Admit it. You've thought it. But you're afraid to ask.

Just what exactly do missionaries DO all day?

Good question! And one you should never be afraid to ask! Perhaps this update video Team Honduras did for our (the Ellises' and Masseys') sending church will help you answer that question...Enjoy!

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

Once a week, we have "Family Night" with Claire. We usually play board games, read books, or watch a movie together. I know many other families do the same. If you're looking to mix it up a little, here's an idea for a missions-themed family night.

World Missions Family Night

To prepare, choose a country and missionary family to learn about and pray for. It's a good idea to choose a couple with children about the same age as your own kids. Use the internet to learn some fun facts about the country, and try to obtain a prayer card or recent prayer letter from the missionary family so that your kids can see whom they are praying for.

Family Night begins with a great dinner. If you are brave (and your children aren't too picky!) you can try a recipe from the country you are focusing on! If you want to start smaller, a new dessert is a good idea. If you choose Honduras, or another Latin American country, here is a great homemade flan recipe from a lady in our church.

1 can of condensed milk
2 cans of evaporated milk
3 eggs
1/2 cup sugar

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Caramelize the sugar in a heavy skillet over med-high heat until the sugar begins to melt. Shake the skillet to heat evenly, but do not stir. Once it begins to melt, reduce heat to low and cook about 5 more minutes until all the sugar is melted and golden. Stir with a wooden spoon as needed. Pour the melted sugar into the bottom of a glass 8x8 baking dish or a pie plate. Place this dish in a larger dish (13x9 works well) so that there is space all around the smaller dish.

Heat a medium saucepan of water on high heat. While it is coming to a boil, beat the milks and eggs until well-combined (but not frothy). Pour the egg/milk mixture into the 8x8 dish. When the water boils, pour it into the 13x9 baking dish so that it surrounds the smaller dish. The depth of the water should be about 1 inch.


Bake in 325 degree oven for about an hour, or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean.

If you want to serve it warm, cool slightly on a wire rack. Before serving, loosen the edges of the flan with a knife. Invert over a large serving dish.

If you want to serve it chilled, cool on a wire rack then cover and chill in the refrigerator. Loosen edges with knife, and invert over a serving dish.

After dinner, take some time to learn about the missionary's country. A globe or a world map will help. Keep the facts fun and interesting. Try to pronounce a few words or phrases in the language of that country (You are guaranteed to get some laughs!). Read the prayer letter (or only highlight portions if it is long) and have a prayer time for the missionary family and the people of the country. Consider writing the family to tell them you prayed for them; you could also ask them questions your children may have about the mission field. Smaller children can draw pictures and dictate their letter. While they work, play music from the country of choice (found on the internet).

Throughout the night, ask your children questions to get them thinking about the mission field, such as:

1. What do you think would be the hardest part of living in another country?
2. What do you think you would like best about living in another country?
3. Why does God call people to live in other countries, far away from their homes?
4. What could you do to serve God in another country?

Develop a heart for the mission field at an early age! Sadly, many American children grow up oblivious to other cultures and assume the rest of the world lives just as they do. Open your children's eyes to the needs around the world. Who is waiting for your child to share the gospel? What will you do as a parent to make that happen?

If you are interested in doing a "Honduran Family Night" email me at christine@teamhonduras.com for a free information packet.

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.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." The opening line from one of my favorite novels came to mind almost daily. In April of 2006, I was preparing for motherhood. Pregnancy brought a strange mix of emotions, moods, and hormones. I was thrilled to be a first-time mom, but my heart ached thinking of all the times I was missing with my mom and sister. All communication, even the big announcement that we were expecting, was done through phone calls, and those had to be short and sweet. I began to feel a little sorry for myself as I selected crib bedding online at an internet cafe downtown; it just wasn't the same as going shopping with mom. We were supposed to be doing this together. I was missing out.

The Lord's goodness to me during such a hard time soon became very real. I didn't deserve it; I was self-centered and weak. Countless women go through pregnancy without their mothers. I knew when we surrendered to go to the mission field that we would live very far from home. I should have handled it in stride. I should have been tougher. But my Heavenly Father patiently and lovingly reached out to me in my cloud of gloom in a very unexpected way.

Robbie and I stopped by the post office one afternoon to pick up our mail. I was surprised to see three large, mysterious boxes with our names on them. We had not been expecting anything, let alone such large packages. We excitedly loaded them into the truck, eager to get home and open them.

We set the packages in the living room floor and examined them. The return address read "Lighthouse Baptist Church." This church, located about an hour and a half from my hometown, had taken us on for support during deputation. One of the boxes was marked, "Open first," so Robbie carefully cut the packing tape and lifted the lid.

Sitting on a layer of tissue paper on top was a VHS tape. The spine read, "Robbie and Christine's baby shower." I looked at Robbie questioningly and popped the tape into the VCR.

