I just woke up in the Philippines. I guess that means I’m not dreaming…
We flew into Manila yesterday morning from Hong Kong. Our first glimpse into World Race travel has been an adventure, and I’m sure we haven’t seen anything yet. Patience is an irreplacable virtue. We’re still traveling with both Q and R squads – quite an intimidating pack when fully equipped with our backpacks and daypacks hanging off our fronts while meandering through an airport with no idea where we’re going. It was great to see a familiar face from training when Allison showed up to pick us up. We dragged our jet-lagged, time-confused bodies onto the bus and then on to our ministry contact, where we were (temporarily) reenergized by the glimpse of our team-members and squad leaders that went ahead of us, waiting at the gate for our grand entrance. They fed us and then packed us back in buses for a brief adventure out to a local waterfall, trying to keep us awake and shake off a bit of the time change.
Driving through the city, it certainly still felt surreal. These streets of poverty with the stray 3-story KFC, passing from a shopping mall to squatter houses, weaving around motorcycles, tuk-tuks and pedestrians with the beap of the horn – this is what I see pictures of.
Staring at these conditions far removed from the plush comforts that I have to go home to, I still felt a detachment from it all. As if this is just another commercial before I flip the channel and watch another episode of “Pawn Stars.” As staring at these streets becomes the norm over the next 11 months, my prayer is to break through what I may have become desensitized to. With all the global media exposure, you almost have to retain the ability to see a shocking image and let it pass, or risk heartbreak every time you turn on the television. We were driving back to our contact from the waterfall, staring out the open window of the jeep, and this picture was starting to stare back.
In a picture, the whole world is visible to you, but you are still invisible to the world. Without a connection, these people are just images on a screen, not individuals with a story. This year, their world becomes my world as the screen between shatters…and my heart probably will, too.
