedly. "He wants to go with me!"

The next week, their oldest daughter Alicia confided in me: "Hermana Cristina, you won't believe the changes we've had at our house! I used to dread coming home. Just last week, I was walking home from school and smelled someone on our street frying fish. I thought, I wish we could have fish at our house or even at least eat together like a real family. But when I got closer, I realized the aroma was coming from my house! I saw my dad in the kitchen frying fish and making a salad! When my mom got home from the factory, we all sat down and ate and talked together like we hadn't done in a long time."

Elena and I kept praying and meeting regularly for several weeks. Finally, I got the news I was waiting for. She came in one night, all aglow and giggling like a teenager. "Hermana Cristina, you'll never guess what happened! I came home and my husband had moved the boys back into their room and said I was moving back in with him! He said, 'I am a new husband because I have a new wife. And we need a new bed.' He had gone out and bought a brand-new bed with new sheets and pillows and everything!"

Every time I see Elena's husband smile at her lovingly with his hand on the small of her back, I am reminded that God's Word still changes lives. I don't have to know exactly what to say in every situation; I usually don't. But if I simply share the Word of God, the Holy Spirit will convict of sin. At that point, many decide to ignore counsel and continue on their unhappy path; maybe change seems too hard, or they only wanted to vent. But for those who follow biblical principles, joy and peace are waiting.

With [the Lord] is wisdom and strength, he hath counsel and understanding. -Job 12:13

I never knew his real name; everyone in Quebrada Seca called him Michael Jackson. He was a black man, but the similarities ended there. Our MJ had very little in earthly possessions. He lived in a tiny makeshift shack by the river’s edge. Michael earned a few lempiras here and there, selling fruit from the basket of his rusty bicycle. I spoke with him only once, when I bought some lemons to make a pie; but I often spotted him around the neighborhood while we were on visitation. Several people in our church gave him food when they had some to spare. They themselves were poor, but Michael was painfully destitute.

I seldom thought of him, until that Sunday morning in late December. Robbie was preaching a Christmas message, when suddenly there was a loud explosion. It sounded like lightning striking a tree, but there were no clouds in the sky. Probably a transformer exploding, we assumed. Our city’s power grid is overloaded, and such explosions are frequent.

But heading home on the bus after service, our church people were met with a tragic sight. Hanging from a nearby power line was the charred body of Michael Jackson. A crowd gathered to watch as he was lowered to the ground. It was common knowledge that in order to earn extra money, he would charge about $10 to reconnect someone’s power after it had been cut due to unpaid bills. He worked bajo, bajo (illegally) in this dangerous work until he grabbed the wrong cable, instantly snuffing out his life.

Faces pressed against the glass, unable to look away, we were sobered by thoughts of death. A man unexpectedly entered eternity. We had tried to meet his physical needs, but what did we do for his soul?

The world lost two Michael Jacksons last year. One lived in a mansion, one in a shack. One was sheltered by scarves and umbrellas, the other burnt by the sun. One sold platinum albums, one sold fruit. One had unmatched fame, the other an unmarked grave. Both are now in eternity, their lives on earth a haunting memory.

Is one any better off than the other?

For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. –James 4:14

Did you encounter someone today whose life is empty? Rich or poor, educated or ignorant, powerful or weak, they have the same need. Show them Jesus Christ.


Don't forget to submit your question by the end of this month in order to participate in the drawing for a Honduran coffee gift basket! Is there something you would like to know about life on the mission field? Ask me this week! christine@teamhonduras.com

Timid little Nairobi approached me after church to tell me that she would like someone to tell her more about going to Heaven. Since the bus was about to leave, I made arrangements to visit her as soon as possible so that I could continue our conversation.

After I arrived at Nairobi’s house, I asked her grandmother's permission to talk to Nairobi about trusting Christ. She gave her consent, and Nairobi took my hand, leading me to the drab couch in the tiny living room. I opened by New Testament to the Romans’ Road, beginning with Romans 3:23.

“Nairobi, do you know that you are a sinner? The Bible says that we all have sinned, done wrong things against God.” I was surprised to see tears stream down her little face. Although she was only nine years old, the Holy Spirit was convicting her of her sin. She nodded solemnly.

“That’s why I want to get saved,” she whispered. With great joy, I was able to show Nairobi the rest of the Romans’ Road and lead her in a prayer to trust Christ as her Savior. It was a happy day in Nairobi’s house.