The recording began in what appeared to be the fellowship hall of the Lighthouse Baptist Church, decorated with pastel balloons and tiny paper cutouts of baby clothes strung from a clothesline. A banner read, "Congratulations, Robbie and Christine!" Then, my heart lept as I saw my mom and sister appear on camera and sit in the front, in the seats of honor. They were wearing corsages and beaming proudly. A lady from the church welcomed everyone and explained that this was a "Ghost Baby Shower." Since Robbie and I could not be there, they had somehow gotten in contact with my mom and sister (whom they had never met) and invited them to come open presents on our behalf. Tears streamed down my face as they opened present after present, oohing and aahing over each item. I found the corresponding baby gifts, along with the banner and decorations in the carefully packed boxes. I was overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness, ashamed of my self-pity, and encouraged in spirit.

Paul wrote to the church at Philippi, "Now ye Philippians know also, that in the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no church communicated with me as concerning giving and receiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto my necessity.... But I have all, and abound: I am full, having received...the things which were sent from you, an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, wellpleasing to God." (Philippians 4:15-18)

The Lord had used some precious ladies to encourage a young, pregnant missionary wife. The baby gifts were much needed and appreciated. But even more importantly, they had found a way to connect me to my family and share a special moment with them. They had ministered to my soul.

It was one of those awful slow-motion moments where you helplessly freeze in place, bracing yourself for the impact. I had just stumbled up the bleachers at the after-church fundraiser, balancing two plates of meatball subs and leading Claire to be seated on the second row. As soon as we sat down, I saw it coming. The volleyball was careening toward us, and there was nothing I could do to shield it.

The ball hit me directly, knocking one of the plates into the air. At Claire's shriek, the other spectators looked in horror. Red, meaty sauce covered my blouse and hair. I looked like the victim in a B horror movie. A teenage boy ran to me, apologizing profusely. I gathered he had been the one to spike the ball in our direction, so I laughed and waved him off, "No, it's fine, no big deal!" Poor Claire was frantic; I felt terrible that I couldn't pick her up, being covered in sauce, until I heard her snub, "My food! What did you do to my food!"

I sighed and headed for the bathroom to try to clean up. We were in Florida on furlough; I didn't know many people, but thankfully, a teen girl lent me a shirt for the rest of the evening.

I stuffed my stained white blouse into a grocery bag and thought, Well, that will never come out! It was one of my favorite shirts, too!

As I sat back down to finish my food, a kind-looking lady approached, "Christine, could I take your shirt home and wash it for you?" Before I could stammer a reply, she continued, "My husband is from Italy, and I have a wonderful detergent we get from there--it's perfect for removing tomato sauce stains!"

The idea of attempting to wash my shirt in the hotel room sink really wasn't appealing, so I finally surrendered the bag. "Don't worry if it doesn't come out! It's really caked in there!" I warned Mrs. Amato.

The next day, Robbie preached chapel for the Christian school's annual revival, while I entertained Claire at the hotel. He came back with an unexpected surprise: a gallon-size Ziploc bag with my favorite shirt inside, neatly pressed and folded. It was perfectly white; not a trace of sauce remained. I couldn't believe it. Mrs. Amato had also included a sweet note. I was overwhelmed by her thoughfulness.

A few months later, I would learn exactly how sacrificing Mrs. Amato and her family were. A family in our church was in need. Jose and Ismenia Rodriguez wanted to send their son Christian, one of our youth group's finest young men, to a Christian school his senior year. Since he is bilingual, they began to explore the option of sending him to the United States, where he could get a quality Christian education. Pastor Matt put them in contact with West Florida Christian Academy in Milton, Florida. It would be a perfect fit, since Christian planned to attend Pensacola Christian College after graduation. There was just one problem--where would he live?

I was thrilled when Mr. and Mrs. Amato and their son Daniel offered their home to Christian. They would care for him as their own son, giving him his own room, cooking his meals, and including him in family activities. I was relieved that he would be with such a sweet family.

We went to visit Christian on his last night in Honduras. There were many tears amid the packing, and my heart hurt for Ismenia, who was having an especially hard time. Then I remembered my encounter with Mrs. Amato, "Ismenia, let me tell you about the lady who will be taking care of Christian..." I explained to her exactly how Mrs. Amato had searched me out and kindly offered to clean my shirt, even though we barely knew each other. "That's how she is. She's very...what's the word? Maternal. Christian will be in good hands."

Ismenia's relief was evident. "Thank you for telling me that, Cristina. I am so glad that he will be taken care of!"

Christian had a wonderful year in Florida with the Amatos. He came back last week, a high school graduate. We are thrilled to have him home and ecstatic about what the Lord is doing in his life. And it was all possible because of an exceptional lady named Mrs. Amato.

See pics of Christian and his adventures in Florida with the Amatos!