There’s this idea that missionaries are only people sent overseas to build homes, plant churches, or preach to crowds. But I’ve been learning that maybe the question isn’t what do you do as a missionary, but who are you becoming when you say yes to Jesus?

I’m back in the States now, but I won’t actually be home for another Five days. This in-between space feels strange. It’s like my heart is still somewhere between dirt roads in Honduras and the life waiting for me back home. There’s joy in remembering it all, but also a quiet ache in realizing a season is closing.

Honduras was so, so good.

We stayed in Comayagua, Honduras with a missions organization called Catracho Missions, and from the moment we arrived, we were met with open arms, warm smiles, and a kind of hospitality that stays with you. The base itself wad set on a farm surrounded by animals everywhere: chickens, goats, sheep, donkeys, horses, ducks, bunnies, and dogs that somehow became part of the story too. There was Pig, a scrappy stray that everyone had an opinion about, and Blui and Zion, the sweetest pastoral dogs who always seemed to be wherever people needed comfort.

It was simple life but somehow deeply full.

Even the sounds became familiar in a comforting way. Roosters in the morning. Goats in the distance. Wind moving through open fields. And in those ordinary sounds, I started realizing something sometimes peace doesn’t look like silence, it looks like presence.

One of the biggest gifts of this season was getting to speak Spanish every day and translate in ministry. There is something holy about speaking to someone in their own language like love becomes more tangible when barriers fall. I messed up a lot. I misunderstood things. I fumbled words. But even in that, the Lord was teaching me that He uses willingness more than perfection.

As Scripture says:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

And I felt that in real time.

Every night we gathered for devotionals, and those moments became like anchors in the middle of full days. Worship wasn’t just a moment it felt like breath. A reminder that none of us were carrying anything alone.

But if I had to choose one thing that shaped me most deeply, it would be the house visits.

We would walk into the same homes day after day, and slowly something sacred would happen familiarity. Trust. Relationship. Not rushed conversations, but shared life.

There were hard days too. Days when people didn’t want to listen. Days when the door stayed emotionally closed even when it physically opened. And yet, even in that tension, I kept coming back to this truth: obedience is still fruitful, even when we can’t see it.

One of the most unforgettable days was my birthday.

We visited a home we had already been to a few times before. A sweet elderly woman lived there  the kind of grandmother who makes you want to sit on her porch forever and just listen to her stories. That day, her daughter-in-law and a neighbor joined us too. We were handing out Bibles and reading together from Ephesians 2.

And something about it felt quiet and holy.

No dramatic moment. No emotional altar call. Just Scripture, shared space, and hearts that were listening in ways only God can fully see.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith… it is the gift of God.” — Ephesians 2:8

And I remember thinking: this is enough. Even if nothing else changes in that moment, God is still near.

Another beautiful moment was the Beauty for Ashes event where we got to love on women in the community and remind them of their worth in Christ. Watching women soften, smile, and receive care they don’t often get was something I won’t forget. It felt like a glimpse of Isaiah 61 the Lord truly exchanging heaviness for hope.

The friendships made in Honduras are the kind that feel stitched into your story forever. Birthday celebrations, volleyball games, dancing the cup song, laughing until we cried it was constant life together.

Even the chaotic moments became memories I’ll always laugh about. Like the last night when my tent ripped right before a huge thunderstorm rolled in. I was trying to hold everything together literally and emotionally while people ran around rescuing my things, and somehow the Catracho team showed up with a massive tarp like superheroes in the middle of a storm. It was ridiculous and kind of perfect at the same time. But Honduras wasn’t only beautiful. It was also stretching in ways I didn’t expect.

It was my last country with my World Race family, and there were moments I could feel the weight of upcoming goodbyes sitting in my chest. There were also moments when old insecurities tried to resurface, whispering things I thought I had already overcome.

And yet, even there, the Lord was steady.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

I felt that closeness in ways I didn’t always have words for.

What impacted me deeply was watching the way the Catracho team lived. They weren’t just doing ministry they were living surrendered lives. Many of them had left comfort, stability, and even family approval to follow the call of God. And yet, there was joy in them. A deep, anchored joy that didn’t depend on circumstances.

There was one moment when a staff member shared how sometimes faith means trusting God for daily provision even food. And instead of fear in her voice, there was peace. A confidence that God is still good even when things feel uncertain.

That kind of faith changed something in me.

Because it made me ask: Do I trust God like that?

Honduras taught me that God doesn’t only move in miracles or big moments. He moves in obedience. In showing up. In holding hands with strangers. In laughter. In tears. In exhaustion. In surrender.

And maybe that’s what missions really is. Not a place we go. But a life we live.

As I leave this season behind, I’m holding onto this truth:

“The Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9

Not just in Honduras. Not just in ministry.

But here too. In transition. In uncertainty. In the in-between.

So I go forward not with certainty about what’s next, but with confidence in Who is going with me.

I also am reminded that maybe missions was never meant to be defined by a location, a title, or even the work itself. Maybe being a missionary simply means living with open hands and a willing heart wherever the Lord places you. Honduras taught me that the Kingdom is built in both the big and small moments in house visits, shared meals, tears, laughter, worship, and quiet acts of obedience that no one else may ever see.

As this season comes to an end, I’m leaving Honduras with so much gratitude. Gratitude for the people who welcomed us like family, for the ways the Lord stretched and humbled me, and for the reminder that He is faithful in every season even the uncertain ones. The Lord doesn’t just move through strength; He moves through weakness, dependence, and surrender too.

I don’t know exactly what the next season looks like yet, and honestly that can feel scary sometimes. But if this year has taught me anything, it’s that Jesus has always been enough. He has provided every step of the way, often in ways I never expected.

So I go forward not trying to hold everything together, but choosing to trust the One who does. My prayer is that I would continue to say yes; yes to loving people deeply, yes to trusting Him fully, and yes to being available for His Kingdom whether I’m overseas, back home, or somewhere in between.

Because in the end, maybe missions was never meant to be defined by a location, a title, or even the work itself. Maybe it’s simply living with open hands and a willing heart wherever the Lord places you. Honduras showed me that the Kingdom is built in both the big and small moments in house visits, shared meals, tears, laughter, worship, and quiet acts of obedience that no one else may ever see.

And maybe that’s what I’m really leaving with: not just memories of a place, but a deeper understanding that God is just as present in uncertainty as He is in clarity, just as faithful in weakness as He is in strength.

Because the mission was never just about where we go. It’s about carrying the heart of Jesus wherever we are.