Preface.

Healed of eczema. "Never drink!" One must ask for Divine Help. ‘Russian God, Help Me!’ ‘Keep to the South-West.’ The Miraculous Conversion. The Bear. The Image of the Savior in the Sky. ‘Father Alexis, Save Me!’ ‘Our Father…’ The Second Oath. "Go, My Daughter!"'God saved my from under the ice..." An Angel Gave Last Rites to the Dying. About the Importance of the Proskomedia. A Revealed ‘Piece’ of Supreme Reality. ‘A Glance Cured My Soul.’ ‘How I Saved my Son’s Life with Holy Baptism.’ ‘How I Started to Believe in God.’ ‘We Never Tell the Truth.’ ‘When You Appeal to God.’ Healed of Blindness. ‘I Cannot Drink!’ ‘God Rescued Me!’ The Formidable Sign. A Prayer's Strength. A Warning to Parents. ‘Voices.’ The Mentally Retarded Girl. ‘Do You Want to Join Me?’ God’s Help to the Atheist. The Miracle with a Parachute. The Miracle of the Holy Fire.

The Unexpected Joy. ‘Rise and Lift It!’ Help from the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God. The Officer’s Conversion. The Encounter. Aunt Polya. ‘If Not for Her...’ In the Belovezh Forest Preserve. ‘Turn Back, You Have Lost Your Way.’ The Quick to Hear. The Sign in the Sky of Stalingrad. Who Helps the Russians? The Heavenly Queen Will Not Abandon. The Heavenly Teacher of Daughters. ‘I Beg You For the First Time...’ The Mute Started Talking. ‘The Mother of God Came to Us!’ The Tikhvin Icon of the Mother of God. ‘I Shall Ask Nothing of Her...’ The Miracle on the Path. The Diligent Protectoress. ‘The Most Ever Holy Theotokos, Save Me!’ ‘Mother, Dear, It Still Hurts Me.’

St. Nicholas.

"St. Nicholas stands in your stead." ‘The Fast Helper’ ‘Where Are You Going, Girl?’ ‘The Quick Helper to Those in Trouble.’ ‘Why Are You Sleeping?’ ‘How Can You Look at This?’ ‘St. Nicholas, Help Me, Dear!’ The Salvation of a Mother and her Baby. ‘Now I Need Help!’ ‘He Descended the Icon, Like a Staircase.’ ‘Aren’t You An Angel of God?’ The Petrified Girl. The Epilogue.

Saint Seraphim of Sarov.

The Mine. The Wonderful Conversion of the Young Man. 'The Water is Ice-Cold.’ St. Seraphim’s Coat. ‘Drink Some Water From My Spring.’ ‘Stand firmly, don’t fall.’ ‘Who is he, this Elder?’ The Book. The Bread. ‘It Won’t Hurt Anymore.’ The Rusk. "Go to ‘The Queen of All.’"

Righteous Saint John of Kronstadt. ‘Thank Father…’ ‘You will marry soon.’ The Incomprehensible Prayer. The Recovery. Father Theodore. St. Ioasaph of Belgorod. St. Euphrosinia of Moscow. St. Anthony of Voronezh. St. John the Baptist. The Miraculous Healing. St. Panteleimon’s Icon Renewal. Blessed St. Xenia.

‘Death is the Rebirth to Life…’ ‘There is, there is, there is!’ Father George’s Story. The Appearance of a Departed to Michurin. The Girl in a Pink Dress. The Shamed Atheist. ‘Mama, But You Are Dead’ ‘Little One, God exists!’ Pascha Night. ‘Come Up Here With Us.’

Elder Iraclius. ‘Take Me as a Hostage.’

Attachment. Ven. Isaac the Syrian About Miracles and Signs (A re-telling).

Holy Bishop Ignatius (Bryanchaninov) About Miracles and Sorrows.

The stories of God’s miraculous help, related here, are all from the twentieth century. They make up an insignificant part of what is known through oral tradition and of what is described in other books. The idea for this collection came about after meeting with Lidia Vladimirovna Kaleda — the wife of the wonderful pastor Father Gleb Kaleda. She showed us a neatly hand-bound typed collection named "The Uninvented Stories" that she found, going through Father Gleb’s extensive archive. We were struck by the simplicity and sincerity of the stories, most of them collected during the Soviet rule, at a time when you could find yourself sitting in the "big house" for such a work.

All of our storytellers are calm, soberly-minded people that could in no way be suspected of abnormality or hallucinations. In addition, these are people of deep faith, for whom it would be unheard of to sin and make up such tales. We deemed it necessary to begin this book with pastoral teachings on the basics of the Orthodox approach to miracles, that help to discern true miracles from false ones.

The subject of miracles is further complicated by the fact, that it is connected with a person’s worldview or ideology, and his attitude toward God and the supernatural. Staunch materialists, on principle, will not recognize anything as supernatural, even though these manifestations are not rare.

The opposite attitude to unexplainable phenomena is found among people who consider themselves to be Christians, but are not living in the Spirit: they are ready to subscribe any unexplainable event to the category of miracle. At present, there is a certain attraction to all that is mysterious and "not of this world." Everyone remembers the stir about barabashkas (kitchen witches), UFO’s, mediums with "voices from outer space," and the desire to communicate with spirits, and so on.

This type of gullibility is dangerous, because it turns people into prey for all sorts of charlatans, and even worse, draws them into the realm of fallen spirits, who are very sly and crafty. For this reason, the Church insists that everyone have a sober attitude toward the mysterious and to investigate whether they are a manifestation of God’s good Providence or the enemy’s. This collection is published with the goal of helping people better understand this issue.

What is a miracle and how should it be treated? We will try to define a miracle from a scientific point of view.

Science is built on facts and on theories that explain them. A fact is that which any person, anywhere, can repeat under the proper conditions. Of course, it is also important that he have the proper training, but it is completely irrelevant whether he is honest or not, an egotist or an altruist, believer or unbeliever. Besides that, this fact must be recorded by our sensory organs or with the help of an apparatus. Miracles are real — but they are not ordinary facts that can be produced and repeated at will.

True, there is one miracle that is always performed during the Liturgy, which is the miracle of the Eucharist. But it is inaccessible to the sensory organs; this miracle can be experienced only by the believing soul.

There is another well-known miracle, The Holy Fire or Holy Light, which repeats itself every year in Jerusalem on the Orthodox Pascha. All who congregate at the Tomb of the Lord when the Fire comes down see this miracle, and everyone can touch the flame with their hands, which does not burn for some time. This has been tested by thousands of witnesses. The candle burns, and a hand or even a beard can be held in the flame of the candle without being harmed. This can be done by anyone. Even from a scientific point of view, this is a fact known to the whole world. And so — is the whole world flocking to convert to Orthodoxy? — No such phenomenon is observed. Why? Because one fact is not enough for the formation of an entire ideology. There needs to be a theory explaining the fact.