As exciting as it was to lead Nairobi to Christ, I wanted to proceed with caution. In working with children, we must be careful when it comes to salvation decisions. One can talk a nine year-old into almost anything; they are usually very eager to please adults whom they respect. I wanted to be sure that I had the right balance of showing her the need to trust Christ, while making sure that any decision made was her own and not mine. It’s easy to lead a little child in a prayer, but if they are not ready or don’t understand the decision they are making, such a prayer can result in a false confidence. Many teens and adults doubt their salvation because they prayed a prayer as a child that they have little memory of. They’ve simply been told, “Remember? You asked Jesus into your heart when you were four years old.”

On the other hand, children certainly can come to Christ. They are capable of understanding their sinfulness and need of a Savior. And we must express to them the importance of trusting Christ at a young age, before the world has a chance to take root in their hearts. But in our zeal to lead them to Christ, we must not forget the necessity of each individual making his own choice.

Also, after a child prays to trust Christ, it’s often difficult to know whether his
profession was sincere or not. Marks of a Christian, such as turning from the world or confessing Christ before others, are sometimes more difficult to identify in a young child. Because they are not involved in deep sin, it may be difficult to see a lifestyle change. Sincere or not, they may simply lack the words to clearly describe their decision to trust Christ because of their young age. This doesn’t mean that we discourage them—“You must not have really asked Jesus into your heart!”—but that we simply wait patiently for the signs to appear, all the while encouraging them to know Christ.

I was pleased to see Nairobi return to my class the next Wednesday. We had a full room, over thirty boys and girls squeezed into a tiny space. On this particular night, I had to work harder than usual to keep the class’s attention. Then a teacher came running in from an adjoining classroom needing help. A sink had come off the wall, shattering on impact, and a geyser of water from the wall was flooding the 2-5 year-olds’ class. An usher was called to shut off the water and the teacher assistants were sent for mops and buckets. The 2-5 year olds were filed into our class to finish the Bible story about Elijah.

Amid all this chaos, a little girl sat on the front row, her shining eyes never leaving my face. Nairobi listened eagerly to the Bible story, hungry for every word. Amazingly, the mayhem around us didn’t seem to bother her a bit.

After church, she found me with Claire, cleaning up the classroom. “I want to give these toys to your little girl.” She carefully pulled a small plastic dish, fork, spoon, and hairbrush from her bag and gave them to Claire. She tried to downplay the magnitude of her sacrifice, “I’m too big to play with them now.” But I saw her look at them longingly. She was giving up something that was very special to her.

As I watched Claire hug Nairobi and examine the little toys one by one, I prayed that the Lord would one day work in my daughter’s heart in such a miraculous way. It's my desire for her that we would not see an empty profession that would later lead to doubt, but a real repentance resulting in a changed heart.

If we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. -I John 1:7

A tiny newborn lay discarded among banana peels and milk cartons, struggling for breath inside a plastic bag. His mother had lost her mind and decided to kill the baby boy; she would die days later from loss of blood. His father, an orange peddler, found the infant, and took him to the woman he was currently living with so that she could care for him.



Oscar was raised in a home full of wickedness and sorrow. His father eventually left and set up a shack, squatting on a piece of land near the hospital where he would push a cart to sell oranges each day. Oscar would bike the five miles to visit his father and look for work. He was greatly disturbed by the crime and evil he saw daily: people robbed at gunpoint for cell phones and pocket change, girls beaten and raped, angry quarrels ending in bloodshed. In anger and desperation, he purchased a gun, which he hid in his room while he plotted. He decided to form a posse of teens to rid El Progreso of crime. His plan was to find thieves and gang members and kill them execution-style in order to bring safety back to the city.


One day while he was looking for work, he noticed that an American couple had moved into a house near the hospital. He inquired there about work, and the man hired him to cut the lawn one day. Although he was at first frustrated by the foreigners insistence that he pay attention to detail and leave the yard clean and neat, Oscar soon learned how to pass the “inspections” and was able to earn good pay each week. He got to know Pastor Robbie and his wife Christine; they fed him lunch and made small talk with him when he finished the yard. One day, Pastor Robbie sat down and explained to Oscar that he was a sinner and needed to trust the Lord Jesus Christ to forgive his sin and be his Savior. Oscar listened with interest. He admitted that he did indeed have a sin problem, but was not willing to trust Christ. He already had his own secret plan for justification: become a vigilante. He shook his head and told Pastor Robbie, “No, not for me.”


