That's why I was kind of surprised by two encounters that I had yesterday. I had gone to the town hall in the centre of town. I was trying to track down a contact for a house that might be available, but not having any success in reaching the owner. Because the town hall keeps a list of registered residents of the town, I hoped perhaps to be able to find a way of contacting this man (even though I knew that data protection laws might mean they wouldn't be able to help me.)
While I was waiting to be attended to, a young woman came in and joined the queue. She was wearing a brightly coloured jacket with a website address on it and carrying a bunch of posters for some upcoming youth event. After a while, I asked her what her organisation was about and, sure enough, it was about volunteerism and other activities for youth.
It seemed to be a completely secular organisation, so when I mentioned that I also work with youth and with projects in Europe and Africa, I was totally surprised when she asked me, "Are you a missionary?" (I didn't think I looked particularly like a nun!)
Sure enough, when I said that I was a missionary, her next question was whether I was a lay person or whether I was a "religiosa" (a nun.) I think it's the first time that a Spanish person has ever asked me whether I'm a missionary.
What happened later was even stranger, though. A town hall worker came to help me with my enquiry and it turned out to be a man who lives near me. I didn't even know his name, but I had often seen him walking his dog and we had said hallo to each other.
Despite searching their computers and making a few phone calls, he wasn't able to help me with what I was looking for. In the course of the conversation, however, I explained that it was because I needed to move house and was looking for somewhere to live. "Oh, give me your contact number," he said. "I know someone who sometimes has information about flats for rent and I'll ask him to contact you if anything turns up."
So I told him my phone number and I was still standing next to him as he sent a text message to the person he knew. I was close enough to read what he was writing and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him write, "Es buena persona; es misionera." (She's a good person; she's a missionary.) I didn't even know the man's name, yet somehow he knew more about me than I realised.
"How do you know that I'm a missionary?" I asked him.
"I think my wife told me," he said. "Everyone in the neighbourhood knows. Everyone knows you as the neighbourhood dog trainer, but sometimes you wouldn't be around for a while and people would say you'd gone to Africa because you're a missionary."
I was genuinely surprised. It's true that I've lived in my neighbourhood for 13 years and I've made no secret about what I do, but I never imagined that all kinds of casual acquaintances know such details about me.
It's made me aware that my current situation is being observed - especially by those who know me well. Non-Christian friends have even made comments along the lines of, "Your God will have a solution for you, but it must be hard in the moment to keep looking and not finding somewhere to live."
I've said before that I know I need some kind of miracle this year. Now I'm more aware than ever that the miracle, when it happens, could be a powerful testimony of the reality of God.