There can be several theories, and each one explains the same fact differently. Each person must choose for himself what the theory should be. The problem is, that there is no logical transition from one theory to another. Axioms lie at the base of any theory (initial propositions accepted without proof) and then, naturally, a reason is found for everything. Subsequently, everything depends not on who, but on what. What — is matter, the screws of the mechanism; that, which dictates the development of the event. But which set of screws to use depends not on what, but who. It is this who that chooses. In Orthodox theology, this "who" is called a person (in Greek-hypostasis). A person takes the first illogical step, and then, functions by logic. It turns out that everyone decides which theory to accept individually.

Science follows those theories that, by explaining previous facts, can predict subsequent facts, or show how and when to record facts yet unknown. As long as the theory "works," it is trusted. Even if we know that it is not 100% true, we can comfortably apply the theory within its functioning boundaries. This explains the presence of sometimes very primitive theories in science. The logic is, that if there is no need for something more, then facts not explained by a particular theory can be disregarded, there is no need to rack one’s brain over it.

The same holds true when choosing a position in spiritual life. So the fire doesn’t burn, so what? You say that your God is the most powerful? He will chastise me and send me into eternal torment if I am not for Him? If so, then I am all the more against Him. Your God demonstrates His power before me: ‘I can walk on water and you can’t; I can turn rocks into bread, while you will die in the desert without Me.’ So, I’ll die, but I won’t submit! I am free and will not become a slave.

This is what undeniable facts can lead to. Brave and free men may not be convinced, but instead, be challenged to rebel. A fact is a thing that cannot be denied, but can be fought against. Even if we die, we have the right not to bow before any power. Fact is a well-known coercion or compulsion. Any theory can be thrown out and replaced by another that is more compatible to a personal ideology, but with facts you can either fight or submit to them. There is no other option. That is why the Lord has not made miracles a fact of our everyday life. They would force a person to make a choice.

The miracle of the Holy Fire is repeated every year, but is not obtrusive because it is observed only by those who wish to see it. It is sent by God as a heavenly joy, to increase understanding, as a fatherly reminder, and as a confirmation for the doubting.

For each person who has, in one way or another, come into contact with a miracle, it has had the power of a real fact and, consequently, to a certain extent has been an act of coercion unto faith and changes in their way of life, often quite radical. Here we come upon a contradiction: God is Indescribable and Unspeakable Love, Unlimited Mercy, and miracles are God’s manifestation of His Love and Mercy to mankind, suffering and despairing in his day to day existence. The only gift that a grateful man can give God is reciprocal filial love. But love can only be given or received freely. If even we can understand this, then the Lord God — all the more so. That is why He does not force Himself upon us, does not spiritually coerce us. He told us ‘Ask and it shall be given unto you, seek and ye shall find, knock and the door shall be opened unto you (Mt 7:7).’ Therefore, supernatural, miraculous help is given to those who are ready to ask. He who is ready to ask is not far from love.

Some say, "Show me a sign and I will believe." Fools! Fools that have never read the Gospel and don’t know that the Lord, tempted by the devil in the desert, rejected miracles as a means to subjugate man. The Lord does not perform miracles so that people would believe in Him. God does not need anyone to believe in Him, He needs only that they would love Him. And not because He cannot exist without human love, but because man will never rise from the earth, he will never reach the Kingdom if he does not learn to love — to love his Creator, his neighbor and brother, because love is the only source of Eternal Life.

Therefore, miracles surround a person who believes and loves God on all sides. They are as real to him as the physical world. And if a person reads about, or even sees, how an ascetic walks on the sea as if it was dry land, in order to pick up an icon that had miraculously appeared there, then, for him, it is as much reality as when he is standing on a road and does not sink.

Of course, every miracle is a fact that reveals the innermost, precious life of the human soul, and a person does not always find it necessary or helpful to tell others, fearing to be misunderstood or laughed at. For the Lord has broken the laws of the material world for his sake, condescending to his trouble or weakness. But telling others about the experiencing of a miracle may be helpful, sometimes even necessary, not only in the framework of the family or church, but on a wider scale. When human will suddenly defies the Divine Providence of God, He must sometimes find some means to make a mass of people understand immediately. An example of this is the appearance of the Mother of God to Tamerlane on the day of the Meeting of Her Vladimir icon in Moscow. From the point of view of material laws, Tamerlane’s retreat with his innumerous hordes from Moscow, which was guarded by a relatively small guard of the Moscow Prince, is absurd. Only a biased researcher would consider this historical fact anything other than a miracle.

There are many similar miracles in our history. A recent miracle was the fall of the Soviet government. Anyone who was well acquainted with the Soviet system of guarding the safety of the government, will undoubtedly consider this a miracle. It seems that God has his own plan for our Motherland.

In this way, for the Orthodox person, miracles are just as real a manifestation of life as any other manifestation. This is all providentially given to us by God. Some of us need material help, some of us need relief from physical sufferings, while someone needs enlightenment, encouragement to examine their relationship to life — and right before their eyes a Holy icon begins to exude oil. Every miracle of God has its particular good purpose, and for this reason an Orthodox person considers it a sin to seek a miracle for the sake of the miracle itself — for the satisfaction of his own curiosity.

If the supernatural happens in the life of a believer, an appearance of light or an Angel during prayer, for example, Orthodox believers who sincerely love God will reason thus: "God knows that I love Him, but my love is not dependent on handouts, if, of course, it is not dictated by some real necessity. Consequently, this is someone else, in the likeness of God, trying to demonstrate to me his "love." God does not make empty plays. That means this is probably someone trying to deceive me. Why should I be shown what I already know if it is not necessary for the fulfillment of my obedience. These types of "empty" miracles are most likely worldly manifestations hostile to God, and therefore I will not pay attention to them. If I am praying to God, then how can this manifested Angel be distracting me from prayer? If it is an Angel of the Lord, then he would not do that. That means that he is not of God. And if he is not of God, then it is dangerous to get involved; I am not yet spiritually strong enough."

That is a sound attitude for an Orthodox person towards such "noisy" effective and enticing "miracles." Fortunately, not all miracles are like that, but it is important to be able to discern between them. On this issue, the natural criterion that helps to divide the wheat from the tares is the voice of the Church. The Church, like a living organism, in ways known only to God, throws out everything empty and false, leaving only that which leads its children to God and life everlasting.

The distinguishing feature of a true miracle of God is its beneficial result. If, after a miracle is performed for him or near him, a man comes to repentance and faith in God, if he begins to reform and live a more virtuous life, then it is probable that the miracle is authentic. But, if a person becomes arrogant after coming in contact with a miracle, saying, "I am not like everyone else, I am one of the select," then it is a deception. Confidence in one’s selection and in one’s spiritual power is particularly characteristic of modern healers and psychics.

