This Is It

I've been avoiding this. I would refuse to believe that a year has passed already, except that the calendar would quickly prove me wrong, so I'll settle with being mystified that a year could go by in what seems to be only a few weeks. I'll still check the calendar just to make sure, but it will only tell me that it's been 11 months and 3 days since I moved to Honduras. Parts of me are looking for where Time hid the last 11 months, but other parts of me feel like they've been here all along.  It feels like a lifetime ago that I didn't know some of my, what I would now call, best friends. Regardless of how long it seems that it's been, I leave tomorrow.  

I'm not sure what it's going to be like living in the States again. I'll probably be late to everything for a while now that my sense of punctuality has been Latinized. I'll probably freeze to death since I haven't seen temperatures south of 70 in a while. But in reality, I don’t expect things to be all that different. All year long I have been thinking about what it looks like to weave the gospel into everyday life because that's essentially what I've done here. I haven't done anything special in Honduras. I've done essentially what I was doing before I moved here, but I've learned a lot about how to make the gospel relevant and apparent in every relationship. I have relationships with all kinds of people in Honduras, I'll have relationships with all kinds of people in America. The context will be different, but gospel can be weaved just the same. 

It's been a great year. Thank you for your support, financial and prayerful. Thank you for the cards, messages, and encouragement. I couldn't have been here at all if it weren't for other people who joined me.  

The Honduras chapter has been written, now to be re-read and revisited. Stay tuned.

Degrees of Gospel Separation

I always write to process.  I've had to sit on this one for a while now because I had to do a lot of fleshing out of my own idea.  I've tried to explain myself the best I know how, but if I fail to do so, I do apologize.

It's often times a struggle to decide which activities to participate in and which ones not to participate in. In life on the mission field, there is so much need and so many things that could be done, how do you decide which one(s) to actually do? (I wouldn't dare relegate  this conundrum to missionary life only, but that's my current context, so that's where I'll take it). I'll pose my question to start:

How close is people coming to know Christ away from what I am doing?  In other words, how many degrees of separation are there between the act that I am doing and people coming to know Christ?

First, some much needed disclaimers:

1. Regardless of the answer to that question, the gospel is always the ultimate goal.  Missionary or not, the proclamation of the gospel and people coming to understand that gospel must be underlining every decision I make. Because the gospel can always be shared directly during whatever it is that I do, it doesn't help me decide which activities to participate in; it is common across the board.  In math, if the lowest common denominator is removed from a set of numbers, the remainder numbers will have nothing else in common, they are the control set. Similarly, if I remove the common denominator of sharing the gospel from a set of potential activities because it can be done in all of them, what results is a set of activities that are distinct from each other. So, in answering this question, I'll eliminate redundancy by not taking into account the fact that the gospel can be shared directly in all of them.

2. The Spirit rules.  We ought to always lean on him as our rock and ultimate guide. In reality, nothing I do is definite as the Spirit always has the freedom to change my plans at any moment.  No questions asked.  My logic and determination cannot be put above the prompting of the Holy Spirit.  The rest of the argument is born out of this truth…


Many times, God does not show us exactly what we ought to do.  Often times, God gives us a big picture task like "go and make disciples," but he doesn't always give us the details.  It'd be great if Matthew had written a step-by-step footnote about how Jesus wanted us to go about evangelizing the world. Unfortunately, however, he didn't.  That means a lot of decisions are left up to us.  Since we are incredibly fallen creatures, we often miss the mark of carrying carry out what we have been commanded.  We sometimes begin strong and devoted, but, little by little, things creep in from the outside and alter our focus. Surely, God saw this coming when he decided to leave the spreading of the gospel up to us, so he sent us his Spirit.  We always have the Spirit inside of us, guiding us, comforting us, strengthening us to continue on in the work of the Lord. Even still, many things are left up to us to decide.  For example, when there are many options on my plate, and when after much prayer and seeking the guidance of the Lord clarity is still not present, how do I decide which things to participate in and which things to pass on? My answer is by no means infallible, but for now, it's my best attempt at tackling this issue.

I'll call it "degrees of gospel separation."  The proclamation of the gospel is the ultimate end of everything of which I'm a part here in Honduras. I don’t build churches just to build churches, but to provide  a congregation with an adequate meeting area in which the gospel will be proclaimed for many years to come.  I don't dig wells just to give clean water, but so that people can hear about and understand what it means to drink Living Water. Often times though, the desired end result, the proclamation of the gospel, is not an immediate end.  Sometimes there are other steps that have to happen first in order for the desired end to be generated.  Here are a couple of examples (they don’t apply to me, just random examples).

Ex 1: I could build a house for a cook to come live and work at a school so that kids could have a meal so that the school is an attractive option so that parents will send their kids to that school so that the school will stay open so that they can hear about Jesus.  6 degrees of separation.
Build a house so that…
1. Cook can come so that…
2. Kids can have a meal so that…
3. School is an attractive option because of lunch program so that…
4. Parents send their kids to the school so that…
5. The school can stay in operation so that…
6. The students can hear about Jesus.

Ex 2: Open a coffee shop to build relationships to share the gospel. 2 degrees of separation.
Open a coffee shop so that…
1. Relationships can be built so that…
2. The gospel can be shared and disciples can be made.

These are only two examples, but I hope you can see my point.  The gospel isn't always proclaimed immediately after the work is completed, and that's okay.  But if that's the case, logic seems to play a role. It only stands to reason that the more degrees of separation that exist between my initial act and the desired end, the greater the possibility of the end not being generated.  There's simply more that can go wrong.  So here's the obvious rule of thumb that is born out of all of this: the more degrees of gospel separation, the greater the risk of the desired result not being generated. Conversely, the less degrees of separation, the greater the chance of the desired result being generated.  

The rule of thumb is easy to generate, but I haven't quite figured out how to interpret it yet. I can't, for example, automatically eliminate options that have more than X degrees of separation. I can't consign the work of the Lord to a silly man-made rule.  But, in theory at least, if two equally plausible options are presented, I should take the one that has less degrees of separation.  Less separation=less risk=higher probability of generated result.  

I would love to hear your opinion on this. I'm by no means married to this idea of degrees of gospel separation, so if you have questions, comments, or concerns, let me know! This is all part of the process of serving the Lord to the best of my ability and your feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Foxtrotting on a Friday Night

I'll be honest.  I'm not sure where this is going.  I usually write with a purpose in mind, but tonight, my fingers just need to dance without telling my mind why.  Much like a Southern Baptist wedding reception, they haven't danced much lately, but tonight, they're breaking out of the fellowship hall and foxtrotting down the street.  I don't have a clue how to foxtrot, or dance at all for that matter, so if this goes horribly wrong, don't blame me, blame my fingers.  

Today I burnt myself twice, both times with a drill.  The only danger I usually think of when using a drill is putting a hole in my hand, but today I managed to leave my left arm with two blisters.  I think I'll live though. Go figure.  Between the self-mutilatings, I actually managed to accomplish what I had set out to do.  This week I've been building handrails and an artesón for the church that Alan pastors. An artesón is one of those flat paneled roofs that sticks straight out of a building and is supported by steel cables anchored back to the main structure.  I seem to imagine one fitting in well at one of those modern-y type places like an architect's office in a remodeled downtown next door to a coffee shop named something like 'The Plaid Scarf' or 'The Rusty Button' where inside people drink fair-trade coffee out of big colorful mugs and read newspapers through black, thick-rimmed glasses with no lenses and stare at pictures of rusty tractors sitting in wheat fields at sunset.  In Honduras, however, the artesón has a different feel.  It works because it was cheap to build, simple in contents, and functional at its core.  I learned quickly that though it is in a foreign country, it is not foreign to unfamiliarity.  One Honduran working on the project said he'd never seen anything like it before.  Until I actually attached it to the building, they must have thought I was crazy by my explanation of how it was going to work.  Clearly they've never sipped fair trade coffee at The Plaid Scarf or eaten a $5.00 scone at The Rusty Button.  

