Andrea stood in front of the mirror, hardly recognizing the little girl looking back at her.

Just months earlier, the reflection would have told a very different story.

When Andrea arrived at The Refuge children’s home at Mission Lazarus, she was six years old but carried burdens no child should. She came with her two-year-old brother, both of them weak from severe malnutrition and their bodies showing the effects of long neglect. Andrea had never set foot in a classroom and had never been given the simple, steady care every child needs to grow.

Grace is easiest to admire from a distance. It is harder—and holier—to recognize when it wears dust on its feet and hunger in its stomach.

In Fort-Liberté, Haiti, I saw despair and dignity standing side by side. Poverty that constricts opportunity. Hunger that lingers longer than it should. Uncertainty that presses on families daily. And yet, in the middle of it all, I witnessed something the world often misses: not mere endurance, but life being lived with intention and faith.

For months each year in southern Honduras, the river rises. What is often a bone-dry riverbed can become impassable during the rainy season, cutting off entire communities from school, medical care, and even basic supplies. Life, quite literally, is put on hold.

This was the reality for one remote community we serve in Honduras until a group from Churchill Mortgage decided to step in. They didn’t just send support, they showed up!

For nearly 18 years, Henry has been waking up before dawn, traveling a long distance each day to serve at Mission Lazarus in Honduras. He doesn’t do it for recognition. He does it because, as he says, he loves his work, and because he knows he is serving God. Henry works with service teams from North America, leading projects that may seem simple at first glance: building latrines in rural communities.

Mission Lazarus remains committed to investing in national leadership. At this year’s Leadership Conference, one powerful theme echoed through every session, testimony, and moment of prayer: Investing in the One.

This week marks the first day of school at Lazarus Academy. With the new school year comes fresh notebooks, new pencils, nervous smiles, and the kind of hope that only comes with a new beginning.

When people talk about Haiti, the headlines are heavy - violence, instability, uncertainty. But on the ground, another story is unfolding. One that is quiet, courageous, and deeply hopeful. In just a few weeks, something extraordinary will happen.

Every year, Heartland Dental Foundation partners with Mission Lazarus by serving alongside our medical and dental teams in the remote mountains of Honduras. Using Mission Lazarus facilities and working hand in hand with our local staff, Heartland volunteers provide specialized dental care through two focused clinical areas. One clinic delivers restorative and root canal treatment, while the other focuses on extractions.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.