As we close out 2025, my heart is full of gratitude for the ways God has worked through Mission Lazarus over nearly 25 years. What began as a simple desire to serve has grown into a ministry where students learn with dignity, families find hope, and communities encounter the Good News of Jesus.

Juan’s story captures the heart of Mission Lazarus. We don’t come to fix poverty - we come to walk alongside men and women as they discover their God-given potential. Seeing Juan grow from a local mason to a leader shaping others’ futures is living proof that transformation happens when faith, opportunity, and hard work come together.

In the small village of Jayacayan, where job opportunities are scarce and most women are expected to stay at home, Nancy Mondragón has learned that hope can be planted like a seed. At 28 years old, she lives with her husband, their little girl, and her in-laws in a modest home where every bit of income matters.

Litzy’s dream represents the future we envision for every child who walks through the doors of Lazarus Academy - a future filled with opportunity, faith, and purpose. As we expand the school, your partnership ensures more students will have the chance to learn, grow, and lead. Together, we are building something that will last for generations.

When Elisson first arrived at Mission Lazarus, no one could have imagined the man he would become. His family had very little material resources, but what they lacked in wealth, they made up for with determination and a quiet hope that life could be different.

When Lidia arrived at The Refuge Children's Home as a toddler, she had already endured unimaginable loss and hardship. Her early life was marked by instability and neglect, leaving her unsure of what it meant to feel safe, valued, or loved. But within the walls of The Refuge, something began to change.

I recently had the privilege of traveling to Honduras with a group from my church. One morning, we volunteered on the San Lázaro coffee farm. It was only three or four hours—hardly a full day—but those hours changed how I’ll look at my morning coffee forever.

Nineteen years ago, against all odds, a little girl’s life was about to change forever. Six-year-old Marcela Betanco arrived at the Mission Lazarus Refuge Children’s Home in Honduras with her three siblings. In her short life, Marcela had already endured more than most people will face in a lifetime.

In the quiet mountain town of San Marcos de Colón, Honduras, a small bootmaking shop once stood—humble in size, but rich in craftsmanship.

The San Lazaro Coffee harvest is a labor of love from individuals who are part of the communities we serve in Honduras. The coffee farm strengthens self-worth, restores dignity, and opens the door to lasting transformation. But we need your help to ensure this life-changing work continues to thrive.

When life gave Sandra Hernández every reason to give up, she chose something else: courage. She didn’t wait for a rescue. She didn’t ask for pity. When hardship shattered the life she knew, she took her youngest daughter by the hand, left everything behind, and decided to begin again — trusting that Christ would walk with her every step of the way.

Juan Herrera didn’t own a pair of shoes until he was 12. By then, he had already spent years waking up before dawn to load 1,000 bricks into his father’s kiln then returning in the afternoon to unload them. That was life in his remote Honduran village: relentless, rugged, and without options.

In the quiet hills of La Laguna, Honduras, a 62-year-old farmer named Jose Corrales spent his days planting maize and beans—just enough to feed his family. For over 30 years, he and his wife, Candida, raised six children without access to basic sanitation. Like many of their neighbors, they had no latrine. They used the surrounding forest, exposing themselves and their children to serious health risks.

In the quiet La Botija mountains of southern Honduras, something beautiful is happening. It’s not just coffee being cultivated at San Lazaro Coffee — it’s hope. Neyli Cruz, 23 years old, is a shining example of that hope. Originally from the small community of San Pedro del Norte, Nicaragua, Neyli was no stranger to hardship.

Seven years ago, Shednaylove Honoré entered Lazarus Academy Haiti as a quiet, uncertain child. At just 3 years old, she lost her mother when she passed away suddenly. Without a father in her life, Shednaylove was taken in by her grandmother, who already had a full household to care for.

The Vocational Carpentry School at Mission Lazarus has been a cornerstone of change and hope in southern Honduras since its inception in 2003. It all started with a small but powerful vision: to offer a lifeline to the young men of Ciudad Nueva, a neighborhood in Choluteca that was rebuilding after the devastation of Hurricane Mitch in 1998.

The Refuge is a community of eight homes for orphaned and vulnerable children. Here they have access to quality healthcare, education, and vocational training, laying the groundwork for good health and a future livelihood.

Mayela, a 17-year-old from a small village surrounded by green mountains, lives with her grandfather. God has gifted her with a heart full of dreams and a deep passion for nature. Her educational journey began at Lazarus Academy, where she not only gained theoretical knowledge but also developed values that shaped her as a person. Upon graduating high school, Mayela knew her story was just beginning. She decided to enroll in a forestry program, determined to help preserve the environment of her beloved homeland.

For many children in Potreritos, a deeply isolated community with no access to dental care, tooth decay isn’t just a minor inconvenience—it’s a serious threat. Without treatment, they risk losing their teeth at a young age, making it painful to eat, speak, or even smile.

What if your life depended on medical care that was nowhere to be found? For thousands of Hondurans, this isn’t just a fear—it’s their reality. Scattered across the remote mountains and dense jungles of southern Honduras, entire villages live completely off the land, farming just enough to survive. These subsistence farmers and their families work tirelessly to grow beans and corn, yet when sickness strikes, there is nowhere to turn.