But what if they got the chance to?  What if, instead picking the coffee, they were at The Plaid Scarf drinking it out of their own colorful mug?  What if, instead of making $5.00 a day to feed their family rice and beans and tortillas, they spent $5.00 on a blueberry scone that would curb their hunger for half an hour?  What if I was the one that had never been to The Plaid Scarf?  What if I was the one that thought if Americans could afford a $5.00 piece of bread, then they must all be rich?  The fact of the matter is, they won't and I'm not.  But that's the beauty of culture, we're not the same.  The owner of The Rusty Button knows how to make scones.  José knows how to cut grass with a machete.  If we were all the same, we'd live in a world either scone-less or overtaken by weeds.  We are very different, and I'm only in Honduras.  I can't begin comprehend the millions of cultural intricacies that exist among the thousands of tribes, villages, and people of Africa, Southeast Asia, and the South Pacific.  The incredible thing about the world we live in today is that we don't have to live trapped inside our cultural walls.  The owner of The Rusty Button  can come to Honduras and teach a lady how to make scones after her husband teaches him how to cut grass with a machete.  Our differences don't make us superior or inferior, they make us just as advertised…different.  And different is so wonderfully unique.  

Through the missing lenses of thick rimmed glasses we're pretty different.  The never-leave-home-without-it item of the Honduran, the machete, is very different than that of the American, the iPhone.  That doesn't even take into account the mindsets that go along with those things.  However, through the lens of the gospel, we are all the same.  Our differences quickly become an oxymoron, the same.  Humans, regardless of culture, language, or homeland, can be described universally as ones among whom

"There is no one righteous, not even one; there is no one who understands, no one who seeks God.  All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one.  Their throats are open graves; their tongues practice deceit.  The poison of vipers is on their lips.  Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness.  Their feet are swift to shed blood; ruin and misery mark their ways, and the way of peace they do not know.  There is no fear of God before their eyes." Romans 3:10-18

Our sinfulness reduces us all to an even playing field.  On that field stands every person that has ever existed in the history of the world.  It is a playing field colorful with language, dress, and customs yet teeming with the rancid tang of vile sin against an infinitely holy God.  It is a playing field to which even the smallest slip-ups, the tiniest white lies, and the meager ounces of pride will damn us.  And it is a playing field that leads to no place other than the depths of an eternal hell.  

"But God" are the two single most important words in all of written history.  Yes, there was a time when we gratified "the cravings of our sinful nature and followed its desires and thoughts.  Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath.  But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ."  If there was no "but God," there would be no hope.  But because he loved us even while we were still rotten to the core, there is hope.  It came in the form of God in a man; his name was Jesus of Nazareth.  The centerpiece of history, he was born of a virgin and lived a sinless life.  During the 33 years he walked the earth, he was not on our playing field, but instead lived a life in perfect harmony with the Father, his Father.  He walked, ate, slept, and urinated, but he also performed miracles, healed, cured, and liberated.  His perfection, however, cost him his life, for false accusation and an imminent, painful, humiliating death was not enough to convince him to deviate from his purpose.  He was spat upon, stripped naked, beaten, tortured, enticed, humiliated, and ultimately nailed to a cross to hang until he died.  But even the physical torment the was put through was not the worst of it.  That wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.  The wrath that was pent up for justly damming each and every person on the playing field to the pit of hell, in a matter of hours, came charging down on his shoulders.  The nails that went through the bones in his wrists and feet no longer supported only his body weight, but now bore the weight of wrath from his Holy Father that was due every single sin of every single person that had ever or would ever walk the face of the earth.  The Father, couldn't even stand to look at his son anymore, but turned his face away because, you see, the Holy Father cannot be associated with anything unholy.  After hours of suffering, agony, and torment, he declared it finished and died.  

Satan rejoiced.  Death won.  The unconquerable God was conquered.  The Father of Lies had taken reign over souls of those on the playing field once and for all.  Until three days later.  Satan didn't realize that death could not hold this Jesus of Nazareth.  He did not realize that this Jesus could make himself live again and when he did, would break the chains of sin and death for evermore.  The souls on the playing field no longer were bound to it.  The Holy Father raised his son from the dead and, in doing so, shone an unmistakable light into the darkness that is death and roared to Satan that he shall not have the last word.  Since sin and death had been defeated, all those who believe in the One who sacrificed himself to bear the wrath due them can now have eternal life, enjoying fellowship with the Father for eternity until eternity.  The grave was not powerful enough to hold this Jesus, so he walked out and commanded, with all authority in heaven and earth, to those who would believe in Him, to "go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.  And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age."


The world may be full of different people from different cultures with different skills, traditions, and customs but one thing remains the same, we're all in desperate need of hearing that story.  The Bible calls it the gospel and it is the cornerstone of Christianity. Its dispersion is the reason that millions of Christians have gladly died in the last two millennia and its proclamation to every tribe, nation, people, and tongue is indispensable, mandatory even.  

I mentioned earlier that today I accomplished everything I had set out to do, but I don't think that's entirely the truth.  It's not true because I don't live in Honduras so that I can build handrails and artesones.  I don't live in Honduras to build churches or houses or put on roofs to make people more comfortable.  I don't live in Honduras to help people have clean drinking water.  That would be a terrible waste of time because after building said house, the occupants may still go to hell, they'll just now go with a roof over their head. Or, after providing clean drinking water, the beneficiaries may still go to hell, they'll just go without parasites.  Roof or no roof, parasites or no parasites, it really doesn't matter all that much if you're on your way to an eternal torment.  If you care about the eternal state of a person's soul, humanitarian aid is a deceiving end in itself. No matter how good it makes you feel, providing temporary comfort does not equal eternal security.  It is, however, an effective means to an end.  In my case, I build handrails and artesones and churches and houses and roofs because while I'm doing it, I get the chance to spend time with people who need to hear that gospel story.  The construction is important as a means to the end of sharing the gospel.  In the long run, the soul of the person I'm working with will last much longer than whatever it is we're building.  For me, construction is only an excuse to spend time with local Honduran laborers who need to hear the story of the gospel.  

Unfortunately, there exists a thing called 'mission creep' that plagues me and, I imagine, many missionaries.  Mission creep is when you lose sight of your main focus and begin to focus on other, seemingly important, areas.  In other words, mission creep is then the means becomes the end.  The reason I can't truthfully say that I accomplished everything I set out to do today (and really all week) is because I selfishly neglected the souls of those working around me in favor of my own pride.  "My work is important right now."  "They'll still be here next week, I'll do it then."   Sure, I've had many conversations with one or two of them in the past about the gospel how that should affect us, but my pride rears its ugly head every chance it gets.  I ask you to pray with me that the means would remain the means and the end would remain supreme.  I desperately want this because I do desire for my friends and fellow workers to see that Christ has broken their chains.  They are not bound to the playing field any longer but have freedom in Christ, if they would submit to it.  

As I type those lines, I feel immediately compelled to write that even if I were to keep the means where it belongs and evangelize my heart out every hour of every day, I myself am only a seed sower.  If God would have it, I could be a waterer or harvester, but most likely I am only a seed sower.  That means that I cannot measure my effectiveness based of the number of converts I make or the depth of faith I cultivate.  I must do my part to share the story of the gospel, but it is completely and utterly up the power of the Holy Spirit to use that shared gospel and plant it firmly into a heart.  

I have less than five months left in Honduras.  I have five months left to keep the means the means and the end supreme.  When I return to the States, my mission will be much the same.  I may not be building handrails and artesones, but there will be a means, as there will always be people who need to hear the gospel, and the end never changes. It doesn't change for you and it doesn't change for me.  It’s the same in Honduras, America, Africa, Southeast Asia, and the South Pacific.  If you are a believer in the story of the gospel, and your 'end' is something other than to share that gospel with others and guide them in what it means for us, then you need a new end.

If you would like to talk to me about my time in Honduras when I return in January, or if you would like to talk about your own 'end', maybe we can meet up at The Rusty Button and talk about it over coffee.  

I don't drink coffee, but I hear their scones are phenomenal.    

Family

My birthday seems to have fallen on August 18th every year for the last 23 years.  For 17 of those years it also happened to fall on the first week of school, often times on the first day.  This year, although I completed years (as they say in Spanish) on the 18th of August again, it did not fall on the first week of school for me.  Instead of getting up on my birthday and going to class, I got up and went to a humble house church on the outskirts of Siguatepeque where I met with souls that were hungry in more ways than one.   I was humbled by the invitation from Junior, my Honduran mason friend, to a party at his house to celebrate mine and his dad's birthdays.  Instead of sharing a meal with my family at home, I shared a meal with my family in Honduras.

Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my camera to the party at Junior's.  I can tell you, though, that their hospitality was comforting.  I would have taken a picture of the piece of cake I was given, but it'll have to suffice for me to tell you that it was the size of a brick.  It's a good thing I like tres leches cake or else it would have been awfully difficult to stomach something that was no smaller than a shoebox.  I'll also use this time to warn you that the juice that comes out of hot tamales will actually burn you.  I found that out the hard way.  I was given three tamales to take home with me that were fresh out of the oven or stove or boiling water or whatever mean is used to cook tamales.   Despite being a safety hazard, they were delicious.  

At my second birthday party of the day I ate a comforting American meal of grilled chicken, squash casserole, coleslaw, watermelon, and chocolate cake.  It's rough being a missionary sometimes, you know?  A few days later, I was surprised with a birthday banana pudding from some other missionary friends.  If you're wondering why that is noteworthy, allow me to put it this way: instead of having a wedding cake, Laura and I are having a wedding banana pudding.  Needless to say, it was hands down the best banana pudding I've ever had in a third world country.  

Like birthdays tend to be, it wasn't all that different from any other day.  I did, however, enjoy my first birthday in a third world country.  I may not have been with blood on that day, but I was with family.  

Clouds, Pine Needles, and the Sovereignty of God

A few weeks ago, I made the two hour trek to San Pedro Sula to pick up a pair of fellow missionaries from the airport.  Siguatepeque sits on a plateau flanked on either side by mountains, so to leave the city, you have to go downhill.  To go from Siguatepeque, a fairly small city inundated with pine trees, to San Pedro, the sprawling industrial capital of Honduras, you have to go through at least four different terrains, each of which brings along its own climate.  First, as you leave the city you have to wind down a series of steep mountains.  To drive well along this stretch of road you have to be comfortable with the fact that a two lane road is actually a three or four lane road.  I never realized how much I take for granted the fact that in the US everybody on my side of the road was at least going in the same direction.  After the mountains comes the lake region.  This is my favorite part of the drive.  The road rises and falls gently as it hugs the contour of the lake.  Sometimes, you can feel the mist in the air on your left arm that hangs out of the driver's side window.  Some say it rains 13 months a year in this area, some claim 14.  After the lake, there's farmland.  Super flat and you can start to feel the heat.  Finally come the city and the airport.  The first stopights on the trip mean that you can really feel the change that has taken place in temperature.  I've heard it said that the temperature there is like walking through hell with a bucket of gasoline.  I prefer to liken it to Birmingham in mid-July.  Either way, hot.

There's some really amazing views on the drive.  It's rare that you can see both lines of mountains in Siguatepeque with much clarity, but that day  I was driving it was very clear.  I noticed the clouds while I was driving down through the mountains.  Their fluffiness struck me.  "What determines the fluffiness of each cloud?" I thought to myself.  "Does God tune each cloud to its exact degree of desired fluff?"  "Does God care about cloud fluffiness?"  Later as I was driving by the lake and I began to think the same thing about the pine trees.  "Is there a pine needle on a tree that is too long?"  "Does God grow each pine needle on each pine tree to an exact predetermined length?"  "Does God care about pine needle length?"  "If God really is sovereign over all things, can he let clouds determine their own fluffiness and the pine needles their own length?"  After a minute or so of thinking, I answered myself with a resounding "Of course not!"  

God can't let even the details of a cloud or a pine needle slip outside of his control.  If God is God of all and if he is Lord over all things, then he absolutely controls the clouds and the pine needles.  Later in the week, I was having a conversation with a friend about the sovereignty of God.  I mentioned that if God isn't sovereign over all things, if he doesn't control the clouds and the pine needles, then I'm not so sure I want to follow him.  If there was even a single thing in all of the universe that God didn't personally specify, designate, or design, that would mean that there are things that he can't control--something that he is not great enough to reign over.  But if God has enough interest in the clouds and the length of pine needles to determine their exact specifications, then there is no created thing that God's sovereignty, his infinitely perfect rule and control, has not affected.  That ought to have huge implications for my life.  

Be glad that there is not a cloud, a pine needle, a natural disaster, a terrorist attack, a death, a firing, an economic downturn, or a difficult family situation that God is surprised about.  

The clouds and the pine needles don't escape God's reign, so be comforted in the fact that your life doesn't either. 

The Best Place

I traveled to the United States last week, but I wouldn't say that I went home.

I had an awesome time.  I had anticipated my return for some time partly because I had kept it a secret and I couldn't wait to see the reactions from my grandmothers and aunt.  "Where did you come from?,"  "How did you get here?,"  "What's wrong? Why are you here?" were common first responses, after the screaming that is.  My ears quit ringing eventually.  My dad took off work the whole week I was home and my sister and bil ('brother-in-law' for those of you out of the loop) came to Birmingham for most of the week as well.   Last Saturday, as my grandad so eloquently put it, we celebrated 'Trey-Day.'  All my family from my mom's side and many from my dad's side were together all day.  We ate, swam, laughed, told stories, and, for the most part, forgot that I wasn't really home.  I mean, I was home, but I wasn't where I belong.

As much as I enjoyed 'Trey-Day' and spending all week with my family and other people that mean a whole lot to me, it felt so good to get back to Honduras.  I couldn't exactly explain it until today when I was talking to a friend in Siguat.  We crossed paths as I was walking back from the dumpster and he was returning from downtown buying a soldering iron.  He didn't know that I had gone to the States, so he wanted to know why I hadn't been around for a week and a half.  I told him I had to leave to renew my visa and I got to spend great time with my family and friends, but that I was glad to be back.

"Why?" he asked.

"It just feels good to be back where I know God wants me to be," I responded.

He looked back at me and said, "there's no better place to be than in the center of the will of God.  Even though you're away from your family , and friends, and Laura, and sometimes face very difficult circumstances, if you're doing the will of God, you're in the best place."

For His name's sake, it is worth leaving houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, even fiancée.  There are times when I doubt this truth.  There are times when I don't want to be here alone. There are times where it would be easier relationally, emotionally and financially to be back in Birmingham. It is usually in those times when I'm driven to my knees and ask God why on earth he has me here. He doesn't always give me the answer audibly from a friend carrying a soldering iron, but He is always faithful to be faithful.  It is not easy to count gain as loss for the sake of Christ, but at the very least, I'm learning.  I'm learning that following Christ is worth it, he must be worth all of it.

I recently finished reading Let The Nations Be Glad by John Piper.  The closing paragraph of the book jumped off the page at me because it inextricably points to why I'm here, why Christ is worth it, and ultimately, why we're all here.

It is our unspeakable privilege to be caught up with him in the greatest movement in history--the ingathering of the elect from every tribe and language and people and nation until the full number of the Gentiles comes in and all Israel is saved an teh Son of Man descends with power and great glory as King of kings and Lords of lords and the earth is full of the knowledge of his glory as the waters cover teh sea forever and ever.  Then the supremacy of Christ will be manifest to all, and he will deliver the kingdom of God to the Father, and God will be all in all.  

5 Things I've Learned in Honduras

There is no substitute for learning the language.  

In my ministry, it would be impossible if I didn't know Spanish.  This seems like an elementary concept, and I suppose it is rather basic, if you want to disciple people in another country, you should be able to speak their language, but I have seen that it is often easier said than done.   I don't mean to say that it is difficult to learn a language because it's physically difficult, even though it absolutely is.  To learn an entirely new vocabulary and verb structure, to refine your speech to the seemingly endless nuances of  Spanish, and to adapt formal, classroom Spanish to informal, street, natural sounding Spanish is all part of the frustrating road that eventually, after much headache and embarrassment, leads to fluency.  What I mean when I say that it is difficult to learn Spanish is that as new missionaries come to the field energized, eager, and motivated to begin reaching people for Christ, it is difficult to slow down for 6, 12, 24 months to learn a language.  It can seem like a necessary evil to get through before the real ministry can begin.  However, I'm convinced that taking time to learn a language and a culture are just as much part of ministry as sharing the gospel precisely because of the fact that the gospel can't be shared and discipleship can't happen until the language and culture are learned.  I have missionary friends who have been honest about their struggle with this period of waiting until the ministry they came to do can actually begin.  I have been impressed and encouraged, however, by their realization that they must concentrate on language and culture if they want to be effective reach people for the gospel.  That's not say that God can't use someone who doesn't know the language, God can do what he wants through whomever he wants, but on a practical level, there is no substitute to knowing the language well.  