These words of Christ apply to those priding themselves in miracles: "Many will say unto Me in that day (of judgment), ‘Lord, Lord have we not prophesied in thy name? And in Thy name have cast out devils?’" But He will answer, "I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity…For not every one that saith unto me ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter into the Kingdom of Heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in Heaven" (Mt 7:21-23). But the will of the Father is to create and renew mankind for Eternal Life, not to nurture selfishness and arrogance. It is the simple question of getting personal benefit from those gifts that were received in some way, opening a door to a different reality, either by accident or on purpose. The history of the Orthodox Church knows many ascetics who, in their lifetime, performed miracles, but none of them ever charged anything for their help. In addition, any voluntary offerings that were brought by thankful people were handed out to the needy.

Besides, all that is evil always gives a feeling of unhealthy anxiety, exaltation, the loss of sobriety, that is, of the normal interpretation of surrounding reality. A person should rationally and soberly evaluate every situation in life. The loss of sobriety is dangerous, because after a person has come into contact with demonic enticements, he will act as if he agrees with you, no matter what you say, all the while thinking to himself, ‘Say whatever you want, but in this case you are ignorant, — because I know.’ This inward voice belongs to the evil one; he separates a person from God and other people. A person becomes unreachable and impenetrable; he guards himself from everyone with a shield of pride and is not about to listen to anyone.

Therefore, if you have seen a miracle in your life, it is important to talk to a priest, in order to receive an objective evaluation of what has happened. Never ever talk to any sort of sorcerer, medium or witch, because this will not work towards your salvation, but to the strengthening of your personal selfishness and conceit.

In our time, a majority of people considers physical health to be the most important thing in life. However, one should take into consideration that sometimes one "pays" too much for "healing" — if it is received through a sorcerer or psychic. When healing does not come from God, then a person inevitably loses something spiritual: his faith in God is weakened; he loses the desire to pray or to read God’s Word. Sometimes, by the healing of one organ or sickness, another, hidden sickness is received, even more dangerous than the first. Therefore, keep in mind the words of the Lord: "If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it. For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? For the Son of Man shall come in the glory of His Father…and then He shall reward every man according to his works" (Mt. 16:24-27).

Therefore the safest position on miracles — is to not seek miracles. A true miracle of God most often comes when a person’s soul is prepared to receive it, prepared to believe in God and follow Him. Then the Lord sends help to the searching soul by sending a miracle — deliverance form danger, help in a difficult situation, or healing. In all cases, one should humble oneself before the Lord, and not insistently demand the fulfillment of one’s desires by Him. It is best to say to Him, "Lord, if you deem it necessary, then give me of Your mercy. If You foresee something different for me, then may Your will be done!" That is the soberest position for a believer to take on miracles.

My grandmother had a sister Ludmila, a year and a half older than she. Her hands were covered with eczema from early childhood. Whenever they tried to find help — everything was in vain. They always had to bandage her wrists. Close to their village there was a spring, which was considered holy. People came to visit this spring from the entire province. Once a year, there was a religious procession with singing, holy banners and icons from the village church to the holy spring. It was a huge procession.

I don’t know why they did not use this method of treatment earlier. That year, my grandmother was about 5 or 6, and she remembered everything very vividly. The entire family joined the procession to the holy spring. The dean of the village church, Father Gabriel, the grandfather of my grandmother and her sister, led the procession.

They approached the spring. Father Gabriel led his granddaughter and put her next to the water. My grandmother, clutching her sister, also made her way there, to see everything. They started to read the Gospel and prayers. While the prayers were being read, upon Father Gabriel’s signal, the girl had to plunge her hands into the water and hold them there for a while.

‘Look, Ludushka, pray now. Pray a lot,’ Father Gabriel said to her. She did that. After this, they bandaged her hands again and went home.

In the evening, when the bandages were taken off to apply a new dressing, everyone saw the clear pink hands. There was no trace of eczema or scars. The disease never returned.

I knew one pious family: a husband, wife, and their young daughter. It so happened, that the husband returned home very drunk on Christmas Eve. The upset wife and daughter put him to bed, and he fell asleep straight away. Soon he woke up in the state of great worry and anxiety, absolutely sober, and wished to go to church immediately. To the daughter’s question, what happened to him, (his wife had already gone to church) he answered:

— I just saw the Lord in my dream. He told me: ‘Remember the Holy Feasts, respect your parents, don’t ever smoke or drink.’

I married early. I had faith in God, but my job and every-day fuss placed it on a back burner. I lived without praying to God or fasting. To put it simply, I grew cool towards faith. It never even entered my mind, that God would hear my prayer if I addressed Him.

I was living with my husband and children in Sterlitamak. In January my youngest child, a boy of 5, suddenly fell ill. We sent for the doctor. He examined the child, and said that he had acute diphtheria, and prescribed treatment. We waited for improvement, but it did not come.

The child weakened awfully. He did not recognize anyone anymore. He could not take the medication. Terrible wheezing escaped from his chest, and it was heard in the entire apartment. Two doctors visited him. The looked at the sick child in sorrow, talked to each other with preoccupation. It was obvious that the child would not outlive the night. I could not think about anything, and was doing everything necessary for the sick boy mechanically. My husband was beside the bed, afraid to miss the son’s last breath. It became quiet in the house, only the awful whistling wheeze was being heard.

The church bell started to peal for Vespers. Almost unconsciously, I dressed and told my husband:

— I will go to ask for a molieben for his recovery.

I entered the church. Father Stephan approached me.

— Father, — I told him, — my son is dying of diphtheria. If you are not afraid, serve a molieben at our house.’

— We are required to send off the dying everywhere, and go without fear, wherever we are invited. I shall come to you directly.

I returned home. The wheezing was still heard in all the rooms. His little face was completely blue, and his eyes were rolled up. I touched his legs: they were totally cold. My heart wrung painfully. I do not remember if I cried. I cried so much in those terrible days that it seemed that I cried all my tears out. I lit the votive and prepared the necessary things.

Father Stephan came and started to serve the moleben. I carefully took the child in my arms, together with the feather bed and the pillow, and took him out into the room. He was too heavy to hold while standing, and I sank into an armchair. The service continued. Father Stephan opened the Holy Gospel. With an effort, I rose from the armchair. And then a miracle happened. My boy raised his head and listened to the Word of God. Father Stephan finished reading. I kissed the Gospel; so did the boy. He entwined his arm around my neck and listened to the service that way to the end. I was afraid to breathe. Father Stephan raised the Holy Cross, made the sign of the cross with it over the child, let him kiss it and said: ‘Get better!’

I put the boy to the bed and went to see the priest out. When Father Stephan left, I hurried into the bedroom, surprised that I did not hear the usual wheeze that tore at the soul. The boy slept quietly. His breath was even and calm. With tenderness, I went down on my knees, thanking the Merciful God, then I myself fell asleep right on the floor: my strength had left me.

The next morning, as soon as the bell pealed for matins, my boy got up and with a clear ringing voice said to me:

— Mama, why am I still in bed? I am tired of it!

