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

“Christine, there is something wrong with my baby, and I think I have it, too. Could you take me to the hospital?” Lourdes was a single mom, who had recently trusted Christ. Even over the phone, she sounded very worried.

We picked up the young mother and her three-month old baby girl a few minutes later. I immediately saw the reason for her concern. Their skin was covered with scabs, beginning at the abdomen and concentrated around their lower limbs. The baby’s tiny legs and feet were almost completely covered. Both had been ill with respiratory infections the week before; the skin condition had set in shortly after. It looked a lot like impetigo. I walked with them immediately to the public hospital to get treatment.

During the long wait in the emergency room, I assured Lourdes everything would be just fine. "They'll give you some medicine to clear it up--don't worry." As a new mom myself, I sympathized with her. There's nothing worse than seeing your child suffer.

When Lourdes finally emerged from seeing the doctor, I asked to see her prescriptions. To my surprise, there were only two; both were for the baby. One medicine was for the symptoms of the respiratory infection, and the other was simply a written instruction to buy acetaminophen drops. “Where are your prescriptions? And why didn’t she give you something for the baby’s skin?” I asked.

“She said she would only treat one of us, so I told her to treat the baby,” Lourdes tearfully replied.

I tried to control my frustration as I back-tracked to the doctor who had seen Lourdes. “Why have you not seen both of these patients? And where is the prescription to treat the skin bacteria? They are going to keep infecting each other unless you treat both mother and daughter!”

“Oh! Yes, you are right, doctora! Just a minute and I will have those for you!” Her reply caught me off guard—it took me a minute to realize what was going on. She thinks I'm a doctor, visiting with some foreign medical brigade! As she rushed around preparing an injection and filling out more prescriptions, I couldn’t help but enjoy my undeserved power—I decided that on my next trip to the public hospital, I should borrow a white coat and stethoscope to see that our patients got the best of care!

So many times, so-called “mission” works treat people the same way the dilapidated public hospital in El Progreso does. They address a few surface symptoms instead of dealing with the root of the problem. Some short-term relief may follow, but these people are ultimately doomed to return to the same miserable condition. Any assistance, whether economic, educational, or medical, must be given with the ultimate goal of sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ. If we fail to give the gospel, all of our other efforts are temporal at best. Let’s remember the real reason we give to others—we must bring dying men to the Savior before it is too late.

Hospital El Progreso

This week's question is from Dennis: "When you were called to the mission field did you feel it was a lifetime calling and that you would make Honduras your home or just a "season?" I ask because many missionaries are called then spend several years on deputation only to return to the States after a few years of mission work."

After graduating from college in 2001, I returned to Raleigh, NC, to teach in my alma mater. I spent my days immersed in classic literature, diagrams, and compositions. I absolutely loved it. Robbie taught third grade, so I enjoyed little opportunities to sneak down the hall and wink at him from his window. Then after school, we quickly changed, grabbed our whistles, and hustled to the gym to coach our middle school girls' basketball team. On Friday nights, we'd get together with another couple for a movie. Saturday morning was bus route-we'd pile into the car with some of my students/basketball team members and make our visits for Sunday morning. Then on Saturday night, we'd meet my parents at Milano's, a little pizzeria where we were usually the only customers. It was a good life--comfortable, safe. But the whole time we knew: it wasn't ours.

God had something completely different in mind for us, and that vision was growing in our hearts. We wanted to plant a church in Central America. And then another, and another. And wouldn't it be great to have a children's home? And a Christian school? And we'd need a Bible Institute to train nationals...

When we were on deputation, I met a few people in different churches who were actually from Honduras. They all asked the same questions, "Have you been to Honduras? And you really want to live there?" I think they were having a hard time picturing Americans happily living in a land of dirt roads and dengue fever. It really didn't make much sense.

But here we are, five years later, right at home in Honduras. This is our life, strange and unpredictable as it may be. We are here for the long haul. Unless God leads otherwise, this is the path for us. And we can't wait to see where it leads us.

I can't speak for other families, and I know there are a plethora of reasons why missionaries return from the field. Sometimes they leave prematurely; sometimes their work is considered complete, and they move on to a new task. Each missionary has a different story, and each ministry is unique.

But I do know that in our case, the mission field wasn't just "a good option" or "a nice idea" or even "something we want to try out for awhile." This is our calling, our life's work. And truly, there is no greater joy than to know and do the will of God, wherever that may lead you.

I was asked several months ago about starting a blog, but I wasn't all that interested for several reasons. One, I thought I didn't have time. Two, I didn't know who else would have time or interest to actually read it.

But as I have reflected on it over the past few months, I decided that it might be a good idea after all. Being a missionary wife/mom in Honduras, I thought that maybe I could make the mission field "real" for someone. Missions can be romanticized so easily; real life missions can be very different from what one might imagine. So by recording daily events and life here in Honduras, maybe I can share a little of this great adventure called God's will that has led us to this small, poor Central American country.

I pray that it will be a blessing and will bring glory only to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.