RELATIONSHIPS ARE WHAT MATTER
By Bonnie Connolly

At this time in August, 1987, the primary health care school I was part of, was now at the Balut Youth With A Mission (YWAM) base near Manila, Philippines. Each day, put on our rubber boots and hiked a short way from the mission base to the city dump called “Smokey Mountain”. Rising some 120 feet from the valley floor, the mound of garbage covered approximately 24 acres. Most of the 30,000 residents who lived on the dump scavenged daily for food, additions to their living quarters, or something to resell, which may have been their only income.
One day, I was scheduled to walk to the dump, but God had other plans for me. I heard a knock at the door. A 12 year- old boy from Smokey Mountain stood there with his two friends. He wore a ragged t-shirt, shorts and flip flop sandals. He held his twisted wrist which caused his hand to hang in a lifeless position. Apparently, he fell at a nearby playground and his friends knew about the mission base from one of the YWAM health care workers who made daily rounds to their section of Smokey Mountain. Our medical teamed prayed for him, and my instructor asked me to help her as we made a splint for his arm. Then, she turned to me and said, “Bonnie, I want you to take him to the hospital. I’ll call for a taxi.”
When the taxi arrived, I told the taxi driver to stop at the dump and I asked the boy, whose name was Boy, to find his mother so she could go with us.
I don’t know why I became so attached to this boy, but I did. He didn’t speak a word of English and I didn’t know his Tagalog language, yet we somehow understood each other.
After a few hours, a doctor came to examine Boy’s arm, and ordered a nurse to start an intravenous tube. The staff told me that he would need surgery which may not be for several hours, so his mother stayed, while I found a train to Balut and the mission base. I went back to work at the dump.
That afternoon, Boy’s grandmother found me and slipped a note into my hand which said, “Boy needs surgery to repair his broken arm and his doctor needs more casting supplies. Can you buy and deliver them to the hospital?” So, I went back to the mission base with his grandmother. One of the health care workers walked with us to a local drug store and he bought the necessary supplies for $4.00 U.S. Then, Boy’s grandmother and I headed to the hospital in a taxi to deliver them.
When we arrived, we found Boy and his mother. All of us were hungry. I found out that patients do not eat unless their family feeds them, so I bought supper for all of us.
After we ate, Boy’s mother and grandmother stayed with him. I started the long journey on the train back to the base, only to be scolded that I was out past dark, and no one knew where I was. Discouraged, I laid in bed that night with my journal, and tears streamed down my face. God said to my heart,
You are investing in this boy’s future.
The words burned in my heart, and I wrote in my journal, “It is relationships that matter most and what makes a difference to me on a trip. I feel as if I’m touching someone’s life. That was what the compassionate touch is all about.”
With permission from my instructor, his grandmother and I visited Boy in the hospital. Boy was in a bed with his arm in a cast and strung up in a pulley. He grinned widely when he saw us. I noticed a cat under his bed, apparently to keep the mice population down. A doctor found us and explained that he could go home the next day when his bill was paid. The entire cost of his hospital stay, treatment and surgery was about $50.00 US. I told the YWAM leader about this, and they paid the entire bill.
The next day, his mother and I again took a taxi to the hospital with the money and took Boy home. The mission was complete, and I was happy. Later that day, I visited Boy on the dump. He was all smiles. We along with many of his friends signed his cast.
On my last Sunday afternoon in Balut, it rained fiercely. I decided to take a nap, but I couldn’t sleep. I heard the Lord say,
Go visit Boy and his family and tell them about Me.
As much as I tried to ignore His prompting, I knew I couldn’t get away from the Lord. So, I got up, searched for a health care worker who knew Tagalog, and we headed to the dump.
Through the pouring rain, we found his makeshift house made of old mattresses and cardboard. His grandmother, mother, and Boy welcomed us in. Boy smiled again as I shared through the interpreter how much Jesus loved them, and wanted to be a part of their lives. Humbly, all three of them bowed their heads and prayed to ask Jesus into their hearts. As Luke 15:10 explains, there was much rejoicing by the angels that day.
When I arrived home to the United States, I exchanged letters with someone on the YWAM base who knew of Boy. I found out that someone paid for Boy’s education.
For me, this was a short-lived experience. Yet, the words, “You are investing in the life of this boy’s future.” still ring in my ear. I believe that, to the Lord, this was a mission well spent. I entrusted Boy to the Lord and prayed that seeds of faith were planted in his heart that still grow and produce much fruit.