Is it possible to describe, how joyously my heart began to beat! I immediately warmed some milk, and my boy drank it with pleasure. At 9 o’clock our doctor quietly entered the hall, looked in the front corner, and not seeing a table with a cold little corpse, called me. I answered him in a cheerful voice:

On February 18, Father Stephan held a thanksgiving service at our home. My boy, completely healthy, prayed diligently. At the end of the service, Father Stephan said:

— You should write about this case.

I sincerely hope, that at least one mother, after reading these lines, will not fall into despair in the hour of sorrow, but will keep her faith in the goodness of those mysterious ways, along which the Divine Providence is leading us.

The girl’s name was Sarah; she was the daughter of very rich Jews. There were five more children in the family besides her. The family lived in B. The father had a harsh temperament, and both the children and the mother were afraid of him.

Once the father was leaving on a very important business matter. Remembering something, he put his hand in his jacket’s pocket and took out a piece of paper, folded into quarters.

— Oh, I don’t feel like going back, — he said. — Sarah, take this document, it is very important, and put it in my office, — he called to his daughter, running past him. — Put it on the desk, under a book. But do not lose it, or I will take your head off, — he shouted after her.

Sarah put the paper in the pocket of her dress and had just turned toward the office, when her older sister called her to look at a new hat, the present of her fiancé. After that, Sarah looked out the window and saw that the neighbors’ kids had gathered in the yard, ready to start an interesting game. Forgetting everything, she joined the players.

The paper was in her pocket, and she was jumping and playing till late at night. The maid put the dress in the wash, and the next morning brought her another one.

The father sitting down at table asked Sarah in surprise:

— Where is that paper that I gave you yesterday?

Only then did Sarah remember it.

Everyone started to search, but Sarah knew very well that it was all useless: the paper was in the pocket of her dress and she had not taken it out, and afterwards the dress was taken to be washed. No doubt, the paper was thrown away.

Shaking with fear, she confessed it all to the father. He looked at her and said severely:

— It was a bill of exchange for 10 thousand rubles. In two weeks I was to protest it. I don’t care if it is not here, I must have it. Get it wherever you please — or…

Sarah closed her eyes, horrified. Her father never made empty threats. The futile searching began. At first, everyone in the house was involved in it, but having realized its futility, they abandoned it. Sarah lost her sleep and appetite. She stopped playing with the other kids, and was hiding from everybody in the far corners of the garden. The place she preferred most, was the one adjacent to the yard of an elderly Russian woman. She lived alone in a poor shack; she did not have any property except a multi-colored cat and a greening kitchen garden. The branches of three apple trees were swaying, and three currant bushes were sprawling there.

In the summer, the woman was constantly busy in her wretched yard, but often, leaving the work and standing up straight, she prayed. Her kind face became kinder during the prayer, she often shed tears, but she did not notice them and only crossed herself.

Sarah was observing her through the hole in the fence, and when the woman was praying, she felt lightness and joy. The fear for her father receded. But then, as the woman finished praying, the horrible thoughts started to overcome Sarah again, and she visited the bank of the river to find a place where she could drown herself.

Once, when she felt particularly bad, Sarah went to the cherished corner of the garden and, repeating the movements of the woman, tried to pray herself. She did not know how it should be done, and she crossed herself clumsily and repeated: — Russian God, help me.

Then she started to complain to Him about her troubles and again asked for help. She did this every day, but this did not stop her from going to the river, where she thought to finish her life, for the reprisals of her father were more frightening than death.

Two weeks passed. There came the morning of the fatal day. Sarah did not sleep a single minute, and as soon as it grew light, she dressed, looked at the sisters sleeping in the same room, and quietly left the house. The sun was just starting to rise; there was no one in the yard.

Sarah turned around to see her house, the garden, the large yard, full of out-houses, for the last time and went to the gate. Flinging the bolt aside, she took the door-handle decisively. But what was that? There was a paper, folded into quarters, threaded through the door-handle.

Sarah took it out and mechanically unfolded it. It was the bill of exchange…. The one that her father had given her 2 weeks before. But that bill had become sodden in her dress pocket and was thrown away. How could it appear here?

Having forgotten the fear for her father, forgetting everything, Sarah rushed screaming into the bedroom of her parents. Disheveled, not yet completely awake, the father snatched the paper out of her hands.

— The bill, that very bill! — he cried out. — Where did you get it?

Shaking all over, Sarah told him. The father began to examine the document again. Everything was in order, there was nothing to find fault with, but it differed slightly from the one that was lost — as if it was on different paper, with different handwriting.

Everyone in the house woke up and gathered in the bedroom, happy and excited. Only Sarah did not rejoice over this with the others — the new feeling of something great and incomprehensible was filling her soul. She went to her corner in the garden again.

— You did this — Russian God, — she whispered, and she did not want to go home, but wished to be there and silently think about the extraordinary God, Who took mercy on her and performed a miracle.

‘There are many inexplicable things in the world. There can be miracles even in our unbelieving time, — said our host, a former seaman, walking up and down the dining room. He invited us to spend a gloomy autumn night over a cup of tea at his place, and we gathered around his samovar (a typically Russian pot to warm water for tea, used in the 19^th century) in a friendly circle. Our host was a master at telling stories, and we were expecting an interesting story about one of his many sea adventures.

— Yes, I remember this case very well, — he continued, pulling his gray moustache, — an outstanding case. I was only a warrant officer, a young and jolly youth, full of rose-colored dreams and expectations. Our sailing at that time was very hard and dangerous. Autumn came. The sky was low, with leaden clouds. A cold wind was blowing. We were holding our course. The ocean was making somber noises. I remember that evening clearly. We, the youngsters, having fulfilled our daily routine, went to the cabin and were remembering our relatives and friends.

Suddenly we heard the hasty steps of the captain and deduced from his walk that he was irritated by something.

— Gentlemen, — he said, stopping at the door of the cabin, — who allowed themselves to enter my cabin? Answer me!

We were silent, astonished, and only looked blankly at each other.

— Who? Who was there just now? — he repeated fiercely, and probably seeing the perplexity on our faces, turned around quickly and went upstairs. We heard his fearsome voice from there. We still had not come to our senses when we were ordered to go up. There, the whole crew was at attention. Both the boatswains were upset and disturbed.

— Who was in my cabin? Who dared to play such an insolent joke? — the captain shouted. Silence and astonishment were his answer. Then the captain told us, that as soon as he lay down in his cabin, he heard someone’s words in a semi-consciousness state: ‘Keep to the southwest, to save people’s lives. Your speed should be not less than 3 meters per second. Hurry, before it is too late!’ We listened to this story, surprised. The captain’s face grew dark. We were dismissed. All of us were anxious and bewildered. What will the captain do? Sailing southwest — meant abandoning our course and going in the opposite direction. No one slept till late at night. Soon we understood that, after a long discussion with the chief boatswain, a very experienced, tried seaman, the captain decided to follow the mysterious advice. In fact, the deviation was not so significant and not much time would be lost.

