Editor's note: Jeb Flynn wrote about his experiences during a Youth in Mission trip this summer to Kenya. His team was assigned the task of training ministry leaders in East African churches in leadership issues such as how to lead a youth group and HIV/AIDS awareness. This is an excerpt from his journal.

Due to "security reasons", our airline company decided to cancel all direct flights from Kenya to the U.S. So despite the traffic jammed passage into downtown Nairobi and then to the airline's headquarters, we made it, although I was feeling somewhat ill that morning. It ended up being a smooth enough reschedule at the airline headquarters and before long we were on our way out. After finishing, we passed by a drug store. Due to my sickly condition, we stopped by for a "brief" visit, although it didn't end up being so brief.

It all started with the harmless act of walking up to the counter, and the next thing I knew, I was in a small white room with a nurse pricking my finger with a sharp needle! Ouch! It was during those 15 minutes that I started feeling worse. "Something must be wrong," I thought to myself.

Sure enough, I had malaria. Who would have imagined that, after spending two weeks in the most malaria ravaged province in all of Kenya? So, I walked to the counter with "the slip" for the prescriptions and the pharmacist began describing to me how I was to take my medication.

That's when I started to lose it. First, my vision faded out and everything went gray. Next, the people around me started sounding very distant. I had to sit down and have my site coordinator literally place the pills in my hand so I could take them because I couldn't see a thing! Fortunately, after the medicine, some water and a little time, I started to feel well enough to make the trek back out of downtown Nairobi. If I never feel like that again it will be too soon.

After the incident and subsequent "recovery" I figured I would be on the mend, good to go for another week of missions. The following day we set out for the small village of Kiatine, halfway to the Kenyan coast, to do more training for children and youth leaders. Unfortunately, I was unable to help with the majority of the training as I was bedridden due to my malarial malady. Nevertheless, I was able to pull together on Saturday to help do some HIV/AIDS training, and even preaching the sermon on Sunday. For future reference, although malaria may sound exotic and adventurous, it is not.

A few great God moments happened on this trip that I'd like to share. One happened just before the sermon I gave that last Sunday in Kiatine. Feeling particularly crummy that morning, I started to have second thoughts about doing the sermon (and in an African church, you wait a long time before getting to that part, so there was plenty of time for my thoughts to take me on a detour of doubt).

Having my Bible open to Luke 9, which was near the first scripture passage I would use, just as I was about to throw in the motivational towel for the mornings’ sermon, I looked down to the open Bible before me. My eyes fixed immediately upon the first line of the left page. They were the words of Jesus in red: "You feed them". That’s when I knew who God wanted to give the sermon that morning. Needless to say I gave it without anymore objections. It's hard to get any clearer than that.

The second story had to be God again. The area where we were is dry. I mean very dry. It is basically a desert. OK, it is a desert. They have not had a rainy season since 2007. Few things grow there, and finding water is a major issue, having not received any kind of rain whatsoever in about a year. Naturally, as almost any praying man or woman would, I began to pray for rain.

As I lie in my bed that evening without much else to do, I gave it a shot. It wasn't an off-handed prayer. It was more real and raw than that, filled with the pain that the local people must feel from their hardship. I prayed and prayed, eventually wearing out and calling it a night.

The next morning, as we had our morning team devotions, I heard news from my teammates. Something had awakened them during the night. Something had been pounding on the tin roof of our hotel. It was rain!

It had rained! God heard! Without rain for almost a year, finally it came on the wings of prayers (as I'm sure so many others from that area had already been offering up). It wasn't torrential or anything flood-like, but it was rain, and as I fought what at times seemed like a one-sided battle with malaria that week, I had an incredibly uplifting reminder from God. Even now, I can hear His faint whisper of encouragement. "Remember when it rained."

I will.

Continue your journey, as I continue mine, and don't forget to pray. Prayer changes things. Remember when it rained?

-- Jeb Flynn is studying youth and family ministry at MidAmerica Nazarene University (MNU).