Let me take you back to when I first met Simone. Fresh off the plane, I shuffled to the bus stop with my luggage and a heart full of nerves. I had arrived in Palma, but did not even know where to begin with purchasing a bus ticket to get to my airbnb. And there’s Simone; a helpful and kind stranger, who explained to me that because it was still the tourist season, bus tickets were five euro, higher than they would be when the island was flushed of its many visitors. Simone, a native English speaker who didn’t hesitate to strike up a conversation, which quickly led to the realization that we were both in Palma because we were employed as Language Assistants, except she was entering her third year with the program. When my stop arrived, Simone hopped off the bus with me, and in the rain she pulled up the address on her phone, and led me to the doorstep of the flat I was staying in. When I recount traveling mercies and the grace of God upon me, this memory is high on the list.
Fast forward a week and there I am in a cafe with Simone, already a source of comfort and familiarity to me in this new world that is Mallorca. She listens and asks questions and gives advice, and we depart with a tentative plan to meet the following week. During the next several days, I am reaching out to everyone I have come in contact with in hopes of finding a lead about a place to live in Palma. When I say everyone, I mean everyone– posting in Facebook groups, an email sent to the woman who helped set up my bank account, inquiring to the woman who led the orientation for Language Assistants, seeking out the Pastor at my church- anyone who had a connection to Palma knew I was looking for a place, and for one reason or another, every lead seemed a dead end.
As I began to doubt I would ever make my way back to Palma (evidence here), I once again had coffee with Simone. And there, she listened to my discouragement only to meet it with a proposition; if I could secure a place for the month of October, I could move into a room that would be open at the end of the month… in her flat. Tears and nodding and a grin were my response.
And so, after three weeks in a temporary flat, my bags have now been unpacked, my clothing put on hangers (I have hangers, you guys!, how simple and yet such a gift), and pictures have been hung. However, this flat serves as a reminder of something much more than just a space to live and do life in. This flat points me in the direction of divine work, of provision that only God gives, and of God’s faithfulness even among my doubt. How Simone and I met at the airport bus stop, how every room I was shown had something that made it a deal-breaker, how her previous flatmate’s contract ended, thus freeing up a room; none of these things happened by chance.
There is hope and purpose written all over this part of my journey, none of the frustration or tears wasted because something better was being worked out all along on my behalf. When those moments come when I doubt circumstances will shift, and inevitably they will come, may I use this story to recount the goodness of the God I serve; that nothing is lost, that he sees each detail, that my needs matter.
Now who wants to come visit?