— Keep to southwest and put a good sentinel on the mast! — we heard the captain’s order to the boatswain. Our hearts beat anxiously. What would happen? Could it be nothing but a joke, a mockery? But who could play a trick like this? Early in the morning we were all up as usual, and crowded on deck. The helmsman silently pointed out a black object in the distance to the captain. We had sailed all night; the morning was gray and rainy. The visibility was poor in the fog. The captain looked through the telescope a long time, called the boatswain and told him something in a low voice. When he turned in our direction, his face was paler than usual. In an hour and a half we saw, with the naked eye, that the black object was something like a raft, and there were two human figures lying upon it. We dropped a boat in the water. The boatswain himself went for the unfortunates. The waves were overflowing the raft, just a little bit more — and it could be too late. Were the people on the raft alive? After a half-hour struggle with the waves and the wind, the boatswain brought the sufferers. They were a young seaman and a child, both unconscious, with faces, distorted by cramps, stiff, almost dead.

What a fuss began on the ship! All of us, starting with the captain and ending with a lowest seaman, tried to do something for the sufferers. Their mysterious salvation amazed us all; they appeared to us messengers of Providence.

The captain, like a most caring mother, hustled around the child. The seaman came to his senses only two hours later and cried from joy. The child was fast asleep, muffled and warmed.

— Lord! Thank You! — said the seaman, a nice, simple fellow. — Apparently, my mother’s prayer reached God!

We all gathered around him, and he told us the sad story of the ship, broken on the stones underwater and sunk. There weren’t many people, some managed to escape in a boat, the rest drowned. He miraculously managed to survive on a remaining piece of the ship. The child was not his, but it seized the seaman in the moment of danger, and they escaped together.

— My mother, obviously, prays for me! — said the seaman, crossing himself reverently and looking at the sky. — Her prayer saved me! I was so scared when I was conscious, and the child had seized me — I could not leave him; I was stiff from cold, freezing, the water overflowing me… The child was crying… and I started to pray… And the last thing I remember: death was there, and I cried: ‘Mother, dear, pray for me! Pray to the Lord!’ Surely, she was praying ardently for me. I always have her letter here in my pocket… Thanks to my dear!

And he took out the letter, written in the weak, simple handwriting of a semi-literate woman. We reread it several times, and it made a great impression on us. The last words of it I remember even now: ‘Thank you, my son, for your memory and kindness, for not forgetting your old mother. God will not leave you! I pray for you day and night, my son, and a mother’s prayer reaches God. Pray, too, son, and be healthy, and do not forget your old mother, who prays for you. My heart is always with you; I feel all your sorrows and troubles and pray for you! May God bless you and save you and protect you for me!’

The seaman, apparently, loved his mother very much and constantly thought of her. The captain, a childless man, became attached to the rescued child, a seven-year-old boy, and decided to keep him.

The ways of Providence are wonderful! Great is the power of a mother’s prayer! There is much in the world that is mysterious, inexplicable, and incomprehensible for our weak mind.

This happened to my grandmother. She was hiding her faith from the authorities. Once she was walking with her friend, an atheist, and they were passing by a church. There was a service, and people were praying. Her friend decided to mock the believers. She entered the church and, during the singing, cried out loud: ‘Why are you praying to One Who does not exist?’ My grandmother tried to take her out, to persuade her: ‘Don’t do this, let’s go. They are praying, let them pray.’ But her friend would not calm down and said loudly, so that everyone could hear it: ‘If God exists, may I fall and not get up.’

And suddenly she truly fell and could not get up. They took her out, she asked for some water, and there and then she bought an icon. After that, as my grandmother told me, she became a very religious person, but her infirmity remained for the rest of her days.

Metropolitan Cyril (Smirnov) of Kazan and Sviyaz was sent to exile. One night he was thrown out of the train carriage at full speed. It was a snowy winter. Metropolitan Cyril fell into a huge snowdrift, as if into a feather bed, and was not hurt. He struggled out of it and looked around: woods, snow — no sign of a dwelling. He walked a long way in the snow and, growing tired, sat on a tree-stump. The frost was chilling him to the bone through the worn-out vestment. Feeling that he was beginning to freeze, the Metropolitan began to read to himself the prayer for the dying. Suddenly something big and dark approached him, he looked carefully — it was a bear.

‘He will eat me!’ — the thought flashed through his mind, but he had no strength to run, and where to? But the bear approached him, sniffed at him and calmly lay down at his feet. The beast was in good temper, it emitted warmth. He moved, and turning his belly towards His Eminence, stretched out and began to snore. The Bishop hesitated for a long time, looking at the sleeping bear, but then could no longer bear the paralyzing cold and lay down next to the bear, cuddling up to the warm belly. He lay, turning one or the other side to the beast to get warm, while the bear was breathing deeply in its sleep and enveloping him in his hot breath. When it grew light, the Metropolitan heard roosters crowing in the distance. ‘Habitation is near,’- flashed the happy thought in his mind, and he carefully, without waking the bear up, rose to his feet. But the beast got up, shook himself and waddled to the forest. His Eminence soon reached a little village.

After knocking at the first door, he explained who he was, and asked for asylum. He was allowed in, and lived for more than half a year in that village. He wrote to his sister, she visited him, and then they came for the Metropolitan and took him away.

In 1941, when I was 22, I was sent to the front. I was a signalman. I took part in the Leningrad defense. The Nazis were trying to take the city, which was surrounded. Trying to take the city at any cost, they sent an avalanche of fire on us. My battle friends were dying one after another. And then, during one of the bombings, when the barrage swooped on the city and, it seemed, that the end of the world had come, a real miracle happened. The night sky was suddenly illuminated with pink light, and the image of the Savior appeared on the rosy sky. All the soldiers in the dugout, without any mutual agreement, fell on their knees from the suddenness of it, and started to pray… The image of the Savior disappeared. The sky became normal, but the hell on earth stopped. And we could not regain our senses for a long time… I started to believe in God from that moment. With this faith, I survived the entire war and, after the Victory, returned home without a wound. The image of Christ remained in my memory forever.

At the beginning of the Second World War, I was taken prisoner by the Nazis. They locked us in a church, and then started to take us out in groups to shoot us. They took me with the others. At that moment, I remembered Father Alexis Mechev. In despair, I begged: ‘Father Alexis, save me!’ and crossed myself. I saw that the Nazis, who were leading us, started to talk about something, then they separated me from the others and did not take me further.

Everyone was shot, except me. From then on, in any trouble and difficulty, I appealed to Father Alexis for help, in my prayers.

One seaman, fighting against the Nazis at the Baltic Sea, found himself in the ice-cold water. He swam, tiring out. The cold waves were submerging him. His clothes were wet. His arms and legs grew numb, became uncontrollable. Where could he swim? Where was north? South? The fog was like an impenetrable wall. His heart beat at top speed.

