Special Edition of Covered in His Dust

Most of you know me through Covered in His Dust.

What you may not know… is there’s a whole other side to our life.

Once a year, we open that door and invite people in. Just to let you peek.

Because every week, when I sit down and write, those words come from a small village in Guatemala.

For two more nights, I want to give you a closer look at our call to Guatemala, and now Cuba.

What it actually looks like.
What God is doing here.
And why we’re still here after almost 14 years.

No pressure to give.
Just come see.

If you want to follow along, join our monthly ministry email.

I’ll send you a free copy of my first book, Do You Love Me? Giving Up the American Dream to Serve the Underprivileged.

It’s 50 stories from our life here in Guatemala.

If you’re in the U.S., I’ll send you a physical copy.
Anywhere else, I’ll send you the digital version.

[SEND ME THE BOOK]

(If you sign up, you’ll get two very similar looking emails. Don’t worry. That will only last through Friday)

Welcome to Day 3 of our annual fundraiser.

This year, our goal is $151,500.
That’s what it takes to keep everything moving in both countries.

Before we started, a generous donor stepped in with $25,000 to be matched.

Over the first two nights, $17,355 has been given.
Which means $17,355 has already been unlocked.

👉 $34,710 raised so far.

There’s $7,645 left in that original match.

But something happened.

Two more donors stepped in.

One gave $10,000.
Another gave $5,000.

Both to be matched.

That’s another $15,000 now on the table.

So here’s where we are.

$7,645 from the original match.
$15,000 just added.

👉 $22,645 waiting to be matched.

One person steps in…
and it opens the door for someone else.

And then another.
And another.

Until you look up and realize…
this was never just about money.

There are no pharmacies in Cuba. 

Ok. There are A LOT of pharmacies in Cuba but they’re completely empty. 

When I fly to Cuba I take two duffle bags filled with medicine and supplies. 

Once a month, the Cuban government does a drop of a small amount of meds. People stand in line for 2-3 days waiting for the opportunity to buy antibiotics, Tylenol, bandages, surgical gloves, whatever they can get.

Eighty percent of the drop is gone within a few hours. The remaining twenty percent is taken (stolen) by the workers and sold on the black market. That’s the way the economy works in Cuba. 

The black market is fueled by stolen goods.

If you work at a hotel, soap disappears. At a restaurant, food walks out the door. In the tobacco fields, cigars go missing. But they can’t be sold without the bands and boxes, so those get stolen too. 

Those things are then resold on the black market.
To buy beans and rice and cooking oil.

The government knows about the black market but can’t stop it and I don’t think they would if they could. The country would completely collapse if the black market were shut down. 

So when I fly into Cuba I take meds and supplies. The pastors distribute it among the community and their congregations.

I also go in with the maximum amount of money allowed by the regime. $5,000. I usually take in a few extra hundred dollars for personal use because US credit cards don’t work. Even when I take in the few extra dollars, I’m a little stressed out. 

It’s COMMUNISM.
A country run by a DICTATOR who wasn’t elected.

I planned to split the money raised by the boys and staff into two trips. $5,000 this trip. The rest next time.

But then Maduro was captured, Venezuela was liberated, and I moved the trip up.

I had $8500 available in cash to take in. 

I prayed about it.
I talked to my wife.
I wondered if I was overreacting?

I split it into two bundles, $4000 and $4500.

The night before the trip I still hadn’t decided whether I would risk it or not. I was keeping an eye on the political climate in Cuba. 

If someone is caught bringing in more than the allowed amount (or not declaring it properly), a few things can happen:

• The money could be confiscated on the spot.

• I could be detained and questioned (sometimes for hours, sometimes longer).

• Fines or penalties could be applied.

• In more serious cases, you could be denied entry in the future or flagged every time you travel.

• Worst case, it could turn into a criminal issue, especially if they think it’s intentional or tied to something illegal.

The cash I carry is used to pay the salaries of nine pastors, five interns, and a missionary.

It's what allows them not to work for the Cuban government for $15 a month. Because if they work for the government, they have to make up the difference. And making up the difference in Cuba is a full-time job on top of the job you already have.

I've asked multiple people, “How do you do it? How do Cubans make up the difference?”

I always get two answers.

“Cuban’s wake up every morning wondering how they’ll invent a way to eat.”

And

“It’s complicated.”

I met a doctor on one of my trips who gets up at 4:30am to go to a bakery (run by the government.) She buys bread and then re-sells it to her customers before she does her first round at the hospital. She earns $19 a month as a doctor. 

It’s complicated. 

I left the house at 3:30am for the two hour drive to the airport. 

My wife said, “Leave it here. Take it next time.”

“I’m not sure yet.”

By the time I got to the Guatemalan airport I’d decided it was worth the risk.

When you land in Cuba, the immigration officer sits behind a plexiglas wall.

“Where are you coming from?”
“What is your purpose here?”
“Where are you staying?”
“What is your profession?”

They never smile. Ever.

They’re very serious about their job.

She waved me through. 

I passed through a door and entered security. It was so packed it was hard to tell where the line ended. I picked a spot and waited my turn. 