There is no substitute for community.

If being part of a bible-believing community of friends that walk alongside you to for encouragement, correction, and discipleship is important in America where there exists all the comforts of home, then I'm convinced that it's importance is intensified on the mission field where there is uncertainty, insecurity, unfamiliarity.  After a month of being in Honduras, this need became glaring to me.  Fortunately, God blessed me with two other missionary families who too felt the void of community in their lives.  Since then we have met every week to share a meal (and always dessert), a time of worship through song, a time of bible study, and a time of extended, intentional prayer.  This group has been invaluable to me so far in Honduras, especially since I'm here alone.  I can't believe for a second that the Christian life was meant to be lived alone, but rather alongside other bible-believing, Christ-imitating, God-honoring Christians.  I believe that remains true, if not more so, for life of the mission field.  


There is no substitute for prayer.

I can't improve of the words of John Piper here.

"Life is war. That's not all it is.  But it is always that.  Our weakness in prayer is owing largely to our neglect of this truth.  Prayer is primarily a wartime walkie-talkie for the mission of the church as it advances against the power of darkness an unbelief.  It is not surprising that prayer malfunctions when we try to make it a domestic intercom to call upstairs for more comforts in the den.  God has given us prayer as a wartime walkie-talkie so that we can call headquarters for everything we need as the kingdom of Christ advances in the world.  Prayer gives us the significance of frontline forces and gives God the glory of a limitless Provider.  The one who gives the power gets the glory.  Thus, prayer safeguards the supremacy of God in missions while linking us with endless grace for every need." 

Life is war.  We must fight daily to pick up our cross because, some days, it's just so heavy.  We must fight daily to be lovers, not cynics, because I'm tired of you calling 'culture' what the bible calls 'sin.'  We must fight to trust that God is working in the heart of the person whose salvation we weep for.  I've found that these fights are best fought face down begging the limitless Provider for significant frontline forces to continue on.  


Satan really, really hates it.  

This is exactly why life is a war--because Satan wants nothing more than to distract us from pursuing God.  If he can't strip me of my salvation (and he can't) then he'll strip me of my will to tell others about it.  A week doesn't go by without me or someone I know experiencing events orchestrated by the devil himself for the sole purpose of discouraging us.  Marital issues, sick children, issues with immigration, attacks on ministry, theft, disruption of Christian unity, loneliness .  Satan is creative in his attacks, but our God is effective with his counter.  He is sufficient to provide care, healing, and protection  from the attacks of the enemy.  It can be exhausting having to constantly absorb the punches from the devil, but if he doesn't deem me worthy of punching, then I'm probably not much of a threat to begin with.  So punch away.  

I'm not meant to do this alone.  

I have so enjoyed my time in Honduras thus far and I look forward to the remaining seven months, but it has been made strikingly clear to me that I am not meant to do this missionary thing alone.  I am thankful for this time here alone, but there is still a sharp void in my life and ministry.  I anticipate, not so patiently at times, the day that I can serve alongside Laura, my fiancée.  If I ever needed more affirmation that she was the one I ought to spend my life with, these last five months have absolutely confirmed that.  



As I am nearing the half-way point of my time in Honduras, I want to thank those of you again that have partnered me financially and prayerfully.  I covet your support as I would not be here without it.  I feel blessed and privileged to be able to partner with people from all over the United States as we mutually work to carry out Christ's last words to us on earth:

"Por tanto, id, y haced discípulos a todas las naciones, bautizándolos en el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo; ensenándoles que guarden todas las coasas que os he mandado, y he aquí yo estoy con vosotros todos los días hasta el fin del mundo."
Mateo 28:19-20.

The Harvest

"Go and make disciples" is what Jesus commanded us to do.  We are to "teach them to obey everything that [He] has commanded."  

Discipleship is our task. 

But what do you do when it feels like you're discipling a brick wall?

What do you do when you find yourself saying to God at the end of the day: "I've told them!  I've done my part!  Now hold up your end of the bargain!"

A farmer wants to yield a harvest.  

That's why it is difficult to hear one man I'm discipling tell me about his indifference toward remaining faithful to his wife.  

That's why I'm brought to tears when one man tells me that it's not sin, it's just cultural, to impregnate a 16 year old girl out of wedlock and then have no intention of caring for her or the baby. 

 

That's why it hurts to see the confused look on his face when I tell him of my intentions to never cheat on my wife.  

That's why it is painful when he asks if I think the 13 year old girl that walked by is hot, then when I respond with an emphatic 'No!' he says, "Oh yeah, it's because she's too young for you right?"

So, what do you do?  You hold fast to the fact that even the farmer, no matter how well (or poorly) he sows, can't produce the harvest.  He has to wait and pray...wait and pray for God to send the rain because without the rain, even the most well sewn seeds will burn up.   

So here I wait and pray.  I pray that God would replace the word "cultural" with the word "sin."  I pray that God would pulverize the notion that it's okay to follow parts of the Bible religiously and then ignore others.  I pray that God would create examples of faithful, covenant-honoring husbands and daddys out of my friends.  

But most of all, I pray for the harvest.  

The Last 6 Weeks: Upside Down

Last week, during a time of prayer with some fellow missionaries, a friend of mine mentioned that, as Christians, we live in an upside down kingdom.  What he meant by that was that if the way this world operates and what the people of the world strive for is our default (and it is-- Romans 3), then the way God operates and what he expects of us is the opposite of the default--its upside down.  I loved that imagery, so I decided to do a little research.  I began to scour the Bible for evidence of our kingdom being an upside down one.  What I found was that no part of God's kingdom operates the way our world does.  What is valued in God's kingdom is scorned by the world.  Likewise, what is held highly by the world is seen by God as polluted garments. 

For example, take a look at a few people that God used in Scripture that, in today's world, would not be considered the best and brightest: 

• God used a doubting murderer in Moses to lead His chosen people out of bondage in Egypt and eventually to a promised land.
• God used Abraham, a liar and a doubter, to be the father of many nations, out of who's bloodline would come the savior of the world. 
• God used Rahab the prostitute in the line to bring about the savior of the world. 
• God strips down Gideon's army to 300 men to defeat the Midianites with an army of tens of thousands. 
• God used an adulterer and murderer in David to be the king of Israel and to be included in the line of Christ.
• Jesus build his church on Peter, the rock.  A prideful, ignorant, wishy-washy rock. 
• Jesus spent his entire 3 year ministry with 12 ordinary, obviously flawed men.  12 men who, after repeatedly being told of Jesus' coming death and resurrection, were shell-shocked when he died and resurrected.  Jesus then left the advancement of the early church in their hands to either succeed or squander. 

Read these saying from Jesus and take note at how upside-down they are:

• "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."
• "...unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven."
• "But many who are first will be last, and the last first."
• "...for I came not to call the righteous, but sinners."
• "...follow me, leave the dead to bury their own dead."
• "Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life..."
• "But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also."
• "If anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak"
• "...love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

The life of Jesus itself--upside down:

• "...foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."
• "...even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve..."
• "The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone..."
• The savior of the world enters Jerusalem triumphantly…on a donkey.
• Jesus, a Jew, as he is passing through enemy Samaritan territory, stops and ministers to a provocative Samaritan woman.

Perhaps the most upside down about the Kingdom of God is that he himself would become flesh and subject himself to the evils of a world he created so that we could commune with him eternally:

• "...but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."
• "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life."
• "But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ..."
• "Christ redeemed us from the law by becoming a curse for us..."
• "...Christ Jesus, though being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped..."
• "...he emptied himself, taking the form of a servant..."
• "...being found in human form, humbled himself and became obedient to death, even death on a cross."

If the kingdom of God is truly as upside down compared to our world as Scripture makes  it out to be, then there are huge implications for our lives.  It's clear that since we are a part of this world and naturally bent toward it, we must make conscious decisions each day to pursue the upside down.  If we pursue things of this world, we scorn what God wants.  If we do not daily pick up our cross and follow Christ, then we will pick up our pride, our checkbook, our corporate ladder, or our trophies and follow the world. 

It's not easy, it's not popular, and it's certainly not natural, but God operates upside down.  Jesus lived upside down.

And if we want to be a part of his kingdom, we must be upside down too.