He had exploded the enemy’s ships, now they exploded his launch. Nobody survived. He would die, too. He had to face the truth: those were the last moments of his life. Even if any ship passed by, he wouldn’t be noticed: there was impenetrable fog. He was far from shore. The cold was piercing. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. There was nothing to hope for, except a miracle. But all his life he thought, — and he was so taught at the Moscow University, by very intelligent professors, — that miracles did not exist, that there was no God, that all that was a lie and the invention of illiterate fools or swindlers.

In those moments he remembered his dearly beloved grandmother, who had said just the opposite when he was a child: ‘Just say — Our Father. Call God your Father… And can the Father leave His child in trouble?’

And the seaman, hardly recollecting the words of the prayer, gathered his last strength, whispered: ‘Our Father Who art in the Heavens! Hallowed be Thy name…’

Before the seaman even finished the prayer, the dense fog suddenly dissipated, revealing a Soviet ship which was in that region accidentally. They noticed the seaman and took him aboard. This rescue from inevitable death, particularly after he had read the prayer, appeared to the seaman to be so miraculous, that he believed in God.

The Motherland sent me to the front in the very first week of the war. I participated in the fierce battles at Kursk.

I will remember November 23, 1941 all my life. We found ourselves surrounded. The fascists brought a storm of fire down on us. The land shook and smoked from artillery, mortar shells and aviation bombs. The air was densely filled with fumes, the sky — was covered with the smoke of fires.

The howling of the German fighters and bombers, the bursts of bombs and shells, machine-guns’ crackling — it all looked like hell; moreover, it was drizzling, and in the evening it started to snow. Many of my fellow soldiers sprinkled the legendary ground of Kursk with their blood that day, and some found eternal peace in it.

Those left alive, separated, morally depressed, led by the instinct of self-preservation, tried to find shelter and salvation in the forest tracts. That day, we met with a group of soldiers in exactly the same situation, at one forest ravine. There were 13 of us, — exhausted, dirty, cold, and soaking wet.

Among us there was a commander, a native of Novosibirsk. We gathered around him, waiting for some decision. When darkness came, it became really cold, and we did not even dare to set a fire, afraid to give our presence away. It seemed that death was inevitable: if not from an enemy bullet, then of cold and starvation. Suddenly the commander addressed us in a stentorian voice, with no shadow of irony: ‘Brothers, who knows any prayers?’ — ‘I do, — I said, — I am Nicholas Melnikov.’ — "And my name is George. So there are two Guardian Angels, the wonder-workers, with us. Let’s pray for help.’ He started to read a prayer first, and I echoed him loudly. As for all the rest, some were repeating it in a whisper; some knelt, and crossed themselves, bowing to the ground.

When we were done with the prayers, it was already very dark. Suddenly we saw some kind of light to our right, behind the fir-grove, a few meters away from us. We all rushed that way and saw a small peasants’ hut, with a kerosene lamp shining inside. We knocked at the door. A gray-haired old man met us at the doorstep. Without asking curious questions, we unanimously took him for a local forest ranger. The host of the well-heated hovel warned us: ‘Forgive the modest shelter. May I treat you to boiled water and rusks. And there is some straw for you to sleep on.’

Warmed up, we lay down on the straw "down" in a row, huddled close to each other, and slept till the morning. And when we woke up, we found ourselves in the same place in the ravine, where we had grieved the night before. The hut had vanished. The commander thanked God for the miraculous shelter and, making three bows toward the rising sun, said: ‘So, brothers, from now on do not be "Lone Ivans". Do not forget God, protect the Church of Christ, remember each other and pray for each other till the end of your lives.’

We took these words like a second military oath. Unfolding the map case and finding our bearings, we set off. We made around 15 kilometers under the noise of the cannonade, passing through ravines and coppices, in the direction of Poltava. And all 13 of us rejoined our own units.

Aunt Shura was born, and grew up, in a village. She came to Moscow as a young girl, and went to work at a factory. She shared a room in a hostel with the other workers. You can imagine what kind of life it was. ‘I was a prostitute,’- she used to say about herself. Lively, witty, loving singing, dancing and laughing, Shura became the leader of the factory youth. She did not even think about God. Sometimes she went to church, when there were great Holy feasts and commemorative Saturdays — it seemed to be the thing to do. She gave birth to her son without a husband. With a child, she was able to get a room in a communal flat. Time passed: work, jolly company, admirers.

When Shura turned 40, a miraculous event occurred that changed her whole life. It was summer. For some reason she came home from work early, and went to bed early, too. She felt some incomprehensible fatigue. And she saw a dream, that she was walking in a field and many people were descending the hill. ‘I don’t want to go down,’- Aunt Shura said to herself and left them. But off to the side, people were going somewhere, too. She joined them. After a while, they reached a church. There was someone on the doorstep. Aunt Shura looked and could not believe her eyes — it was Lord Jesus Christ Himself! He was in white clothes, just like on an icon. He was blessing everyone. She approached Him for a blessing too. The Lord put His hand on her head and said: ‘Go, my daughter.’ and He gave her a little push toward the church door. At that moment, Shura woke up. ‘ I don’t know what happened to me, but I went to sleep being one person, and woke up completely different,’ — she related afterwards.

In the morning, she called her place of her work and took some days off, luckily it was vacation time. She searched all over Moscow for the church which she saw in her dream. It seemed to her that she had to do that. How she searched, how she went from one kind of transport to another, how she walked the streets and lanes — is a long story. I shall only say that that search did not bring any result at first.

During her last day off, Shura found herself in one of the old districts of Moscow. The trolley was passing through a quiet street, — at that time, in 1963, still not congested with traffic. The branches of the old trees, which had witnessed the revolution and the war, were rustling above. The clouds were floating across the blue July sky.

Shura was looking through the window and thought that she would have to ask for some more days off, even if they used her vacation days. Suddenly, from around the corner, a white church floated out like a ship. Around it there was a clean small square. ‘That’s it, there!’ —exclaimed Shura, astonishing the passengers, and rushed to the exit. That same day she started to work there. Aunt Shura has been here in our church for 30 years now.

‘God does exist,’ — the old man, tall, bent, with grayish hair and expressive features often used to say. His name was Theodore Mikhailovich Makhov. At that time, all the schools and universities taught that God did not exist, and considered believers backward or insane. Theodore Makhov started to believe in the existence of God after he was saved from the waters.

Once, he was going home on the ice across the river Pekhorka, which is in Podmoskovye (a region close to Moscow). It was late evening —it grew dark early in the winter. He could not see the road. Somewhere in the middle of the river he fell into an ice-hole. The river was so deep in that place that, even in summer, not every diver could reach the bottom.

