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The Divine Us

Michelle and I recently visited our nation’s capital.  We loved the tours, the history and the architecture.  Yet, what we really loved was living the “city” life.  We rented a one-bedroom brownstone on D Street SE, right around the corner from the Capital.  We also became pros at riding the Metro.

We enjoyed sitting out front of our house and watching the world go by.  Men and women in business suits and high heels, passing an old guy walking his dog.  As someone else was riding a scooter that they had just picked up on the corner.  We also enjoyed walking aimlessly around the National Mall, taking in all the history and wonder.  Oh, and yes, we ate out every day.

We went to The Hamilton, a place designed for us tourists.  As well as a place called Matchbox, that had the best freshly made powdered doughnuts with chocolate dipping sauce.  We even ate at Pete’s Dinner, which is now run by a friendly oriental family.  So, we ate eggs and bacon and hash browns, surrounded by dragon sculptures and Japanese lanterns.  Very eclectic.

One particular evening, on our last night in Washington DC, we decided to take the Metro in a different direction.  Being at the Capital South station, we had always ventured into the National Mall area – Federal Triangle, Foggy Bottom, L’Enfant Plaza.  But on this night, we went the opposite way and got off at Eastern Market.

This dumped us out onto 8th Street SE.  As we walked down 8th, we came across restaurant after restaurant.  There were people everywhere.  The block was a buzz with sights, sounds and smells.  There was a rooftop Caribbean bar that had a live band.  There was an ice cream parlor with a line out the door.  And there were a good number of young men with their hair cut high and tight.  Which, we would later discover, was the result of a Marine Barracks right down the street.

Since we had no idea of the lay of the land, we decided to walk until the neighborhood appeared to transition from a commercial focus to a residential focus. We then proceeded to turn around, so that we could pick our restaurant for dinner.  We both knew that we were in the mood for Italian.  So, just up the street we remembered passing a little Italian restaurant called Lavagna.  This is where we would stop to eat.

It was, by far, the best meal of our vacation.  It was a “farm-to-table” restaurant, so the menu was small, based on what they were able to pick up at the local market that day.  They made all of their pasta from scratch.  We simply asked our waiter what he recommended, as well as spied out the plates on the tables around us.  We were delighted.  From the calamari to our pasta dishes, everything was so good and the portion sizes were perfect.  If we would have had one more bite, it would have been too much.  But, one less bite would have left us wanting more.  And, never fear, the portion size left enough room for us to venture across the street to get some ice cream.

After desert, we headed back to the Metro and back to our brownstone to pack our bags. For tomorrow we were headed home.  We were ready.  We loved the week we spent in Washington DC.  Yet, we also love where we live.  Blessing upon blessing.

I am not writing this as some sort of travel blog.  I am writing this because I want to tell you the story of our vacation.  My prayer is that you have had, and will continue to have, stories to tell from your life.  Maybe your stories will not be like this one, but they will hold blessings, none-the-less.

Never forget to tell your story.  Never stop telling your story.  Tell the story of what you have experienced, how God has blessed your life.  Tell your story of traveling, of wondering, of exploring, of struggling, of winning and of losing.  It is through the telling of your story that God works his wonders.  Not only in your life, as you remember, but in the lives of those you tell.  For all are blessed by the telling of your story.

And, in the telling of your story, it will become a part of our story.  The divine us.  All of our stories will become one glorious story.  All of our stories will become His-story!  Isn’t that a wonderful thought?  But, this will only be possible, if and only if, you tell your story.