Go find the gringo missionary.

Welcome to night four of our annual fundraiser!

Our goal is to raise $135,000 for the ministry's operating costs.

👉🏽 It pays the salaries of 15 employees.
👉🏽  It provides daily meals 5 days a week for all staff and students.
👉🏽  It stocks our food pantry to serve families in need.
👉🏽  It funds our program for widows and single moms, delivering food, firewood, and medical care.
👉🏽  It helps provide medical care for those in crisis.
👉🏽  It supplies water filters and clean-air stoves throughout the community.
👉🏽  It covers the cost of curriculum and professional services to stay in good standing with the Guatemalan government.
👉🏽  It covers utilities, internet, and insurance.

This is where we stand:

To date, we've raised $11,240, which, when matched, is $22,480, in three days. Not bad but there's still $33,760 sitting out there all alone, just waiting to be matched!

Today’s the day.

Scroll to the bottom, pray, and give.

When we landed in Guatemala in 2012, we had no idea what we were doing. We were so green.

"Why did You call us here, Lord?"

We were absolutely certain God had called us. But we didn’t know why.

We had nothing to offer. We weren’t even fully funded ourselves—just enough in savings to get us through about two years.

I was biblically anemic. I wanted to share the Gospel, but I didn’t fully understand what that meant.

Eight months in, the fog lifted. We realized—we did have something to offer. We had obedience, and we had prayer.

So we laid our obedience before God.

"Use us, Lord.
Prepare us.
Lead us, Lord."

We couldn't build homes. We couldn't feed the hungry. But we could pray. So we prayed.

Everyone we met, we asked: "Can I pray for you?" and "What can we pray for?"

Wow.

When you ask that question in Guatemala, be ready. The prayer requests are raw, deep, and heartfelt.

In the States, if you ask a stranger, "Can I pray for you?" you might get a polite, generic request. Or even, "No, I’m good."

Not in the villages of Guatemala.

"If you want to see my scars, if you want to see and feel my pain...

Here.
You.
Go."

The day I met Martín, he was preparing his land to plant corn. As I drove by, I waved.

He stopped what he was doing, waved back, and leaned on his hoe. A big, toothless smile spread across his face.

I pulled over and parked.

We introduced ourselves and made small talk. He told me his name was Martín Josal, and he was 78 years old. In my best Spanish at the time, I asked where he lived and if I could come back to visit.

"Está bueno." ("Alright.") We soon realized it was his go-to response.

I was alone that day and still couldn’t hold much of a conversation. I wanted to come back with some Guatemalan friends who could translate.

The next week, we returned, looking for Martín’s home. We found him squatting over a small fire just outside a structure made of adobe and cornstalks.

From a distance, we called out, "Don Martín, how are you?"

"Está bueno."

Same toothless smile. This man seemed happy.

He showed us around his "home"—no door, just an opening. Clothes he hadn't worn in years were piled in the corners. Empty plastic bottles.
Tools for working the field. Two old blankets. The roof had more holes than a colander—rainy season had to be brutal.

And yet, as he walked around, he wore that same proud, toothless smile.

Before we left, we asked, "Can we pray for you?"

"Está bueno."

"What can we pray for?"

Without hesitation, he said, matter-of-factly, "A bed."

We bought him a bed, and over the years, we kept visiting and praying for Martín. He was always either working in his field or napping. Work hard. Rest hard.

During COVID, we delivered food to his home once a month. He was always grateful—always wearing that same toothless smile.

The first week of December, my family and I left for a few days to rest. Living on campus means if we want real rest, we have to disconnect completely.

While we were gone, Martín lost his sight and fell or fell and lost his sight; we're not sure. He’s 88 years old, and life had already become difficult. Now, even more so.

A neighbor who had been bringing him a meal every day for the past few years found him lying on the ground. She thought he was dead.

But he wasn’t.

He told her, “Go find the gringo missionary.”

Our neighbors—who have worked alongside us for over a decade—explained that I wasn’t home, but as soon as I returned, they’d let me know.

Later that day, they went to check on Martín. He'd fallen again. This time, they found him lying in the dirt.

They picked him up and brought him to their home. Bathed him. Gave him clean clothes. A hot meal.

At every turn, he whispered, “Muchas gracias.” Humble. Grateful.

By the time we got back to campus, they had already arranged a doctor’s appointment and were taking great care of him.

When I visited, he looked better than I could ever remember. Healthier. Happier.

He told me about his eyesight and that the doctor suggested surgery.

I asked, “What do you think?”

"Está bueno," he said.

Our neighbors set up a bed for him in their home. They’ve been caring for him like he’s their own grandfather.

There is nothing more beautiful than watching the Bible come to life.

Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead.

Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side.

So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.

But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion.

He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him.

And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’

Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?”

He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”. Luke 10:25-37

The lesson of Martín’s story is simple and profound: loving our neighbor isn’t about convenience—it’s about action.

Our neighbors didn’t wait for us to get home or for someone else to step in. They saw a need and met it. They didn’t ask, “Is this my responsibility?” They just acted. They picked him up, fed him, bathed him, gave him a place to sleep, and treated him like family.

It’s the Good Samaritan in real life. The religious leaders in Jesus’ parable walked past the wounded man, maybe thinking they were too busy or that someone else would help. But the Samaritan didn’t hesitate. He stepped in and took care of the man, even though it cost him something.

That’s what real love looks like.

It’s messy.
It’s inconvenient.
And it’s exactly what Jesus calls us to.

“You go, and do likewise.”

Our neighbors told me Martín prays all day. Every day. He wakes up at 1:30 in the morning, gets on his knees, and "talks to God as a friend."

"At 4:30 a.m., he’s singing old hymns—the kind most churches don’t sing anymore."

I asked them, “How do you feel about that?”

"We feel blessed."

Meet Martín Josal. An 88-year-old child of the Almighty God.

On Tuesday, he had surgery on one eye.

Today, he told me, “I can see!”

This ministry loves this community in a hundred ways—the academy is just one.

We need you… tonight. ♥️

Here are the ways you can partner with us.

Credit card via Pushpay: https://pushpay.com/g/ordinarymissionaries
Paypal: send to [email protected]
Venmo: send to George-Sisneros
Zelle: send to [email protected]

Write a check to Ordinary Missionaries
Send checks to Greg Dix (President) 6021 Wild View Drive Fort Collins, Colorado 80528 Add "2024 fundraiser" in the memo (reply to let us know - we'll add it to the total.)

If you would like to pledge a gift for a later date, reply to this email, and we'll work out the details.

If you would like to donate monthly, let us know, and we'll work out the details. $100 a month = $1200 towards our goal!

If you would like to increase your monthly donation, reply to this email so we can count it towards our goal.

See you tomorrow night! ♥️

We love you,

George and Vonda
Ordinary Missionaries

George Sisneros is a full-time missionary in Guatemala and the founder of Ordinary Missionaries and the El Rosario Christian Academy for Boys.

He’s been married to his wife, Vonda, for 26 years. He’s a father to nine children, five adopted.

In 2024, George and his wife expanded to Cuba, joining forces with nine pastors committed to transforming lives through the gospel.