When he found himself under the water, he started to drown. If it had been dark on the ice, there was complete murkiness under it. He began to thrash, in order to swim out. In a few seconds he came up, but did not find the ice-hole, he hit his head on the ice. Then he really began to drown, because he had no idea which way to go to swim out. Sinking to the bottom, he appealed to the Lord with all his might:

— If You exist, save me, help me! — He begged not with words (he had no air), but with his mind — his entire essence cried aloft. At that very moment, the water under the ice lit up.

— I saw no one, only it was like daylight, — he was explaining afterwards. — The light approached me. And some force took me by the hair, it seemed, and started to pull me up. I don’t know how, but I was pushed out onto the edge of the hole. Someone helped me to get out. Most likely God or His Angel saved me from under the ice… First I crawled, and then I got up on my feet and began to walk. My coat was heavy with water, and ice-cold. I got home before I had time to freeze...

Yes, whatever they might say, God does exist! Otherwise, I wouldn’t be alive.

In the mountain region of Central Asia there was a church, in which two priests served. Once, a parishioner came, requesting that a priest give Holy Communion to a dying man. One of the priests was sick, the other one refused to go for some reason.

The relative of the one dying returned very sad, thinking that he could not fulfill the last request of the dying.

But when he came back, he found the sick person in a happy, lucid condition.

— Thank you for inviting a priest to visit me, so I that I could confess and receive Holy Communion.

The latter was amazed, and realized that an Angel of God had come to take the confession and give Communion to the dying man in the priest’s stead.

A renowned scholar, a medical man, became very sick. The invited doctors, his friends, found him in such a poor condition, that they saw there was little hope of recovery.

The professor lived only with his sister, an elderly lady. He was not completely atheistic, but did not have much interest in religious questions and did not go to church, though he lived near a small one.

Upon hearing such a medical verdict, his sister became very sad, not knowing how to help her brother. Then she remembered that there was a church nearby, where she could go and ask for Proskomedia prayers for her critically ill brother.

Early in the morning, without a word to her brother, she got ready for the early service, told the priest about her sorrow, and asked him to take out a prosphora piece and pray for her brother’s health. At the same time, her brother had a vision: as if the wall of his room disappeared, and in its place a church sanctuary appeared. He saw his sister talking to the priest about something. The priest approached the Altar, took out a prosphora piece, which fell down on the discos, ringing. In the same moment the sick professor felt, that some force entered his body. He stood up from the bed, which he had not been able to do for a long time.

His sister came back, and her surprise was boundless.

— Where have you been? — exclaimed the former sick man. — I saw everything; I saw how you were talking to the priest in the church, how he took a piece out for my health.

They both thanked God tearfully for the miraculous recovery.

The professor lived a long time after that incident, never again forgetting about the mercy of God, which He had shown to him, a sinner.

For our summer vacation, our entire family decided to drive round the Golden Ring in our new car. The last city on our route was Vladimir. In Vladimir we separated, agreeing to meet at 7 PM. I walked around the center of the city and came to the Dormition Cathedral. I entered the church….

Remembering what I was like at that time, at the age of 21, — I know that I entered the church like a ‘good-for-nothing’, an atheist, — in a word, a ‘normal’ Soviet student.

I remember that, when I entered, I was struck by the following: in front of me, everything was lit with dazzling light, something was going on — somebody was moving somewhere, it was unclear where. The choir sang in a way that I had never heard before —I was an admirer of rock music. And I forgot everything: forgot about myself, about my troubles and plans. I was standing… and crying without stopping. I remember that there was no constraint, but something melted in my chest, my soul warmed, I felt amazingly light; even crying, I was glad, sweetly relieved.

I do not know how long this lasted. Then I remembered that I should not to be late for the 7 o’clock meeting. I looked at my watch; it was high time that I went.

Have you ever left a warm, cozy house and went into complete, awful dampness? That is how I felt when I left the church, though it was a warm summer evening. I stepped into habitual reality, which had become strange to me, with something unearthly in my soul, with a completely unfamiliar feeling.

Naturally, there was a discotheque close to the church (this was the 1970s). I took several steps toward it, and felt that the music was making me sick, not physically, but somehow internally, in my soul. Throughout my being, I felt how cold and savage and strange it was — the music, and our everyday life, and all our surroundings. All of this was very unclean, unworthy and wickedly mocking us…. It could not be compared to THAT, which was in the church… Then I met my relatives. In our talks and preoccupations THAT receded to the background, was almost forgotten. But It always stays with me — this revealed piece of Supreme Reality. Twelve years later I was baptized in connection with other events, but THAT was the first among them…

There was little joy in our family. I was an only child. I grew alone; my parents were occupied at work. In the evening, when they came home tired, we gathered in the kitchen for supper. Mama and papa often argued. Their irritated voices and offensive, cruel words pierced my heart…I, myself, was an unattractive, unsociable girl with no apparent talents. I did not have friends, though I wished to. A certain constant solitude and sorrow resided in my soul.

I remember that day: my soul was especially cold and depressed. I did not even wish to read, or even to live. I wandered through the city, and saw a notice on the street that an exhibition of ancient books and icons had opened at the museum. I went there. There were almost no people. I remember that I immediately plunged into a special state of concentration and silence. My soul became lighter, brighter.

For an hour, I walked from book to book, from icon to icon. I wanted to stand near each icon for a very long time. I felt, that warmth was exuding from the icons. My soul gradually warmed.

And then — I remember it as if it just happened— I found myself in front of the icon painted by Andrew Rublev ‘The Savior Made Without Hands.’ As soon as I looked at That Face, something miraculous happened: it seemed that everything around me disappeared, and that time itself stopped existing. A Look was fixed on my soul. A Look of such strength penetrated my soul that I myself no longer existed before It, but my life was all about opening up to meeting It. There were no barriers for that Look: It knew everything about me. And it contained such love, such tenderness, the like of which I had never known. The feeling that that Love, which was addressed to me at that moment, could never be compared to any human love, remained in my heart forever.

This continued for an eternity, and when I came to, there was that wonderful icon in front of me, from which I could not walk away for a very long time. But I had become different. The golden stream warmed that eternal permafrost which lay in the depth of my heart. That look cured my soul, and united it. Now I had something to live for. I felt joy, beatitude, because I was necessary and dear to Him. To Whom? I still did not understand. I knew nothing about Him. I only knew that He is infinitely more wonderful than all people, that He can forgive all, that there was no coldness in Him, that He could send an ocean of warm golden waves of joy and warmth into a soul and revive it. It was a shock, but the shock was not horrifying, but salutary... Remembering that look became my secret life, and helped me to undergo all troubles until He brought me to Church for Holy Baptism.

When my son was three months old, he was ill with bilateral staphylococcal bronchial pneumonia. We were urgently hospitalized. He grew worse and worse. After a few days, the head of the hospital department transferred us to a private room, and told me that my small son would not live long. There was no limit to my sorrow. I called my mother: ‘The child is dying unbaptized, what should I do?’ My mother immediately went to the church to see the priest. He gave my mother some Theophany water and told her what prayers to read during Baptism. He said that, in cases of emergency, when the person is about to die, a lay person could perform the Baptism. My mother brought me the Theophany water and the texts of the prayers.

