Although we've been on the mission field for six years now, I doubt we'll ever get used to the rampant theft that comes with life in a third-world country.

Our team has been robbed of both major items (The Goinses have had a vehicle stolen, and their house was broken into while they were on furlough.) and minor ones (packages, books, cell phones, stroller, etc.).

We all have installed a security device called a Mul-T-Lock on our vehicles.

When I park my car, I remove the long rod from its holder and insert it into the slot, sliding it across the gear shift, locking the vehicle into "park."



Robbie's truck is a stick-shift, so the device works a little differently. His u-shaped lock hooks around the shifter and secures it in "reverse." If someone stole his truck, they'd have to make their getaway backwards!



Any attempt to cut through the lock automatically disables the engine. This Israeli technology is very effective and has become popular in countries with high rates of auto theft. Unless you have the specially-designed key, cars with Mul-T-Locks are very difficult to steal.



Yesterday, a thief broke into the Goinses' car while we were eating lunch and was apparently deterred by the Mul-T-Lock. He decided to grab what he could; Dallita returned to the car to find the lock broken and her church bag gone. What was inside was of no value to the thief, but it was a great loss for Dallita. Her Bible, journal, and music books were inside. Good music is hard to find in Honduras, and she'd worked hard to accumulate several good piano, chorus, and hymn books for the music ministry over the past few years. Many were purchased in the States and will be impossible to quickly replace.

I'm so thankful the Lord has placed His own "Mul-T-Lock" on our joy. A thief can take our music, but he can't touch the song in our hearts. We are here to serve Him. It's natural to feel discouraged and wonder why the Lord would allow something like this to happen to someone who is busy serving Him. But that temporary discouragement gives way to peace, knowing He is in control and sees the big picture.

But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy, because thou defendest them: let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee. -Psalm 5:11

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?

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.

Last night about 9:30PM, Robbie was watching a Kentucky basketball game and I was absorbed in a crossword puzzle when we heard gunshots down the street. The sound of gunfire doesn’t usually draw our attention anymore, because the guards here are known to routinely fire shots into the air. But something was different this time. The shots came too close together; they couldn’t have been from the same gun. Then we heard screams.

A vehicle came speeding by, and we looked at each other with alarm. What had happened? The screams and cries continued, and we knew: someone had just been murdered.

Robbie locked Claire and me up in the house and went down to the street to see if he could help. After what seemed like forever, he returned shaking his head. “It’s Nico.” My heart sank.

Nicodemo and Dana are our neighbors and good friends. He was born in Jerusalem, but had married and settled down here in Honduras. He owned an open-air restaurant downtown called Las Tejas; it was one of our favorite spots. He and Robbie had gone on a four-wheeling trek up into the mountains together once. I had always enjoyed talking to his wife Dana; we had gotten together a few times for coffee while Claire and Jacobo, their four year-old son played together. They were a sweet couple.

We had invited them to church countless times. Nico called Robbie one night, asking him to come by and talk. He got right to the point, “How do you know the meaning of life?” he wondered. Robbie was able to share the gospel with him, but Nico did not make a decision.

Then Sunday before last, Nico and Dana finally came to church. Robbie preached a clear gospel message from Galatians, and they listened attentively. Afterwards, one of our church men asked Nicodemo if he enjoyed the message. “Yes, it was great…but I wanted to hear more!” He assured us they would be back.

As I walked down the road last night, just a block from our house, I saw bullet casings, a watch, and finally Nico’s lifeless body, bleeding in the road. Dana was doubled over on the ground, wailing and begging someone to get a doctor. “Take him to the hospital! Please!” she screamed. I tried to comfort her, but I don’t even think she knew me; she was out of her mind with grief. She vomited and fainted a few times before a family member finally dragged her to the house. She had watched her husband gunned down for his vehicle. I silently thanked the Lord that Jacobo had not been with them; he was with his grandmother, asleep in the house.

We need your prayers this morning. Please pray for Dana and Jacobo. Pray for Robbie and me to be a help and comfort to this precious family. Pray for our team; to be perfectly honest, acts of violence that strike so close to home always shake us up. We are not immune to fear, even after being on the field for five years. We find ourselves solemnly asking if we really do believe in the Lord’s protection; those aren’t just words to us anymore.

I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety. –Psalm 4:8

Yesterday afternoon, like any Saturday in Honduras, we headed to church to General Visitation. After meeting at church and sending the kids to the nursery, nineteen of us piled into two vehicles and drove to a nearby neighborhood. As we headed down the road, I glanced out the window and saw a disturbing sight. A man was hiding behind the corner of a building; he was carrying a large rifle and peering around the corner. I pointed him out as we passed, and everyone sighed in resignation. "Oh no, another thief...I hope no one gets hurt." It's amazing to me what becomes "normal" in a third-world country.