It took four years for Oscar to finally realize that he was as wicked as those he plotted to kill. After washing the pastor’s truck one morning, he sat down on the front porch with Robbie and talked of his need to trust Christ. He bowed his head and repented of his sins, trusting Christ alone to save him.


Excited to grow in his new faith, Oscar began taking the one-on-one discipleship course with Nathan Massey, his youth pastor. As he began to grow, he realized he needed a place to serve. He joined the church’s set-up crew, now arriving on his bike an hour before each service to arrange chairs, sound equipment, and furniture on the outdoor porch where we hold our services. After the porch is ready for service, he hops on a bus and assists the driver in maintaining order on the route. When he gets back to church, he dons his usher badge and greets people at the door as they arrive.


The baby who once lay dying in a trash heap is now a young man serving the Lord in every way he can. Oscar recently testified in a Wednesday night prayer meeting, “I thought I could change Progreso by violently ridding the city of evildoers; but then I realized the only way to change Progreso is by sharing the good news of Jesus Christ. He is the only One who can truly change a life.”



Are you thankful for what the Lord has given you? Take a tour of what has been Oscar's father's home for the past twenty years:

Oscar enters the land where his father lives as a squatter.



The make-shift shack where he keeps his belongings.








Oscar's dad's kitchen




Oscar's dad's bed

A little girl I had never seen shyly approached me after Sunday morning class and extended her paper for me to see. She was about 6 years old with big eyes and dark hair full of corkscrew curls. I ooed and aahed over her picture and started to hand it back, but she shook her head. “For me? Oh, thank you!” I hugged her and told her goodbye.

After the buses had left, I tidied up my class and prepared to leave. When I walked out to the porch where the adults meet, I was surprised to see the small girl waiting on the bleachers. “Nayeli, did you miss your bus?” She nodded and looked a little embarrassed. But her expression changed to excitement when I motioned her toward our truck. “Okay, we’ll take you home.”

We figured out whom Nayeli had come with—her grandmother, who had been attending our church for some time. “Do you live with your grandmother, Nayeli?” She nodded solemnly. “Where does your mother live?”

“En los Estados Unidos,” she answered, hanging her head. In the United States—she must have gone to work there.

“Your daddy, too?” She nodded again.

“When did they leave?”

“El año pasado.” Last year. And there would be no hope of seeing them again anytime soon. Those who go mojados (illegally) don’t come back to visit, for fear of not being able to re-enter. This little six year-old was basically an orphan. And even worse, her parents had left her by choice.

When dropped her off at her grandmother’s house, no one came out to meet us. I wondered if she’d even been missed. She smiled and promised to return the next Sunday, and we waved goodbye.

As I glanced down at the picture she’d drawn, my eyes filled with tears. “For the most beautiful teacher who is so beautiful.”

My heart hurt for the little girl who missed her mommy so much. I wondered if anyone took time to read her stories, or teach her to make tortillas, or brush her hair after her bath.

There are so many children that come to our church every week who are just like Nayeli. They arrive in tattered dirty clothing that they’ve clearly outgrown. Some have lice or parasites. They eagerly wolf down the cookies I hand out, and I realize that this is probably their breakfast. Just this past Sunday, I cleaned and bandaged an oozing burn that looked days old, on the leg of a little three year-old girl. But much worse than their physical condition, their little hearts are hurting for love and affection. Sometimes I can hardly sleep at night for thinking about them. I’d take them all home with me if I could.

But one thought brings hope to my heart. In 2011, Team Honduras plans to begin a children’s home for little girls like Nayeli. Mark and Amy Coats, a couple from North Carolina are currently in training and are raising support to come and direct this home. They will become parents to little boys and girls who have none. These children will be fed, clothed, and educated. Most importantly, they will learn of the Heavenly Father Who loved them enough to send His Son to die for them. These forgotten children may be the pastors and teachers who take the gospel throughout Honduras one day.

So we are praying and working to see this dream come true.

This is a follow up to August's story "Not All Heroes Wear Capes..." http://realmissionsreallife.blogspot.com/2009/08/not-all-heroes-wear-capes.html


As Alex drove toward his building project one Friday morning, he reflected on how the Lord had blessed him. This site was one of three where he had crews working; he was becoming known for his honesty and quality work. It was payday, and his workers would be glad to see him coming.


