I can’t go anywhere, it seems, without running into someone who knows me. It’s a strange feeling, really, to be 7,000 miles away from home, in the Philippines, and hear “Hey Jordan” from locals all around Manila. One night Ryan and I had bought some ice cream at Jolibee and were sitting on the curb eating it. Two men walked up, and one looks at me and says, “Hi Jordan.” I have no idea who he was…but he knew me. Without fail, every time we walk up the street around Valley Golf, where we are staying, I hear my name being called multiple times by kids, teenagers, adults. One afternoon I stopped and talked to a man selling mattresses down the road. When I came back, 3 hours later, as soon as I stepped off the trike, I was welcomed by the man and his 4 friends calling me over, “Where’d you go, Jordan? What’d you get?” It’s sort of nuts. How in the world, in just a month, do people know me like this?
But it hit me a couple of nights ago; what good is it if I leave the Philippines Friday, and all that people remember is Jordan the nice American guy who stopped and talked to us? The reality is MY name means nothing if it is not accompanied, or better yet, prefaced with HIS name, Jesus Christ. For I hope the Filipino people first and foremost associate Jordan with Jesus.
It’s worth nothing if I finish this race as a friendly tourist who made a bunch of new friends. Culturally, that’s great, and to the rest of the world that would be a great experience; I am not the rest of the world. I pray my ministry is with the people in each town we visit. I pray my life here, amongst these people, is a direct reflection of my Father above.
And then comes the question, what does my name mean back home? Is Jordan Wheeler prefaced with the name of Jesus to those who know me back home? Is that what comes to mind when someone mentions me in conversation, or sees me walking down the street? I pray that be true when I return and for the rest of my life.
I remember the old hymn that says, “This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through.” In other words, I don’t live here, I’m just a tourist. If that’s true, and it is, how do I spend my life? What legacy am I leaving behind? For being a nice guy and a friendly tourist is fine, but I sure desire more; and hope you do, too.
This is the kitchen staff here at the YMC. They prepare all of our meals, and are a pure delight to be with. I have really gotten to love these ladies, and have the best time joking around with them. They have unofficially adopted me as their son : ) They all have such servant hearts, and I am truly blessed to have met each of them!
