DAY TWO: “Unready but Willing”

Day Two – Officially Honduras Bound.

A million emotions fly as we make our way through a crowded airport at 4 AM. It’s much more crowded than anticipated. People are weaving in and out, voices blending into a low buzz, and the scent of burnt coffee drifts through the air from an unseen Starbucks.

It’s early, painfully early…but our team is running on a strange mix of adrenaline, nerves, and an overconfident amount of in-room hotel coffee. There’s this beautiful, unspoken sense that something big is beginning, and we’re slowly awakening to what that may be.

As we stand in long lines, shuffle bags through security, and wait at our gate, I’m struck by how much this mission continues with every action, smile, and gesture, for each other, and toward everyone we come into contact with. We know it doesn’t begin once our “boots” hit the ground in Honduras. Nor when the first nail is hammered or the first meal handed out. It starts here, in the way we serve each other. It shows in the way we slow down for the tired one lagging behind, or when a word of encouragement is offered to someone who’s overwhelmed or nervous about flying.

I watched one of our team members quietly give up their aisle seat so someone else could sit with a friend. Another gently nudged a teammate awake when it was time to board. No fanfare, just a simple act of care. And somewhere between TSA checkpoints and gate changes, I realized: this is it. This is the mindset Paul was talking about in Philippians 2.

“Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit…” That hits differently when you’re running on very little sleep and everyone’s dragging luggage.

“…but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” That’s not just a verse—it’s a decision. One we get to make over and over again, even in the small things.

After arriving in Honduras, we were met by a golden sun that spilled across the landscape like a welcome mat. The skies were glowing, the air was warm, and for a moment, it felt like the country itself was smiling at us. But just beyond Montaña de los Comayagua, a different story was unfolding. A storm loomed—dark, swirling, and brooding—like something out of a painting. It held off just long enough for us to settle in. Then, as if heaven turned on a faucet, the skies opened and poured out rain of near-Biblical proportions. Thunder echoed off the mountains, and lightning danced on the horizon like a divine drumroll ushering us into something sacred.

And then came the welcome.

The ministry team from In the Midst greeted us like long-lost relatives—people we’d never met, but instantly belonged to. There was warmth in their eyes, joy in their embraces, and an ease in their laughter that made the language barrier feel like nothing at all. That’s one of the gifts of Hispanic culture: everyone is family. And in this family, “welcome” means embrace. It means shared stories, shared burdens, and someone always looking out for you.

Before our feet had time to fully land on Honduran soil, we found ourselves stepping into our first ministry opportunity—a home Bible study tucked within the walls of a humble home. About 25 of us gathered there, too many to fit inside, so we clustered beneath the shelter of a small portico and around the outdoor kitchen, where the smell of wood smoke lingered from an earlier meal. (See photo for context.)

It began as most holy moments do: in simplicity. A prayer. A few worship songs lifted under the darkening sky. Then a word of encouragement from Jessica, one of In the Midst’s team leads. Her voice was steady and sincere, translated with care by her husband so that every word could find its way into the hearts of those gathered in that spall space.

We were tired—bone-tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your shoulders and settles behind your eyes after a long day of airports, customs, and winding mountain roads. We weren’t ready to serve. Not really. But that’s the thing about ministry—it rarely asks if you’re ready. It just invites you in anyway.

One of the messages given echoed 1 Corinthians 1, a reminder that God delights in using what the world deems weak and foolish. And there we stood: tired, weak, a little disoriented—and right where God wanted us. We had nothing to boast in but Christ, and somehow, that was more than enough.

As the evening came to a close, we circled around one of the women who had rededicated her life to Jesus. We laid hands, whispered prayers, and watched God do what only He can—turn a simple gathering into holy ground.

With full hearts and aching bodies, we finally crawled into our bunks, the rain still falling like a lullaby on the roofs around us. Tomorrow begins construction on two homes—promises long-awaited by families who have prayed and hoped for nearly two years.

We are tired.We are humbled.But we are here.And God is continuing to move.