We had a great time of knocking doors, and although no one trusted Christ, we found several who were interested and would be good prospects for follow-up visits. Once again we piled into our vehicles and headed back toward church to pick up the kids. But as we neared the paved road that led back to church, we saw a large crowd of people and many parked vehicles. I immediately remembered the armed man we had seen on the way to church and prayed no one had been killed. As we neared the bridge that led back to church, we stopped beside the road to ask what was going on.

"Protesters have taken control of the bridge. A lady in this neighborhood is planning on putting up a cellular phone tower on her property and the protesters don't want her to. Everyone is afraid of getting cancer from the tower."

In dismay, we stopped our vehicle on the edge of the dirt road and talked about what to do. Over half of us lived on this side of the blockade, but many of us had children at the church. I had to find a way to get to Claire. And the only way across was this bridge. No one knew how long the protesters would maintain control of the bridge, and it starting to get dark.


Robbie had to stay with part of the group and the vehicles; I had to go get Claire. He sent Oscar, an older teenage boy from our church, to walk with me and a couple of other ladies who lived on the other side of the bridge. We weaved through cars and bystanders, nearing the bridge cautiously. As we approached, we saw that the protesters had used large rocks to block the bridge, and no one was passing, not even on foot. I looked down at the swirling waters of the brown river below. I could cross easily to get to Claire, but was unsure of how I could manage on the way back, if I were holding her. Lord, please help us cross!

I decided to look confident and continue toward the blockade. No one looked very hostile, and I doubted they would stop a foreigner accompanied by a body guard (Oscar had shoved his hands into the front of his shirt to look like he was carrying a gun).

As I got within ten feet of the blockade, the police officers made their move. We froze in place, waiting to see what would happen. They grabbed the rocks and moved them to the sidewalks lining the bridge. A few delayed motorcyclists, frustrated with the blockade, assisted them. Some of the protesters grabbed rocks and raised them in defiance, threatening to throw them at the police. Thankfully, they eventually lowered them and moved to the road's edge to sulk.

We passed through without incident and arrived safely at the church. I took Claire in my arms and began the trek back to the vehicles. By the time we reached the bridge this time, all that was left of the incident was a long line of traffic (about an hour's wait on both sides). Robbie's face melted with relief as he spotted us turning up the street where the van was parked. We headed home with prayers on our lips and gratefulness in our hearts.

I wondered on the way home how many of our friends and supporters back in the States said a routine prayer for our safety that day, never knowing how the Lord would answer. Thank you to each of you that calls out our names to God each day; I know we are on many prayer lists. Please know that a simple prayer of "Lord, please keep the Ellis family safe," means the world to our family. We can cross barricades and face danger with confidence and peace in our hearts, knowing Who is in control.

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.

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.

Over the past few days, Robbie and I have been glued to the TV, watching reports of protests and demonstrations from other cities in Honduras, listening to speeches made in the UN, hearing remarks by the US State Department. We’ve each written several reporters, analysts, and newspaper editors, describing what’s going on here and hoping to see more accuracy reflected in the media. If we aren’t in front of the TV, we are at the computer. We have researched to find articles that correctly describe the events in Honduras; we have forwarded those reports to our family, friends, and supporters, sometimes adding our own comments as well. We’ve also been on the phone quite a bit, trying to make tough decisions about whether to stay or leave. Do we all go? Do we all stay? Should Robbie stay to guard the house and send me and Claire back? We’ve called our parents, our pastor, the US embassy, veteran missionaries, and Hondurans that work for the government. On Monday night, after a long, stressful day, we decided that we would do something besides watch current events. “Let’s turn the TV off for awhile and try to relax.” It didn’t happen. I don’t know if we qualify for addicts or zombies at this point.

Right in the middle of all this madness, my two-year-old daughter came twirling through the living room. She had put on her Cinderella dress-up gown and was singing at the top of her lungs, “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes.” She pulled Robbie to his feet, exclaiming, “I want to dance with my prince!” The Prince, of course, couldn’t resist, so together they spun around the living room. Oh, to be two years old again and live in a dream world, I thought.

But then again, whose point of view was “realistic”? Why was I stressed and worried? Who is in control? Am I not a princess, too? A daughter of the King? Am I not in the center of God’s will, the safest place to be? I decided I needed a “dose of reality” myself. So together we danced around the living room, laughing and singing. Perfect peace. Right in the middle of the storm.

Whatsoever things are true,…think on these things. –Philippians 4:8