It begins as perhaps millions of family stories begins. A young man and a young woman up in the hills in Chiapas fell in love and were married. He worked in the fields, planting corn season after season. Every couple years a new baby. And every week the same dilema:

“And the money you made this week Román? The baby needs milk and diapers.” He staggered towards her, his empty pockets flipped inside out, his breath steaming of alcohol. “I brought you…” he’d begin.” “Brought me? Brought me nothing but a drunk husband,” was the angry retort. “How am I supposed to raise 7 babies on nothing??”

As the years passed, Román became desperate for change. He saw the poverty, the suffering his addiction caused, knowing how much he was to blame. They were nominally Catholic, like most everyone else in their town, state and country. Clearly that belief system wasn’t doing much. Maybe…

So Román went to the Mormons. He attended their services and desperate for a radical life-changing experience, eventually was baptized.

Except nothing changed. Román was still the same drunk. His home was the same empty shell of poverty. He roamed in the darkness, without light and without hope.

“Please God” he pleaded. “Let me know the truth so that it will change me.”

That was when, about 20-25 years ago, Román was invited to hear the gospel in the back patio of some christians. He went to the meeting, sat down, and listened.

Suddenly it all made sense. He was a lost sinner, hurtling towards Hell. He needed a Savior, Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.

And that was it. One moment a helpless drunk. The next, a child of God, an inheritor of eternal life.

Román’s life changed dramatically that night. He never drank again, attended meetings faithfully, bringing his wife and 7 children along with him. Eventually they were all saved, and as life went on, their spouses as well.

While the Christians rejoiced in this change in the Pérez family, the local Catholics were enraged. Their refusal to participate in traditions, ceremonies, festivals earned them the reproach of their neighbors and the authorities. “You don’t want to contribute to the cost of the festival for Guadalupe?” The next day, their water lines or electrical lines would be cut by the city. They were shunned and despised, constantly under scrutiny and threat. Chiapas is still a deeply religious region. Just in the last few weeks, a group of Christians a few hours away from Chiapa de Corzo were run out of their homes, banished from their own hometown because of their faith in Christ.

Despite the persecution, the church in Chiapa de Corzo continued to grow. They grew out of the back patio and built a larger meeting place up on the roof.

But then tragedy (or more precisely, the devil) struck. The sheep fled and the church was decimated, a new hatred and disregard for the believers flared in the town.

Despite the discouragement and heartache, it was Román and his sons, now in their late 20’s and 30’s who assumed the full weight of responsibility and attendance. They were basically the only ones left.

To remove themselves from the past, they purchased a lot on the side of a hill, dug out a flat spot and built a beautiful hall through their own sweat and sacrifice. They then sold their family compound in town and moved out closer to their new meeting place, each family building their own home down a brand new dirt lane. Eden they call their neighborhood. A garden of good, good things. Evenings are filled with children splashing in a pool, the adults hauling out plastic lawn chairs to the street. A table is set with a tray of sweet breads and bowls of fruit while mugs of sugary coffee are passed out to all. Other believers have moved to their street; it’s the magnetic pull of delightful fellowship that exceeds family and country and culture drawing us all to another cup of coffee, another question about the Bible, another lighthearted anecdote.

While moving and building they never stopped sharing the gospel. Never stopped reaching out to discouraged believers. God honored their faithfulness and worked in both, rebuilding the church for His Honor and Glory. Román’s two eldest sons serve as the shepherds and teachers, leading the flock by God’s enormous grace.

We try to visit them a few times a year. Brother Román always bear hugs us like we’re his own children home for a visit.

We leave for home so refreshed and encouraged, so convicted by what true church is. A family in Christ, striving and serving together with love and joy. They have experienced deep sadness, have stood against sin and opposition, have upheld the truth in the face of intense manipulation and pressure, have found their greatest satisfaction in Christ. His greatness and faithfulness, the testimony of His power cannot be overstated.

To every group of believers wondering if you can make it without a resident missionary, I hope you have found the answer.