The Last 6 Weeks: People, Not Projects

I love projects.  I love the challenge of having to design and redesign and configure and construct something that, afterwards, you can look at and be proud of.  I guess that's one reason why I got into construction.  Typically, when I am faced with a project, I devote everything to it.  I spend my free time thinking about whatever it is that I'm working on.  I'll forget to eat.  I won't even stop to go to the bathroom.  This was the case with my most recent project.  I was assigned the task of building the cabinets in a new house that is being completed here on campus.  This house will be a revenue producer for the seminary as missionary families rent it out for years to come.  The first guest arrives in a week and a half, so we're in crunch time.  As I began to prepare to build cabinets, I spent an entire day measuring, investigating, designing, redesigning, and planning for how I was going to build them.  Every time I was in my kitchen cooking or washing dishes I would take mental notes about my cabinets and apply it to my design.  If I was in the middle of dinner and had a thought enter my mind about them, I would get up and investigate immediately.  I was consumed by cabinets before I even began to build them.   I tried to schedule my progress about a week in advance so I would know what I could expect to accomplish each day.  If I wasn't already locked in to what I was doing, once the actual construction began, I most certainly was.  Any distraction was too much.  If I couldn't have a conversation with you while I was working, I would rather it wait.

Pause.

Rewind four and a half months.  I'm at my last small group meeting before I leave for Honduras.  They ask me what is one thing specifically about which they can pray for me.  I respond with the following:

"I tend to get really focused on projects that I'm doing, so I guess my fear is that I will neglect the people and relationships for the sake of whatever project I'm working on.  Pray that I'll focus on the people, not the projects."

Play.

Fast-forward back to cabinet-building week.  As I'm in the thick of it, in walks Lenin, my neighbor and the pastor of my church.  He has a favor to ask of me.  A dentist friend of his has agreed to do some much needed dental work for free  for a teenage girl in our church, Nulbia.  Lenin tells me that he is unable to take her to her appointment.  (As he is talking, I know what's coming.  In my head I'm thinking, "please don't ask me to do it, please don't ask me to do it).  He asks me if I could take her.  I hesitate, smile, grit me teeth, and tell him that I can.  I confess to Laura as we're going to pick up Nulbia that this is really hard for me and I would, honestly and selfishly, rather be working on my cabinets.  She knew that and promptly reminded me of what I asked for prayer about four and a half months ago.

So long story short, I took Nulbia to the dentist, had a nice conversation with the dental assistant while waiting, took Nulbia back home, and proceeded to work on cabinets.  Apparently, however, I wasn't quite done learning my lesson.  I had to take Nulbia to the dentist again the next day, and the day after that, and one more day the next week.  With each trip, and only by the grace of God, my mind eased more and more knowing that she was more important that a cabinet.  You see, Nulbia is in the class that I teach at church.  She is one of the few Hondurans who will occasionally participate in the lesson.  She is rather shy and doesn't usually speak unless spoken to, so even though we sat in silence for most of our trips, the few conversations that we did have only helped to strengthen our relationship.

There was a time that I considered a wooden box to be more important than a human being.  

That's a hard sentence to write, but it is a true admission from the chief of sinners.  I am indebted to God for his undeserving grace that forgives me for believing the lie that my projects are more important.  I am indebted to God for his transforming grace that reminds me daily that construction projects and houses and cabinets are a means to an end, not an end in themselves.

I don’t expect this to be the last time I need that reminder, but hopefully, by the grace of God, I can continue knowing that people, not projects, are why I am in Honduras.

The Last 6 Weeks: "Absolutely"

I've taken a hiatus from writing for the past month or so.  I have had visitors here in Honduras for this month, so I decided to take a break.  I missed it though.  Last Wednesday, after I returned home from dropping off my visitors at the airport, I sat down and began to write in a journal and I wrote, and I wrote, more than a few thousand words worth after it was all said and done.  I'll spare you the three thousand words all at once, so in order to summarize the past month, I'm planning on putting up a  series of short posts over the next week or so. Enjoy and stay tuned!

I have failed to mention thus far who my visitors were this past month.  My girlfriend, Laura, came to visit and stayed the entire month.  For the last week of her stay, her dad, John, came too.  I suppose the most important thing I have to share about their stay was that although Laura came to Honduras as my girlfriend, she left as my fiancée.  Yes, I proposed, in Honduras, on a mountain.  I had purchased the ring before I left for Honduras and had been planning the proposal since about last October.  I'll spare you the story, but it's all on Facebook if you're interested.  Instead of the proposal story, I'm going to share with you a play-by-play of sorts.  If you choose not to proceed in reading, let me warn you, there's some pretty embarrassing stuff in here that I can assure you, if nothing else, you'll get a laugh out of.


August 2009: I see Laura for the first time.  I arrive late to my first small group meeting of the year just as Laura is introducing herself to the group.  For some reason, I hear her say that  she is studying engineering (I heard wrong).  Clearly I was interested from the start.

February 2010: Laura is invited to play on the women's Ultimate Frisbee team at Auburn.  I was a part of the men's team, so when she saw me at practices, she would greet me with "Hey, friend!"  She has a way with words.

April 2010:  Laura and I find out that we will be attending the same concert in Birmingham.  At the concert, Laura sees me, and during intermission, comes to say hey.  She was very awkward, but I remember what dress she was wearing, so….three points for Trey?

May 3rd, 2010: End of the year small group party. I ask Laura about her engineering degree.  She's studying nutrition.  Embarrassing.  Our small group leaders found out that I play guitar and asked me to play a mini-concert for everybody.  As it would turn out, all the guys left and I'm left playing to 5 girls.  (I would later admit that I was secretly playing to her and didn't care all that much what the other 4 thought).  Laura helps me carry my stuff out to my car afterwards and we talk for 20 minutes.  Later that night, I ask her out (I swore I would never admit this in public, but here goes nothing) via Facebook chat.  If that's not embarrassing enough, here's roughly how the conversation went:

Laura: Hey, friend!
Trey: Hey! What are you doing?
Laura: Studing
Trey: Well good luck.  Hey I have a question: I have some chicken in my freezer that I need to eat before I leave for the summer.  Would you wanna come over and help me eat it?

Embarrassing and awful.  Yes.  But she said yes, so….sue me.

May 6th, 2010:  Laura comes to my house for dinner.  I believe I thoroughly impressed her with the dry chicken, canned green beans (something I found out later that she doesn't like), and burnt dinner rolls that I served.  My sister comes by my house to sign a Mother's Day card.  She is so shocked that there is a girl in my apartment with me that she writes "happy birthday" instead of "happy Mother's Day" on the card.  Laura and I talk until 4 in the morning in my living room.  She leaves when I tell her that I have a final exam in four hours (which I got an A on by the way).  We depart with a authentic, youth-group-approved, awkward side hug.

May 8th, 2010:  Laura invites me to attend a dance recital with her (not exactly the way to my heart, but I obliged).  We go to Cracker Barrel afterwards and played paper football (I won).

May 14th, 2010: Laura comes to spend the day with me at my grandmother's place.  We didn't exactly define it then, but retrospectively, we picked this date as the day we began dating.

May 15th, 2010:  I leave for North Carolina for the summer while Laura stays in Auburn for classes.  What a great way to start a relationship with three months of separation! '

Labor Day, 2010: I tell Laura that I love her.  I had told her before that I wouldn't ever say "I love you" to anyone that I didn't intend on marrying.  Foreshadowing.

May 2011:  Laura graduates from Auburn.   I leave for South Dakota for the summer while Laura leaves for Uganda.

August 2011: I return to Auburn for my senior year and she moves back to Birmingham.

May 2012:  I graduate from Auburn and move to Birmingham.  Until this point, we had spent more time apart than we had spent together.

December 2012:  I spend about a week lying to Laura while I'm preparing to purchase her ring.  In case you were worried, she forgave me for that.

January 27th, 2013:  I leave for Honduras for one year.

April 27th, 2013:

May 10th, 2014:  Laura and I will get married.

Church

Well, as promised, here is the second installment of recent Honduras updates.  Our church doesn't have a name.  In fact, when people ask where I go to church, I'm kind of at a loss for words because I don't feel like I attend a church.  I feel much more like I am a part of a local body of believers, a small body, but a body nonetheless.  So, the body of believers of which I am a part meets in a small house on the outskirts of town in barrio Calan.  The majority of people in this area are very poor.  None own cars, making it difficult to attend a regular church in town somewhere.  Most live without electricity, clean water, ample food, and security.  For example, the sister in whose house we meet makes 600 Lempiras  a month as a maid for a large house nearby.  That's 30 bucks a month.  As is the case far too many times in Honduras, she is a single mother with 5 kids--her  husband was murdered a few years ago.

