God's providence in the little things

Remember that one of my goals is to keep you informed about the little things of life that make living in Mongolia so interesting. Today's post is one of those.

Every year I must renew my residency permission to live in Mongolia. Part of that renewal is a requirement to get a document from my local khoroo stating where I live and that I have registered with them. When we moved from our first apartment in Mongolia to the apartment that we now occupy, we switched khoroos. As a consequence, I immediately went down to my local khoroo's secretary and registered with them. Registering means that they filled out a form with my name, age, and some other details from my passport. They also took a copy of my passport and a little passport photo from me. Then they put all this information, pictures, and copies into a big book along with information about all the other foreigners who live in this khoroo.

For those of you curious about the Mongolian governmental system, Ulan Bator is a municipality separate from the aimags (provinces) in Mongolia. Ulan Bator is further sub-divided into districts and each district is divided up into khoroos. These little sub-divisions contain several thousand people. Each khoroo has its own police office, medical clinic, and government office where the khoroo's secretary works.

Since then at least once a year and often more frequently, I have been in the khoroo's office to register or conduct other official business. One result is that the ladies who work in the office there have come to recognize me.

When I arrived in August, I visited the khoroo's office to receive my documents to request residency permission and also documents to register a vehicle in my name. Without even opening their book to look at my registration information, they simply asked where I lived, wrote out a document, and stamped it. The stamp is very important in Mongolia.

Because my residency permission is tied to the company for which I work, my residency permission had to be renewed in December along with my company's legal registration and tax registration. Therefore, I headed back to the khoroo's office in December to get another paper documenting my address. This time there was a new secretary, one that I had never met before. Another lady who knew me was there but was working with another person. Dutifully, the new secretary opened the book of registered foreigners and began to look through it for my paperwork. I waited patiently as she flipped page after page. At least they could organize it by buildings, I thought to myself.

After going through the book once and not finding my registration, she began to chide me, "Why haven't you registered yet? You are supposed to register as soon as you arrive? How long have you lived here?"

"Three years," I responded referring to the length of time I lived in 6th khoroo, "and I have registered."

"Yes," agreed the other lady, "He has registered. You just need to look again." I was very grateful that the other lady was there to vouch for my previous registration.

The new secretary looked a second time and still could not find my paperwork. She began to scold me when the lady whom I knew reminded her that I had registered and perhaps my paperwork had been lost. The new secretary then filled out a new sheet for me. In filling out the new sheet, she asked me how long I would be in Mongolia.

I was not certain how to respond. Should I answer and say, "Until my God calls me to a another place"? I queried, "Can I say, 'For the rest of my life?'" She gave me a very quizzical look and then decided just to leave that part of the form blank. Then she reminded me that I needed to bring copies of our passports and new passport photos for every family member.

I just very grateful to God and said a little prayer of thanks that the lady who knew me was in the office that day. By the time that I returned with the copies of our passports and photos, the lady who knew me had left. It certainly made it easier that she stood up for me when the other lady wanted to accuse me of neglecting my duty to register. Praise God for His providence in the little things!