DAY SIX: “We Climbed a Mountain to Deliver This—But Got So Much More”

A Teacher Walks His Students to the main building to meet the American Team

We began early today to a village up in one of the mountain ranges. On our way up, we switchback into the mountains on a road barely wide enough for a single car. Dust clings to every surface…dashboard, backpacks, armrests—and settles into every hair follicle. It’s the kind of drive where you keep one hand on the seat in front of you and one eye on the drop-off.

We pass long-forgotten homes, tucked into the hillsides. People live far from convenience, yet they seem content…sustaining themselves from the land they’ve known all their lives. The road is flanked by banana trees, plantains, and steep slopes newly sown with beans and corn. A crude rock wall edges part of the trail, equal parts livestock barrier and property line.

After a long, steep climb roads etched with deep ruts from the last rains we pull into a clearing that can barely be called a village center. The school is clearly the hub of life this morning. Children’s voices spill out of unseen classrooms to greet us as we step off the bus into San José de Ramos.

We’re welcomed by wide-eyed students and sweet mountain smiles. They knew we were coming. They’d heard visitors were bringing gifts and laughter and their excitement radiates through the schoolyard.

A few team members present a skit about calling on God when we’re stuck in sin or trouble. The kids erupt in laughter, leaning into the silly, exaggerated moments. Then Rowyn steps up to recap what they just saw. She reminds them of the truth behind the fun: that God hears us when we cry out. Always.

While the kids watch, other team members begin setting out bags gifts packed with donated school supplies: scissors, glue, crayons, colored pencils, paper, jump ropes, flying discs, and more. Thanks to the incredible generosity of families back home who supported our “Drop it in the Duffel” drive, we were able to bring 100 gift bags. Parents peek from the fence line with smiles of gratitude, and kids vibrate with anticipation, eyes locked on the treasures just steps away.

Pastor Misa presents the Gospel as residents gather for needed supplies

Once the last bag is handed out, we gather with community members again this time to distribute food staples: rice& beans. Grateful grandparents with grandchildren in tow, young mothers cradling toddlers too little for school, neighbors with sun-worn hands and dust-covered shoes…they all come. The local pulpería may carry a few goods, but nothing like this. As bags are received, you can almost feel a collective exhale… provision, relief, and gratitude.

Then, one by one, they begin their journeys home. Some head up further into the hills, others down the slope. It’s not uncommon to walk a mile or more for school, for church, or for help. But today, they walk home with something more than supplies. They carry the love of a God who saw them… and sent someone to remind them they are not forgotten.

Escuela Héctor Tranquilino Uclés—the heartbeat of this little mountain village—was our mission field today. And like always, it left more of a mark on us than we ever could’ve imagined.

Before heading back down the mountain, we made a brief stop in Valle de Ángeles a small artisan village nestled in the hills known for its handcrafted goods and colorful market stalls. The cobbled streets buzzed with quiet energy as we wandered past woodcarvings, woven bags, hand-painted pottery, and souvenirs made by local families whose craft has been passed down through generations.

Several of us picked up fresh-roasted Honduran coffee straight from local roasters and distributors…aromatic, rich, and full of flavor that tells the story of these mountains in every cup. (So smooth becuase of the low acidity of the soil) While it was a chance to rest and pick up gifts for loved ones back home, it was also a moment to invest directly into the lives and livelihoods of the people who call this beautiful country home.

Until All Have Heard,

Pastor Mark