Ryan is returning to Kenya!
Ryan is returning to Kenya! This time he will lead a team that will hold a medical camp in the village of Watamu – the home of Justus and David. We hope to leave a lasting impact on this village north of Mombasa not only by treating the sick, teaching community health, distributing 1000 bed nets, holding sports tournaments and doing HIV/Aids testing but by reaching many with the gospel guiding people to the Great Physician. I know many of you followed Ryan as he gave his weekly updates during his three months in Kenya. I believe you will enjoy reading his support letter. Pray many will be touched to help Ryan raise funds for medications and the other expenses of this outreach mission.
Thank you for caring for this ministry,
Connie Sent via Cingular Xpress Mail with Blackberry
Fireworks in June.
Like all memories, Africa paints a picture not quite finished; it speaks words almost inaudible; it leaves feelings enticingly out of reach. Memories are funny. The story as a whole has slipped away, but not so fast as to notice it leaving. What was once a brilliant firework display in the present are now only flashes of fainting color and echos of sound. Like a cat chasing a shadow, memories remain elusive. Africa is such a memory–flashes of shining color burst forward like children who skip by me in the slum and echos of foreign words slip softly away as I remember the quiet evenings.
When I quit my job and made the decision to move to Africa for three months, I knew I was in for an experience. New places, new people, new adventures–what more could I ask for? Someone hit the fast forward button. In a blink of an eye, my anticipation has turned into contemplation. My time in Kenya was both adventurous and ordinary in its lifespan. All my experiences–the good, the bad, the exhilarating, and the frustrating–have fossilized quickly in my memory bank. Perhaps my best decision of the trip was to write an update to my friends and family once a week while I was a half-a-world away. I always looked forward to Friday mornings. In those early morning hours, I would sit down at my desk and write about that week’s experience. It was my hope that those far away would see what I saw and feel what I had felt in Africa.
As I look back on those quiet Friday mornings, I am reminded of the images I recorded and the opportunity I possessed. What an addictive blessing it is to witness God’s work from a front-row seat. There is no better view I can assure you. As the memory’s view of that front row seat flickers through my mind, it is but a few sentences I heard one evening that sums it all up.
It was a dark Wednesday night in late November. East Africa is known for its pleasant equator weather, but this night seemed colder and darker than usual. The clouds blocked the whispered starlight and the wind had picked up–creating an empty-feeling night that conjured up halloween movies. I was about to step into a village church in Northern Kenya. Constructed with small, hand cut branches it was a humble church, even for Kenya. The strong wind rattled the tin roof sheets and whipped across the plastic tarp walls. As I approached the church, I could hear the beginnings of a worship service. The wails of singing, the darkness of the night, and the howling of the wind hurled themselves about my senses in the brisk air.
Just before I entered into the glowing candlelit hut, one of my team members pulled me aside. “Ryan,” he cautiously whispered, “I know you are quite accustomed to Kenyan worship services, but…” He trailed off. “What is it?” I said, now intrigued. He continued, “But, these people, these people…well, they worship as King David did,” his tone had turned to a reverent hush. And with that we both ducked our heads and entered into the village church as the drums began to sound…
It is that instance that continues to draw me back to the memory of Africa. Like all memories, that few seconds one evening has changed. The sound of the plastic walls waving rhythmically in the wind has grown louder and the tone of the drums has swelled richer. It is with these sounds that I remember my time in Kenya. The night’s surroundings have grown taller. With those images I remember. That is the view from my seat.
Witnessing God’s work is very much like memories. Both can seem achingly incomplete, inaudible, or a finger’s tip out of reach. But as we grasp for memory’s fireworks of the past, God’s grand display lies ahead. Memory’s flash contains bits of the history, but seeing God’s work is a peer into the future. Glimpses of His grandeur–the coming Show–can be seen everywhere. It sparks and burns in Georgia, Africa, and even a small hut church in Northern Kenya. I cannot wait for the grand finale.
This coming June I will have the privilege to once again take a front row seat in the arena of God’s work! I will be leading a team of Americans to Kenya. I am especially excited for this particular trip because we will be sponsoring a medical camp near the coastal town of Mombasa. Funds for this medical camp need to be raised. I would kindly ask you to pray and consider being a part of this great opportunity! If you do feel led to give, please send a check to: “Partners for Care,” 2001 Breckenridge Lane, Alpharetta, Georgia 30005.
As June approaches, I look forward to going back to a land that sparks my memories and ignites a passion that yearns for God’s final display. I hope you will join me.
— Ryan Morris
Partners For Care 2001 Breckenridge Lane Alpharetta, GA 30005
cell #: (770) 843-2206