As I got closer, the woman at the luggage scanner stared at me. When I caught her eye she looked down at her phone and then up again.

As I got closer I got a little paranoid. So paranoid that I took one of the envelopes out of my backpack and left the second envelope in the hidden pocket.

I put it in the band of my sweatpants, under my shirt. My thinking was that when I walked through the scanner the cash wouldn’t trigger the alarm. I was pretty sure it was a metal detector.

I looked up and a second woman was there. They were both looking at me and then at her phone.

My heart raced. 

I put my backpack and wallet into the security tray and walked through the body scanner which looked old. Probably 25-30 years old. That’s what I was hoping anyway. The less modern the better.

“BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.”

SERIOUSLY! I have NEVER triggered an airport alarm. Ever.

My mind raced, “I should have left the money at home.”

Too late.
Here we are.

The lady attending the scanner asked me to step aside so she could pat me down.

I was second guessing every decision. “I should have left the cash in my backpack.”

She patted me down and TOUCHED THE BUNDLE OF CASH.

She waved me through. 

I didn’t have time to feel relieved because there was now a man at security holding my carry-on and backpack.

“What kind of phone is that?” 

I was confused. “An iPhone 15.”

“Fill this form out and sign it.”

“What? Why?”

A third lady steps up. She looked official. Four people are surrounding me.

The lady who walked up starts talking to the man and then asks me, "Eres Cubano?" “Are you Cuban?”

“No. I’m American.”

She shoots the man a look.

He takes the form back and throws it onto a desk.

She asks, “Do you have checked bags?”

“Yes. Two.”

“When you have them, meet me in that corner.”

She pointed to a corner I knew well. It’s where security gets more intense. There's a more modern scanner and I knew they were going to go through every single bag and search every single (hidden) pocket. 

I found my bags and went to the security area.

The same lady told me to wait. 

A young man walked up with a dog. 

He told me to open my bags and backpack and spread them out on the floor. 

He then weaved his dog through my bags.
The dog stopped at my backpack...
And then kept moving.

The lady asked me to put my bags and backpack through the larger, more modern looking scanner.

The luggage came out the other end and then the machine reversed direction so it could pass through again.

“Take your bags to those tables.”

I smiled at her.
She didn’t smile back.

The room that was filled with hundreds of people was now down to maybe a dozen. 

The lady at the wooden table pointed to one of the bags. “Lift that one onto the table.”

This is where the bag surgery begins.

She unzipped it and went through every single package.
She opened every box of bandaids.
She took every single item out of the duffle bag.

She wasn’t in a hurry and began putting it all back.

She told me to put my bag back on the cart and then began to ask me questions. (Just ONE bag!)

“Where do you live?” 
“Guatemala.”

“But you have an American passport.”
“Yes. I’m American.”

“Why do you live in Guatemala?”
“We adopted 5 little ones. They’re Guatemalan. So we live in Guatemala.”

“What’s your profession?”
“I’m an author.”

I’d already learned on previous trips that saying you’re a missionary raises red flags.

“Where are you staying?”
“A Casa Particular” 

“What’s the address?”
“Who’s picking you up?”
“How do you know them?”

This went on for about 30 minutes.

And then. Without looking at me. She motioned her pen toward the door and said, “You can leave.”

It was over. 

As I stepped outside, the pastor and his wife were waiting.

They had been on the phone with my wife, who knew which side of the airport they do searches on. When they told her they could see me, they said I was on "the right side," 

My wife told them to “pray that they’re kind and blind.”

She didn't tell them about the money.

She called our adult kids in the US.
One of my sons was concerned I took the risk.
The other said, “Man. To have that faith.”

As I handed both envelopes to the pastor the next morning, I told him and his wife about the extra cash. About the hidden pocket. About the waistband and the dog.

As they listened they looked concerned.

And then he shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder, "Thank you, brother."

Nine pastors. Five interns. One missionary.

Fifteen men, spread across the country, who woke up this morning in Cuba and chose, again, to give their lives to the gospel.

I sat with some of them in February. They don't need rescue. They need partners.

If you want to be one, here's what it looks like.

$130 a month covers a pastor's living expenses. $60 a month supports an intern. You can give monthly or cover a full year.

If you step in, I'll send you their name. Their photo. Their story. You'll know exactly who you're standing with. You'll have one specific person to pray for by name.

And if you want to go further:

Right now in Cuba, electricity is down to an hour or two a day. Some days nothing. A full solar setup gives a pastor and his family light. A way to keep working when the grid goes dark.

It costs $2,000. It's a one-time gift that changes everything about how a man does ministry.

These are men who haven't walked away. Not from their churches. Not from their people. Not from Christ.

(If you have any questions at all, reply to this email.)

Here's how you can give tonight.

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

Check: payable to Ordinary Missionaries
Sent to: Greg Dix, 
6021 Wild View Drive, 
Fort Collins, CO 80528 
"2026 fundraiser" in the memo

If you send a check, let us know so we can add it to the total.

If you want to pledge for a later date or increase a monthly gift? Just reply to this email.

All our love,
George and Vonda

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 27 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.

You can get George’s newest digital book, Uncovering Scripture: The Gospel of Luke HERE.