As it goes, this is the story of many people in my church.  The majority demographic are widows with anywhere from 1-5 kids, all living on scrap income, trying to make ends meet.

For all the sadness and poor conditions that I could tell you about, that's not what I want to focus on, because that's not what they focus on.  These people are growing in Christ.  I can't say that all are believers in Christ, but for those that are, I see them growing in the likeness of Christ, and for those that aren't I see them growing too.  They are committed to prayer and meeting regularly and tithing.  I would say that over 60% of the Hondurans that attend are illiterate, not a very shocking statistic considering that most, since a young age, have worked just trying to support their family, eliminating the possibility of attaining a formal education.  I am proud to say that I am a part of this local body of believers.  Their commitment to growing in the likeness of Christ inspires me each and every week.  I want to share a few stories of recent happenings with people in this body.

Hermana Candida is a single mother with a little girl. (By the way, hermana or hermano means sister or brother and is very common to put in front of names here, just so you're aware).  She lives about a 45 minute walk from where we meet on Sunday mornings and Tuesday evenings prayer, but she is always the first to arrive.  I have seen more growth in this sister in the past few months that anyone else.  She, like many, only attended school through the third grade and never learned to read.  Determined, however, hermana Candida taught herself to read using the Bible.  She now reads very well.  He is always the first one to volunteer when a reader is requested.

A few weeks ago a thief broke into hermana Candida's home and stole almost all of her plates and dishes.  The next week, the thief returned….to ask for forgiveness.  He felt so bad about what he had done he had come to return what he had stolen and ask for her forgiveness.  Hermana Candida, in response, told him: "No.  If you had to resort to stealing them, you probably needed them more than I did anyway.  Why don't you just keep them?"  What did Jesus say again, something about "if they steal your shirt, give them your cloak too?"  Talk about Christlikeness!  This story made me beam with pride over her growth in Christ.  How many of us Americans, after having something stolen from us, would suggest that the thief keep what he took if he offered to return it?!

Hermano Geraldo is probably closing in on 80 years old.  He lives with his elderly wife in a house just up the hill from where we meet.  He attends faithfully and is always ready to share, as we do every week, what he is thankful to God for.  A few weeks ago, at our weekly Tuesday afternoon prayer meetings, we prayed that he would find a job.  Two days after praying that evening, he found work.  In fact, he didn't even go looking for it, but the work came looking for him.  I guess that's just God saying, "Hey, look what I can do!"

These are just two examples of the ways that people in my church are growing to be more like Christ.  I would ask that you continue to keep this body of believers in your prayers.  Pray that they would, despite their circumstances, trust that God is faithful to provide all of their needs.  Pray, also, that they would realize the call to follow Christ and do so with their whole life.

As always, stay tuned for more updates soon….

Jr.

I'm watching words appear on my computer screen one letter at a time right now, but I'm disappointed with their ability to communicate.  My vice is that letters and commas and diphthongs and contractions and dependent clauses and  paragraphs don't afford you the ability to see, smell, touch, or taste.  Fortunately, we, as humans, were cleverly designed with a little thing called imagination.  If you haven't used yours in a while, take it off the shelf, dust off the cobwebs, and fire it up.  If you happen to be one of those people, perhaps the graphic design or artist or daydreamer type, that oft takes advantage of the creative little idea generator we call imagination, then consider yourself ready for our little exercise.  Here's how it will work:  I will use the aforementioned forms of written communication and you must promise to use that ole' imagination to see, smell, touch, and taste what I'm talking about.  

¿Cheque?

Bueno.

I'd like to introduce you to someone.  We'll call him Jr.  Jr. is a mason.   He, like many others in Honduras, have a 6th grade education.  There's not much motivation to study past 6th grade to educate yourself to get a good job when there are no jobs.  Unemployment is crippling Honduras.  He began working with his father upon graduation, and has since become a very capable mason.  Jr. is 17 years old; he lives with his 7 month old little girl and his mujer (Not his wife, just his 'woman.'  Cultural translation: baby momma).  Being in construction myself, I found myself often crossing paths with Jr.  When he was hired as the mason for a housing project on campus where I live about two months ago, I had a feeling that it wasn't by chance.   I felt confident that God had placed him in my life, literally two doors down, to disciple.  The only problem was that I happened to be trapped--trapped by my own comfort zone.  God, however, was not surprised by this; so, as I sat in my house eating a nice turkey sandwich and bell pepper for lunch one day, God sent Jr. to me.  If I was going to be trapped by my own comfort zone, God was going to send the very thing that kept me in my comfort zone to yank me out of it.  Funny how that works.  That day, and every day for the next week or so, Jr. knocked on my door just before lunch time and invited me to eat with him and his helper.  

Who's discipling whom, again?

God has since made sure that I don't even remember where I put my comfort zone.  That's probably because when Jr. shattered it into a million pieces, there was no hope of putting it back together.  However, every time I start to lay bricks again around myself, trying to re-construct my cozy comfort zone, my mason friend who "I'm discipling" walks up and destroys them with a quick invitation to lunch.  (I very carefully chose the wording for that sentence.  Please feel free to praise God for the irony).  

In all seriousness, however, Jr. and I have had wonderful conversations over pollo and Coke at lunch (Not really pollo [chicken], just a sweet bread.  But calling it  pollo, I suppose, makes them feel better, so I follow along).  We've talked about Christ's sacrifice on the cross.  We've talked about the radical love that God has shown us.  We've discussed the Lord's Supper, baptism, the end times, the great flood, and other religions.  He's much more curious about the things of God and Christ and the Bible than I would have imagined.   I guess that along with destroying my comfort zone, Jr. has taught me a lesson in not judging a book by its cover.  Again, who's discipling whom here?  

Jr. has a working knowledge of God and Christ and the Bible, but his past experiences with religion and "Christians" seem to be hindering him from moving forward.  The conservative evangelical church here sometimes seems to have a hint of legalism thrown in (Christians can't drink, smoke, dance(?), listen to non-Christian music, or else….) that he has bought into, and because of this, I fear that he doesn't completely understand the concept of the grace of God.  Of course, I don't want him to think that the grace of God is a license to drink or smoke or dance(?) or listen to non-Christian music, I just want him to understand that abstinence won't save him--only the grace of God will.  On the flip side of that argument, abstinence is by no means a bad thing, but when it becomes a qualifier to being a Christian, it's just plain blasphemous.    My prayer is that God would finally and noticeably grip his heart with the Gospel of which he is already aware.  I long to see him embrace the grace of God, fall in love with the Word of God, and intentionally engage people for God.  Would you join me in praying that for Jr.?

I am thankful for God giving me a gentle kick in the pants to engage in this relationship (Really, it was more like a not-so-gentle push off a cliff without me initially knowing that he had already fitted me with a parachute [i.e. the Holy Spirit], but since you're already using your imagination, you get the point).  I know this post was a tad tongue-and-cheek, but please believe me that my passion really is to engage people in Honduras for the gospel of Christ, even if my flesh want's something different.  This story is only more proof of Satan's disgust of my being here and his (feeble) attempt to minimize the impact of the gospel that I carry.  Would you join me in praying that he continues to grow disgusted of me?  

I had planned on updating you on a few different things that have happened over the past six weeks, but for the sake of your imagination, I believe I'll break it up into segments.  Be on the lookout for more to come!

Do Not Be Conformed

Same Place, Different Locations

There was a haze in the air tonight.  You couldn't tell it right around you, but on the horizon, interrupted by dark mountains, it transformed the sunset into a dulled version of what could have been.  Red and orange turned a soft pink and yellow completely disappeared into the backdrop of the sky.  No clouds.  Only variations of blue, expansive blue, that darkened as you moved your eyes away from the sunset toward the east. This evening felt strangely familiar.  It didn't seem all that different from some of the sunsets I've seen in central North Carolina or southeast Alabama or from some of the evenings I've spent in southwest South Dakota.  If you took a second to look up tonight, we were looking at the same sun, the same sky, and, before long, we'd be looking at the same stars.  Tonight the sunset reminded me:

We're all in the same place, just different locations.

