I was blessed to be raised in a Christian family. My father was saved when he was a young boy and my mother was saved not long after I was born. They made sure that I was in church, from the time I was an infant. I was saved during a revival meeting when I was 8 years old. In my teenage years however, I began to rebel, not so much against my parents, but against God. Even in my teen years, I could feel the call of God on my life, but I didn’t understand it. Instead of praying and asking God to show me what was going on, I just began to refuse to go to church. Nothing my parents could do would make me go, but they didn’t stop praying for me. It took almost 15 years for their prayers to be answered, but God showed me, through my nephew, that I was not only hurting myself by running from Him, but my family also. It was an Easter Sunday evening, and my sister was getting him cleaned up to go back to church. It dawned on him at that moment that Aunt Marti didn’t go to church like the rest of them. He looked at me, and then at his Mom and said, “If Marti doesn’t go to church, then why do I have to”? The knife that sliced through my heart, along with the look my sister gave me, did what God intended for it to do. After a long week of struggling with that innocent question and the realization that my nephew was watching my every move, I was in church the next Sunday morning. In fact, any time the doors were open, I was there. It wasn’t long until I could feel God again calling me into service. During another revival, I came to realize that God saved me for a reason. He had a job for me to do. That night I finally gave my life to Him as a “living sacrifice“. He began using me in my local church almost right away. I have been privileged to work with the youth there, and also teach a lady’s class on Sunday mornings. I helped with Bible School, and wrote several Christmas plays, as well as sang in the choir. I was happy--I thought I had found my “home”. But then about two years ago, the Lord started speaking to me again. This time he used the migrant workers who came to the bank where I worked. Their problems trying to communicate touched my heart and I wanted to do something to help them, so I began to teach myself Spanish. But then I began noticing the crucifixes they had in their cars, and the bumper stickers with the virgin Mary on it. God showed me that they needed someone to share the Gospel with them. I whole-heartedly agreed with Him, but still had no idea that he was preparing to call me into a ministry working with Hispanics. When that became apparent, I would like to say that I grasped the idea immediately. But I didn’t. I began to tell God all of the reasons that He couldn’t use me. But He was patient and sent many people into my life to guide me as I once again fought against His call. Once I did surrender to be a missionary, I thought that it would be to work out of my local church to reach Hispanics here, but soon came to realize that wasn’t what God had in mind. In 2009, the Lord provided the means for me to go on a short-term mission trip to Honduras. Almost from the moment we landed, He told me, “Marti, you’re home”. The people of Honduras have stolen my heart, and I am very anxious to get back. They are a people who are hungry for the Truth, and are willing to listen. There is so much to be done and so little time to do it. Daily my mind goes to Honduras and the people I had to leave behind. I pray that I will soon have the means to go into that part of the world which the Lord has chosen for me. Until then, I am privileged to be a part of a Spanish work in Tennessee, and hope to be able to expand it into Virginia where I live. I feel very blessed to be able to serve the Lord as a missionary, and very humbled by the fact that He sees something in me He can use.