DAY FOUR: “The Gospel Echoes Beyond the Hammer’s Song”

Philippians 2:3–5 / Romans 10:14–15

The smell of sunscreen clung to the kitchen like a fog this morningon the countertops, in the air, on every arm and neck and nose. It was finally hot enough to matter, and every team member was lathered up and laughing as we prepared for another day of work under the Honduran sun.

Today is our last build and there is a mix of excitement and wonder. Schedules here in Honduras are more discovered then announced. In fact, I believe that is most likely true of most other cultures and missions trips in other cultures. There is a general sense of what needs to be accomplished, but the day unfolds as it will. For the believer in Christ, we know that in “ALL THINGS God works for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purposes”. That’s the lesson each American learns and then usually forgets as they travel back to their own lives.

The homestead where we would serve today was already buzzing with activity by the time we arrived. Chickens wandered freely across the path, a couple of turkeys call and strut about, and the soft clanging of metal echoed from somewhere behind the house next to where we were working. It was alive not just with animals, but with purpose. The abuelos of the family with which we were working were already preparing for the day, and it felt like we were stepping into the rhythm of something of which we were invited to bring more Hope and Purpose. We were coming as messengers of Jehovah Jireh, the God who provides.

This was the homestead of Junior and Lettie. The location? That’s a little more tricky. Roads aren’t named as much as they are described by those living on them or natural sights that have sprung forth. “It’s a left turn 2 homes past Ricardo’s” or “It’s just a ways from where the Mango tree covers the street with shade.” This plot of land could be described as “the lot with a breathtaking view of the valley stretching out below and the mountains standing tall in the distance like sentinels.” But what made this site especially meaningful wasn’t just the scenery, it was the sense of shared effort that unfolded throughout the day.

From start to finish, we worked side by side with our Honduran brothers. The language barrier seemed to matter less and less with each hour. Smiles, nods, a simple “gracias” or “muy bien” went further than we realized. What was built today was more than a house. It was trust. It was partnership. It was the quiet miracle of God using our different cultures and languages to accomplish one Kingdom goal.

But this build was also deeply personal. Junior, the man of the house, doesn’t yet know Jesus. He works as a tobacco farmer and recently suffered a serious machete injury to his chest. Despite the pain and uncertainty of that wound, he welcomed us with kindness, hospitality, and a quiet strength.

After the home was completed, we gathered inside the freshly built walls and shared the Gospel once more. Then, we prayed for Junior, openly, tearfully, and powerfully. It was one of those moments where no translation was needed. Everyone felt the weight of it. The hope of it. The presence of the Holy Spirit moving in and among us.

His wife, Lettie, was visibly emotional her tears a reflection of the burden she carries. As the believing spouse, she bears the weight of spiritual leadership in their home, interceding for her husband and longing for the day he’ll join her in faith.

Later that evening, we gathered for a youth service full of music, worship, and heartfelt stories. The team helped lead songs, the voices of Honduran teens and American teens rising together, blending in a way that felt like a glimpse of heaven.

Noah Brown brought energy and laughter with a couple of games, proudly showing off his newly learned Spanish phrases. The kids from both sides dove into the games with enthusiasm running, cheering, and sometimes teasing each other in the most playful way.

You could feel the walls between cultures melting as smiles grew wider and the air buzzed with the pure joy of connection. It was a moment of unfiltered fun where language barriers disappeared, replaced by the universal language of laughter and play.

Lexie bravely shared her testimony that night. Her words were real and raw and spoke deeply to the students gathered. There was a stillness in the room afterward the kind of stillness that lets you know something sacred just took place.

Today was a day of connection not just through the work of our hands, but through the worship that lifted our spirits, and through a prayer so honest and tear-filled that it bound us together in ways words alone could never capture. We didn’t just build a house for Junior and his family. We built a foundation of trust that stretches beyond language and culture, reaching deep into hearts.

With every nail driven and every board lifted, we were reminded that this mission is about much more than physical shelter. It’s about planting seeds of hope, faith, and love that may take root and flourish in ways we cannot yet see. Today’s prayer for Junior was one of those seeds. It was a sacred moment of surrender and intercession, filled with the belief that God is already at work in his life, moving toward a story of redemption and grace.

This house stands as a symbol not only of shelter, but of a relationship beginning to forma bridge built with hands and hearts alike. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most powerful work we do is unseen, carried out in moments of vulnerability, trust, and shared hope.

And though we leave the physical building behind at the end of the day, the impact of what was built today both tangible and eternal will linger far longer. We are humbled to be part of a story still being written, hopeful that this chapter in Junior’s life will someday be remembered as the day God’s light broke through in a new and profound way.

Until All Have Heard,

Pastor Mark