In America, I was surrounded every day by people who were happy, sad, frustrated, broken, alone, apathetic, angry, helpless, capable, cynical, poor, rich, joyful, and miserable.  In Honduras, I am surrounded every day by people who are happy, sad, frustrated, broken, alone, apathetic, angry, helpless, capable, cynical, poor, rich, joyful, and miserable.  Funny how that works.  When I left the States, I expected to find myself in a different place.  Turns out, I just traded landscapes.  I've learned that it doesn't really matter where you are in terms of latitude and longitude, you're always among the same people.  Sure, cultures change, skin colors change, languages change, and governments change, but in the grand scheme of things, we're all just lost souls trying to find an identity.  For some, that identity is wrapped up in trying to survive until the next day.  For many, they've found themselves in their abilities, in their money, or in their prestige.  For others, they've found themselves  in a job, a girl, a bottle, or a pill.  And there're still those who've found themselves in a false god: Buddha, Allah, or their own version of Jesus.  So you see, Honduras isn't all that different from the Bible belt which isn't all that different from the Horn of Africa which isn't all that different from London, or Tokyo, or Paris, or LA.

Hands down, the most unifying characteristic that we all share, regardless of hemisphere, political party, social status, or whether or not we've been blessed enough to have ever eaten at Bojangle's, is that we are all hopeless sinners desperately in need of a Savior.  Christian, can we please stop putting so much stock into where we are and start working out our salvation based on who we are in Christ?  I'm convinced that we will never reach our potential to make disciples and multiply the kingdom until we do so.  You are a child of God, redeemed from the dead by the precious blood of the Son, and empowered daily by the Holy Spirit to live a life of righteousness.  That is who you are in Christ and you "have received grace and apostleship to bring about the obedience of faith for the sake of his name among all the nations."  Your status as a child of God means that you are now commissioned for bringing about the obedience of faith for the sake of his name among all the nations.  This commission is reiterated multiple times in Scripture.  "Go, therefore and make disciples of all nations…." "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth." Paul even once asked for prayer that every time he opened his mouth he would "boldly proclaim the mystery of the gospel."

I hope you see that you are who you are in Christ so that you share Christ and his gospel with those around you.  It's not reserved for Superchristians, or missionaries, or pastors, but it's something that every child of God is redeemed to do.  Be assured, one day, when you stand in front of an all holy God who asks you what you did with his Son, you won't be able to say that you accepted him but didn’t tell others about him because you weren't called to be an overseas missionary or pastor.  That won't fly because no matter where you live and no matter what title you claim, you are surrounded by people who can't find their identity.  The person around the corner from you in Birmingham is the same person around the corner from me in Siguatepeque.  Maybe a different skin color, language, or social class, but still the same person: hopeless sinner desperately in need of a Savior.  The person that sits two seats down from you in Calculus is the same person that is working two doors down from my house: hopeless sinner desperately in need of a Savior.  

So you see, we're all in the same place, just different locations.  Life happens in Honduras just like it does in America.  People fail, they succeed, they're happy, they're not content, they're rich, they're poor.  They live in a cruel world because they lost money in the stock market or because they got sick from a water parasite.  There is no room to hide behind the safety and comfort of our everyday lives, that's too dangerous and you were redeemed for far more than that.  So whether you live in the suburbs or the Sahara, you are who you are in Christ for the same reason: to bring about the obedience of faith for the sake of his name among all the nations.  Don't be fooled by the culture, the language, or the circumstances around you…

…were all in the same place, just different locations.

Scandalous Grace: Testimonies from Honduras

Theodore was kicked out of his mother's house when he was 16.  No money, no job, no friends, and no hope led him to join Honduran Air Force.  For three years, the army not  only taught him to be a gunner, it also taught him how to drink and how to smoke pot.  Before long, causal use and abuse of drugs and alcohol turned into a full blown addiction.   Hard liquor, marijuana, gasoline, and glue were his go-to's to get high.  For 15 years, this was his life--a constant fight to stay high.   One day, Theodore sat in a large house,  completely empty except for one bed.  On one side of the bed was all the marijuana he could want.  On the other side of the bed was a bottle of glue good for sniffing.  In his  hand was a bottle of liquor.

Drunk, high and alone he sat pondering the last 15 years of hell that his life had turned into.
Drunk, high and alone he heard a voice tell him that he was created for more than the cheap thrills of substance abuse.
Drunk, high and alone he stammered into a church where he heard that God loved him and desired a relationship with him.
Drunk, high and no longer alone, he turned his life over to Christ on that day.

The next 15 days were the hardest days of his life.  Detox.  Withdrawals.  Cold sweats.  Migraines.  Every passing second the Devil was screaming at him, reminding him  where his drugs and alcohol were, making him keenly aware that the pain, the headaches, and misery could all disappear with one sip, one drag, or one sniff.  But he also  heard God whispering to him, "I am better.  I am worth this. I have plans for you."  Spiritual warfare at its toughest.

But Theodore persevered.  God was enough. The addictions that plagued him for so long had been crushed by Christ.  Theodore  has since attended seminary and served as  a missionary high in the mountains of Honduras.  He told me of the next-to-impossible living conditions in those mountains, but this was not the first time that he had  nothing but God to depend on.  I asked him if, despite the living conditions and the spiritual depravity, God was enough.  His face twisted as if surprised that I would ask such a dumb question.

"Absolutely," he answered.



Rudy was a popular guy.  He frequented dance clubs during his younger (and thinner) days and won people over with his breakdancing.  But as it turned out, all the friends and attention in  the world didn't satisfy him.  He knew there was something more.  He tried alcohol, but still nothing.  He tried women--nothing.  Emptiness consumed him.  Emptiness  continued to consume him until the day he heard the words from Joshua 1:9.  "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous.  Do not be frightened, and do not be  dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."  That was it.  That was the hope, the significance, the meaning that Rudy so desperately longed after.  He  went on to quote 2 Corinthians 5:17 to tell me how his life completely changed after coming to know Christ.

He is now an incredible mason, tile layer, and all around workhorse.   He considers himself a national missionary because he shares his faith unashamedly with as many  people as he can.  He has shared the gospel with gang members, assassins, addicts and everyone in between.  He now has "grandchildren" in the faith as some of those that  he helped lead to Christ are now doing the same.  His love for God and his joy in life are inescapable and contagious.



Alex was a runner.  When both parents walked out, he and his 8 brothers and sisters were forced to fend for themselves.  He was the first one to try to make it to America,  so he took off running.  He eventually made it, became a legal immigrant, and planned to stake his new life in Texas.  He arrived to America not knowing a single word of  English, but he was determined.  He read the newspaper every day and soaked up every bit of English that he could handle.  Not long after he set up his new life in America,  through events that could be orchestrated by none other than God himself, Alex became a Christian.  Then, not long after that, he felt God calling him back to Honduras.  He  didn't want to though, so he took off running again.  This time, in the opposite direction, Canada.  It's no wonder that Alex calls himself a modern day Jonah.

It didn't take but a few years in Canada for Alex to realize that God still wanted him back in Honduras.  This time, instead of running away, Alex obeyed.  He returned to  Honduras where he is now a pastor.  He studies God's word diligently and is currently in the process of translating commentaries into Spanish for use in discipleship.  He  believes with all his heart that Honduras' greatest need is the gospel, and so he has devoted his life to proclaiming it to his national brothers and sisters.



These are three incredible testimonies of men that I have the privilidge of serving alongside.  With each one, the gospel becomes more and more real to me.  Our death and depravity discussed in Ephesians 2 only becomes more real.  The power of the saving blood Christ discussed in Hebrews 9 only becomes more incredible.

Behold your God!  What a glorious master we serve!  What a scandalous God we serve that takes the broken, the angry, the bitter, the hurting, and the addicted and turns them into instruments for multiplication of his Kingdom. God's plan for the redemption of this world will not be thwarted.  How amazing it is that our God saves!  How awesome it is that our God redeems, that he brings the dead to life!


Like the sunrise, which every morning brings new mercies, our God is forever offering irresistible, life-changing, scandalous grace.

"Home for the weak.  Home for the poor.  Home for the broken.  Home for the angry.  Home for the bitter and confused.  Home for the broken.  Home for the hurting.  Home for the cynic.  Home for the addicted.  Home for those who've lost all the words to all their songs.  Do you not know? Have you not hear?  Your Father does not get weary of you."