He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw a taxi speeding along, quickly closing the distance between them. He shifted slightly and motioned the vehicle around; it passed him and continued to speed down the road, but then pulled off onto the left hand shoulder. As Alex passed the now parked vehicle, he was horrified to see the windows were down, and two men were aiming guns directly at him. He slammed the accelerator to the floor and heard bullets ripping into the side of his truck. He lowered his head as glass shattered and the firing continued. He drove like a madman, until he finally reached safety a few minutes later.


After he was sure he had not been followed, Alex got out to look at his vehicle. Bullet holes peppered the driver's side panel of his Mazda. Two entered the driver's side window and exited through the winshield at an angle. He could not figure out how they did not hit him in the head. Then he looked at the driver's seat--there was a bullet hole in the uphostery right where he had been sitting. Shocked, Alex reached around to touch his back in the spot where the bullet should have hit him. His skin was untouched, but the bullet had burned a hole in his shirt.


The men who tried to rob and murder Alex that day were surely mystified to see him keep driving after they had showered his vehicle with gunfire. They don't know the One who shielded Alex from their bullets.


Alex has told of his miraculous escape to give testimony to the goodness of the Lord; but the miraculous change in his life gives the greatest testimony of all. The Lord can take a alcoholic, thiefing, drug addict and use him for His honor and glory.

Ismenia (Jose's wife) talks with Joey Goins at a church activity.

Christian and Jose both serve as ushers at Iglesia Bautista El Faro.

PLEASE BE ADVISED: SOME OF THE IMAGES SEEN BELOW ARE GRAPHIC IN NATURE.

Maynor rode his bicycle down the long, dusty road in Negrito to buy meat for his family. Though only fifteen years old, he already had a common-law "wife" at home to feed. He needed to run his errand quickly so that she could start lunch. Up ahead he saw an neighborhood teenager he knew, leaning against a post. This teen had a rough background in gangs and drugs, and although Maynor knew he shouldn't stop, he decided just to speak to him for a moment. As he drew nearer, he realized the other boy's eyes were red and bloodshot. Through his drugged stupor, he commanded Maynor to surrender his bicycle and cell phone. Before Maynor realized what was happening, the drug addict drew his machete and slashed at Maynor's face. Blood gushed from a gaping wound starting at Maynor's mouth and extending to his right ear. He dropped the bike and cellphone and somehow managed to run the seven and a half blocks to his mother's house. She screamed for a neighbor to give them a ride in a pickup truck, and they headed for the village doctor.


Since the doctor was not able to treat such a serious wound, he bandaged it up the best that he could, started an IV, and instructed them to go to the nearest hospital. They began the hour and a half trip to El Progreso, fear in their hearts and prayers on their lips. There was not much time to spare; Maynor's lungs were quickly filling with blood. He would soon suffocate.


Ninety long minutes later, they burst through the ER doors at the Hospital El Progreso. Maynor was covered in blood from head to foot by this point. He could not survive much longer. The Honduran nurses panicked. What could they do to such a wound? Then someone yelled, "Get the American doctors!"

In an OR just down the hall, a group of doctors from all over the US had come to participate in a medical brigade organized by Medical Missions Outreach and hosted by Team Honduras. We were performing a routine laparoscopic gallbladder removal when we heard shouts coming from down the hall. "Come quick! We need help!" Sparing whom we could from our surgery already in progress, we rushed down to find Maynor on a stretcher with a large group of people crowding around, watching him struggle for his last breaths. Blood stood in pools at our feet. As Steve Taylor, PA, tried to remove the bandages to see the wound, Maynor panicked, flailing his limbs and fighting for his life. "We need sedation!" The doctors managed to sedate and intubate Maynor so that they could begin to suction the blood from his lungs. Then they looked at the wound. Maynor's right cheek was splayed all the way to the jawbone. "Go get Dr. Levitt!"




Rob Levitt, an MD from Ohio, deftly sutured the cheek, layer by layer. With most of the blood now suctioned from his lungs, the breathing tube was able to be removed. Maynor finally began to cough and breathe on his own.



He was transferred to a recovery room, where he rested, groggy from the sedation. When he awoke the next day, he was surprised to have a few visitors he had never seen before. The American doctors explained to Maynor exactly how close he had come to dying. "What would have happened to you if you had died, Maynor? Where would you have gone?" Maynor heard how he could receive complete forgiveness for his sins and eternal life in heaven. Although he did not make a decision at that moment, a seed was planted. He thanked the doctors profusely and promised to stay in touch.


