The Dithering of a District Diva

Last night I experienced what could only be God’s timing. I got off of work later than usual which put me on the streets of D.C. at 6:30 p.m. I walked a mile and a half in stilettos trying to find a happy hour spot to read or write at, since Bible study had been canceled. I slinked around and then finally gave up when I got to Chinatown, broke down and bought some flip flops from Bed Bath and Beyond, and settled on Clyde’s for dinner, drinks, reading, writing, etc. at about 7:30. I had a very good meal and a very good drink (the Strawberry Basil Lemonade is to DIE for) and had gotten pretty far along on the novel I was writing when I noticed my waitress was rushing me. By no fault of my own, I was seated at a four person table when I was only a solo. They were getting busier, now that it was 8:00, and though I sympathized, I didn’t see how it was my problem. I kept writing. I was on a roll! But by 8:25, my waitress’ huffing was too irritating to have to bear. So, I left by 8:40

I walked home slowly and far more comfortably in my flip flops, singing French songs, like La Vie En Rose, and enjoying a beautiful D.C. night. But at 9:00, about 10 minutes from home, I was stopped by an elderly couple. “Excuse me, can you please help this girl?” They pointed to a petite lost-looking college student with long, wavy hair and two giant suitcases almost as big as she was. “She’s lost. She’s from Russia and she’s trying to find the 5A bus and she’s got alllllllllll of these bags and they’re so heavy.” I smiled and side-eyed the old lady for laying on the guilt-trip, but said, “Of course! I’m walking right past the 5A, let me help you.” I grabbed a bag, they all thanked me, the older couple went on their way and the Russian and I rolled her stuff to the bus stop two blocks away.

I couldn’t check the bus schedule for her because, as usual, my phone was dead. And, as usual, my iPad didn’t pick up a wireless signal. “Is it safe out here?” she asked, her accent choking the words. “Oh sure,” I tried to reassure her. “I’ve lived here for years and I’ve never had any problems.” I glanced around for wood to knock on or proof that somehow tonight might be different from all the other nights I’d carelessly walked the streets with nothing but Jesus for cover. She didn’t look reassured, so I offered to stay with her until the bus came.

For the next forty minutes (THANKS WMATA!) we chatted about her life and her trip to America for the summer. As it turned out, she wasn’t Russian at all; she was from Moldova, but like most of you DMVers, she claims the next big thing when talking with strangers. She had taken the trip with her boyfriend whose flight was leaving from New York while hers left from DC. She asked about my boyfriend, at which time I ecstatically whipped out my book du jour: Your Knight and Shining Armor and told her about my six-months-no-dating pledge. I told her about how I’ve been using the 6 months of no dating to work exclusively on my relationship with Christ and how awesome it has been getting to know Him in a deeper way these past five weeks. I can now say that I’ve literally shared the revelations from this book with everyone I’ve met. She seemed genuinely interested and wished me luck. Her bus came at 9:40, and for the last time, I helped her drag her bag again. We introduced ourselves (Ilyana,I think), she hugged me and said “you save my life!” I rummaged for my business card but couldnt find one in time, so i just got off the bus and then,she was gone.

Throughout our conversation, I kept thinking, “Wow! She is strikingly beautiful!” And she was; she had a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and a long, round nose, which may all sound like features that don’t fit together, but somehow, defiantly, they did, anyway. And as I happily walked the rest of the way home, I got to thinking about all that had transpired that night — A series of randomness and time that God some how calculated to fit perfectly together: my boss keeping me late, my slow wandering in heels, my pushy waitress, all collided to put me in front of an elderly couple and a young Moldovian girl to give her a bit of peace for forty minutes. Last year, I barely ever had random encounters with strangers, certainly not pleasant ones. Last year, the disappointment of a canceled Bible study would have meant sulking for the remainder of an unsalvageable evening, or a “tip of advice” instead of money for a rude waitress. Last year, as a broken person myself, I would’ve avoided with all my might a collision with other broken people. But maybe something about me was different that allowed people the opportunity to approach me. Maybe I was changing.

Before I made it home, I had another thought: I wonder what people think when they see me? After going back and forth about it, I finally settled on the hope that when people see me, when they look at my life — my boss, the waitress, the elderly couple, the Moldovian girl — I hope they think: “Wow! God is beautiful.” I’ll have to keep that in mind.

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