One Thousand Words

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words.  I suppose I could take a picture for you, but I guarantee that it wouldn't do justice to what I am seeing.  For example, if I had taken a picture, you wouldn't have known that I almost had to change my pants because of the ungodly noise that just came out of a bird in the tree next to me.  But, now you know.  If I had taken picture, you wouldn't have known that the temperature in Siguatepeque right now is, in a word, perfect.  You know that temperature where you can't really even tell if it's hot or cold, it just is?  Well, because I didn't take a picture, now you know that.  So, instead of taking a picture, which is apparently worth 1,000 words, here is 1,000 words.

Things move slower in Honduras.  I suppose it may be that way in any Latin American country, but since Honduras is the extent of my travels in Latin America, I will liken it only to Honduras for the time being.  Sure, the minute hand still takes 60 minutes to complete a full circle, but for some reason, everything operates slower.  Everything is so fast paced at home.  You must get to work on time.  If you're early, you're on time and if you're on time, you're late.  I haven't seen that here.  Here, it's okay to stop and talk to your neighbor, or stop to pick a lemon.  And let me tell you, the lemons are huge.

Every morning so far, after my eggs or cereal or oatmeal or bagel and after my orange juice and after my time with God, I hear in a loud Honduran voice, "Rrrrrroberto!"  Of course, there is no mistaking that Tungo, my fellow carpenter/maintenance man extraordinaire, is greeting me good morning.  He usually thinks of a phrase overnight to ask me how to say in English.  This morning he wanted to know how to say "la luna esta bonita por la noche," which, of course, in English means, "the moon is beautiful at night."  Then, throughout the day, he will correct me when I conjugate a word incorrectly or when I accidently put "la" with a masculine word or "el" with a feminine one (he's a real stickler for that). We talk in Spanish throughout the day, which is comforting to know that I can and he understands me.  He leaves like clockwork at noon for lunch because it is, after all, the most important meal of the day (to a Honduran at least).  I usually work until I reach a stopping point then walk back to my house to fix lunch.  The past few days, it has been turkey on white with two pieces of lettuce, a Kraft singles slice of American cheese, and a tomato which I am not sure will ever ripen.  Oh, and of course mayonnaise.   I usually drink water because I haven't been able to make sweet tea yet.  Sweet tea, normally, would be a paramount task when preparing a kitchen, but the reason I do not have any has everything to do with the fact that I bought milk in a bag.  But before I tell you how those two relate, allow me to take you to the place where I bought said bagged milk.

They say that Del Corral is the nicest supermarket in all of Honduras.  That's probably because it's one of the only supermarkets in all of Honduras.  Most of them aren't the "super" kind.  Del Corral is the Publix of Honduras, or if you're from North Carolina, the Harris Teeter of Honduras.  Well, actually, that comparison only works if every other supermarket in America was a hole in the wall on the side of the road.  But you get the point.  They have American brands, but you will pay through the nose for them.  Even still, I splurged to get the authentic Quaker Apples n' Cinnamon oatmeal to which I am so accustomed to eating, and the Double Stuffed Golden Oreos.    I got really good at dividing by 20.  Honduras Lempiras are 20:1 compared to the dollar.  For example, my Quaker Apples n' Cinnamon oatmeal was 100 Lempira, which cost 5 bucks.  For the most part, things are cheaper than they are at home, but it still is going to take some getting used to when I see 214 next to the Gain laundry detergent.  Once  my outrage has subsided, I remember to divide by 20.  About 10 bucks….that'll do.  And again, it's kind of weird to see 1,720 on the cash register upon check out.  Then I remember to divide by 20.  90 bucks….that'll do too.  

So back to the milk.  I knew I wouldn't drink a whole gallon of milk before it expired, so my only other option was to buy a quart of milk in a bag.  After being assured that it was the same milk, just packaged differently, I decided to buy it.  (Sidenote: some of you remember in elementary school when they stopped selling milk in cartons and started to sell it in bags?  Well, needless to say, this brought back memories).  Jump to the following morning after I bought groceries.  I wake up to the thought of Frosted Flakes, better known as Zucaritas.  As I get my milk out of the refrigerator, I begin to foresee all kinds of misfortune stemming from this bag o' milk.  First of all, how do you pour milk out of a bag?  Secondly, how on God's green earth do you store milk in a non-resealable bag?  Well, being the cunning fellow that I am, I decide to pour my milk from its bag into the half gallon pitcher that I found in my kitchen.  Genius!  All of my milk-related problems are solved!  Now, flash forward to lunch time.  As is custom, I am prepared to drink sweet tea with my meal.  So, I start to make my tea only to find that…….there are no more pitchers in my house.  Panic.  Search every cabinet, every drawer.  Alas, no pitcher.  This only means one thing, I have no apparatus in which to store my sweet tea.  What a costly blunder I have made!  I put milk, a drink of which I only partake out of necessity, in the only pitcher I own whilst shunning the possibility of being able to have sweet tea, which, everybody knows, is the most delightful drink a man can drink!  You can be assured that I won't be making that mistake again.

After lunch, I return to, "Rrrrrrroberto!"  Naturally, I respond with "Tungooooo!"  I have been painting an on-campus apartment for married seminary student while Tungo does electrical work/corrects my Spanish.  He tells me the English words that are hard for him to say.  He gets "kitchen" and "chicken" confused.  I've never thought of those words being difficult to say.  In all fairness, however, he probably doesn't think "taladro" is hard to say either (that's the word for "drill").  The afternoon clicks on by, slowly, but not painfully so--delightfully.  Sometime in the afternoon you can start to smell the burning trash.  Think of an odd mixture of sweet and hot smells and you have burning trash.  It really stings the nostrils.  It's not so bad though.  Late in the afternoons  are so pleasant.  I can hear three 8, 9 and 10 year olds LARPing Star Wars while a three year old tries to tag along.  There is a constant breeze; a nice relief from the intense sun that has produced temperatures north of 80.  The heat dissipates quickly though.  By 4:30, it starts to be that kind of weather I was talking about, where you can't feel it, it just is.

The evenings are easy here.  The crickets produce a constant chirp.  The breeze blows my blinds into a clanking nose if I leave the windows open, which I usually do.  I pass the hours with my buddy J.I. Packer, or with my guitar, or with the apostle Paul, or with King David usually while a mixture of Shane & Shane, David Crowder and Walking in Memphis play in the background.  The talented Matt Thiessen reminds me that "loneliness and solitude are two things not to get confused, 'cause I spend my solitude with You."  It really does ring true.  So far, I have coveted my evenings because they are such a wonderful time so spend with my God.  Reading, praying, memorizing.  I can feel my faith growing in the evenings.

Skype is quickly becoming a best friend of mine.  I am thankful that technology affords me the ability to talk with family and friends.  It was difficult to say goodbye.  I try to remind myself that it's only one year, but you never know.  That hug I gave them before I left could be the last one the every receive from me.  Even with the ability to talk and video chat, the reality that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow weighs heavy on my heart.  It is these times that I have to remind myself of Jesus' words in Luke 14.  "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple."  Please understand the context, here.  I do not hate my family, but I do love Jesus more.  What is even more comforting, is that Jesus gives hope to those willing to commit to such a task in Matthew 19.  "Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name's sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life."  It is all worth it.  Every tear, every lonely night, every missed moment to come will be worth it.  I am in Honduras so that, one day, the slaughtered Lamb and conquering Lion might receive every bit of glory that he deserves for drinking the full cup of God's holy wrath that was due to us.  It doesn't matter the price.  This mission is worth it.

Now that night has fully overtaken Siguatepeque, the crickets still chirp, but now I can hear the road.  It bustles with motorcycles, and cars, and jake brakes.  Siguatepeque will soon be asleep, only to rise again tomorrow.  To rise again to stare life, or death, right in the face.  Many will rise again and their day will be filled simply with trying to survive until the next.  But there is hope.  There is hope because there is still life, and as long as there is life, there is hope.  There is hope that God might grip a heart with irresistible grace and burden it over its own wickedness.

Will you join me in praying that God might do this to some in Siguatepeque?

You see, had I just taken a picture, you wouldn't have gotten that.  I can still smell the burning trash, but you wouldn't have known that from a picture.   You actually get two pictures tonight because that was about 2,000 words.

Don't worry, the second one's on me.