Maynor was just one young man helped by the medical brigade this week. We had a great opportunity to minister as Christ did: to both the body and the spirit. We praise the Lord for 66 souls who trusted Christ as their Savior. Please pray that Maynor soon joins them.



Maynor reads a brochure from Iglesia Bautista El Faro that tells him how he can trust Christ as his personal Savior.


Maynor poses with Reuben Driedger, CCP, who suctioned the blood from his lungs to save his life.

Just four years ago, Alex was a thief. He was pretty good at it, too. He stole regularly, mainly to buy beer or play pool in the neighborhood pool hall. Working in construction all his life, he learned how to run electricity to a house so that the electric company would never know. He stole from people in his neighborhood, and cut corners for those who hired him. Word of his dishonesty spread, and it was often hard to find work. He lived with his girlfriend Jenny and son Kevin in a tiny cinderblock house, barely big enough for their beds. They had been together since he was 17 and she was 14, never knowing anything but poverty, drunkenness, and dishonesty. Alex was the kind of guy that walked by and made you clutch your purse a little tighter and pick up your step. His baggy jeans and long ponytail made it clear—he was one of the “bad guys.”

Alex (orange shirt) referees a game at a youth activity.

Alex and Jenny host people from church in their new home.

Alex, Jenny, Kevin, and Jonathan pose on their front porch with my parents, Ricky and Gwen Tippett.

I met Angie in March of 2005, just a couple of months after our arrival to Honduras. I thought she was a little boy at first glance. Her skinny brown legs dangled from a pair of oversized boy's soccer shorts. She was peeling a mango with a huge kitchen knife, adding yet another stain to her once white tank top.



She trusted Christ as her Savior at Bible Club a few weeks later, and her two older brothers soon followed. As I got to know Angie and her family, I found out why she dressed like a boy and ran wild. Her mother had abandoned her, along with her brothers, when Angie was only 6 months old. Her mother lives on the other side of Progreso with her "new family" and sees her neglected children maybe once a year. Angie lived with her dad at the time; although he works hard to support his family, he doesn't spend much time with his kids.



Angie's dad married later that year, and everyone was excited that Angie would have a "new mother." But after a few months, it became apparent that Angie's stepmom wanted little to do with her. "She's not MY daughter!" she insisted, preferring to shower her attention on her own two little ones. Angie and her two brothers were sent to live with their grandmother.



Angie comes to stay with us now and then, usually for a short time. Once she stayed for a couple of weeks. I tried to help her with personal hygiene and manners, since she tends to be a little rough around the edges. One of my favorite memories with Angie was the time I spent three hours delousing her hair, then took her for her first real haircut at the salon. I had them give her a cute little bob (vainly hoping to prevent the lice from coming back) and blow it dry. She had never had her hair blown dry before; she giggled and squirmed all the way through it, claiming it tickled. But she loved the attention and paraded around like a little princess in her new hairstyle and feminine clothes.



One day I noticed that when Angie is at our house, she cannot stand to not know where Robbie is. If he's studying a sermon in his office, I constantly have to distract her and make sure she doesn't sneak in there to visit him. She wants him to come climb trees with her in the backyard; she wants to show him the mango she picked; she wants to give him a picture she colored. He loves spending time with her, but it hurts both of our hearts to see her crying out for a father's attention. She so desperately needs to be loved and appreciated. There is something about the relationship with a little girl and her daddy. Robbie and I pray often that Angie will not go down the road that so many neglected little girls have gone before her; it terrifies me to think one day she might call and tell me she's run off with a boy or that she's pregnant. It takes a special miracle for a young lady like Angie to stay pure; that need for a father's attention runs so deep.



Every one of us is born with a deep longing for a Father's love. There is a special void in our hearts that only He can fill. We may become distracted at times, neglecting our relationship with Him. But that longing is never fully satisfied by anything or anyone else. We ache for His love until we return to His arms, with a sigh of relief and satisfaction.



What a joy to know that the many we see aching and struggling around us can know that same peace and fulfillment in our Father's arms! And what a privilege it is that we can tell them the way.

Me and my girls at a Mother/Daughter Banquet in May. Angie is wearing pink and white stripes.