There were glass doors to the room; the nurses scurried through the corridor all the time. Unexpectedly, they had a meeting at three o'clock. Our nurse charged me to watch my son’s condition while she was at the meeting. I baptized my son quietly, without obstacles. After the Baptism, the child immediately came to his senses.

The doctor returned after the meeting and was very surprised: "What happened to him?

I answered: ‘God helped us!’ A few days later we were discharged from the hospital, and soon I brought my son to church, and the priest completed the Sacred Baptism.

I grew up in a faithless family. I knew nothing about Church and God. In 1972, I was 16 years old, and went to the Resurrection Church in Sokolniki to be baptized. It should be mentioned that this was the first time I was in a functioning church. Now, I can say that God called me, but at the time there was no explanation: suddenly, I just went. Twenty years passed. I was as atheistic as my relatives. Moreover, I laughed at those who went to church. Certainly, I never went there, nor did I wear my pectoral cross. I made many mistakes in my life, went through a great personal tragedy. And then came that black day. Before that day, I tried to understand for nearly a year how I had come to such total ruin. I simply could not understand it.

One day at work, I began to talk to an elderly woman, and she said something about church. I asked her whether she really believed in God. To this day, I remember her smile and her answer, full of dignity, happiness, joy: ‘Yes, I believe in God.’ Something moved inside of me. The next day she brought me some brochures. They warmed me a little, though I did not understand much, reading them.

Then that day came. I felt the hopelessness of my life, the loneliness, very deeply. All this is hard to describe. I shall only say, that it was like a flash of light lit up my soul, and I understood, that the root of evils was in egoism, pride, and thence indifference to others, anger, insensibility, etc. The answer to my internal question appeared — only one word: God.

The relief, which I felt, cannot be described. My happiness was immeasurable. Now I, too, could say that I believe in God. I am taking a long time to describe this, but everything happened so quickly, it is impossible to measure it with time. I firmly believe, that the Sacrament of the Baptism, performed twenty years before, rescued me. I am glad when I see how people are going to get baptized, carrying their children. I know that they will be under the powerful protection.

My acquaintance, an elderly woman, became passionately fond of talking with ‘voices.’

The ‘voices’ told her different facts about her relatives, as well as other planets. Some of what they told were lies, or never came about. But my acquaintance did not consider that to be very convincing and continued to believe them. Time passed. She began to feel ill. Apparently, doubts had entered her soul. Once she asked them directly: ‘Why do you often tell lies?’ ‘We never tell the truth,’ — said the ‘voices’ and began to laugh. My acquaintance was horrified. She immediately went to church, confessed, and never did it again.

Nun Xenia told the following about her nephew. Her nephew was a young man of 25, a sportsman, bear-hunter, karate expert, a recent graduate from one of the Moscow institutes — in general, he was a modern young man. At one time, he became keen on the Oriental religions, and then began to communicate with ‘voices from space.’ Mother Xenia and her sister, the mother of the young man, tried to dissuade him from doing those things, but he stuck to his guns. For some reason, he was not baptized in childhood and rejected it later. Finally — it was in 1990-1991 — the ‘voices’ scheduled a meeting at one of Metro ring stations. He was supposed to enter the third carriage of the train at 18.00. Of course, the family tried to dissuade him, but he went. At precisely 18.00, he sat down in the third carriage and immediately saw the person he needed. He understood it, because of the extraordinary force coming from him, though externally that person looked normal.

The young man sat opposite to the stranger, and suddenly he became horrified. Afterwards, he said, that even while hunting, one on one with a bear, he had never been so afraid. The stranger looked at him silently. The train was already on the third round of the Metro ring when the young man remembered that, when in danger, one should say: ‘Lord, have mercy on me!’ and began to repeat that prayer. At last he rose, approached the stranger and asked him: ‘Why did you call me?’ ‘And what can I tell you, when you are appealing to God?’— answered the man. At that moment, the train stopped, and the young man jumped out of the carriage. He was baptized the next day.

A marvelous prayer is read during the consecration of water, which asks for curative powers for those using the water. Consecrated objects contain spiritual qualities, which are not common to usual substances. The expression of these properties is comparable to miracles, and testifies to the connection of the human spirit with God. Therefore, any information about the factual expressions of these qualities is very useful to people, especially during times of temptation and doubts about faith, or, in other words, in the spiritual connection of man and God.

This is especially important nowadays, when the erroneous supposition that such a connection does not exist, and that it is proved by science, is widespread.

However, science operates with facts, and denial of facts on the basis that they do not fall into a given outline, is not scientific method.

One more quite authentic case can be added to the numerous displays of the special curative qualities of consecrated water, which took place at the end of the winter of 1960-61.

The elderly teacher-pensioner A.I. had problems with her eyes. She was treated in an eye dispensary, but, despite the diligence of the doctors, became completely blind. She was a believing person. When the trouble happened, she put pieces of cotton wool moistened in Theophany water on her eyes, with prayer, for several days in a row. To surprise of the doctors, on one truly fine morning she began to see clearly.

It is known, that such sharp improvement is impossible for glaucoma patients undergoing usual treatment, and the recovery of A.I. from blindness must be treated as one of the displays of the wonderful curative qualities of Holy Water.

Unfortunately, many miracles are not recorded, even less — published, and we simply do not know about many. The miracle which I have related will, obviously, be known only to a narrow circle of people, but those, to whom God’s mercy gives a chance to know it, we among them, — let us give thanks and glory to God.

In one medical book on psychiatry, which was published at the beginning of the XXth century, its author, a professor, wrote, that he divided insane persons into two categories: those who were possessed, and those patients with physical damage of the nervous system.

He determined the latter in a very simple way. He gave them sacred water to drink: nobody could force the possessed ones to drink it!

Here is a real case, confirming this.

Our acquaintance visited mother E., a very old nun of high spiritual life. Many people from different parts of the country visited her for spiritual help.

The nun accepted visitors only in the mornings. She listened to their questions, prayed, and then gave answers (when it was necessary); she also gave them sacred water.

According to witnesses, even people with incurable diseases were cured by this water.

As our acquaintance told us, she and several other people arrived, when the nun had already finished receiving. The nun’s novice told us:

— Find yourselves lodging for the night in the village, the nun will accept you tomorrow.

— I know one old woman who lets people stay at her place for the night, — said one of the women who came to see the nun.

— Aren’t you going with us? — we asked her.

• The old woman will not let me in, —the woman said confidently.

lodging she waved her hands at her:

— And you go, go — I shall not let you in.

Not understanding what was the matter, we began to ask the elderly lady to let the woman spend the night at her place.

— You do not know her, — said the old woman, — why, she never drinks the nun’s water, she pours it out in the forest.

To prove this, the old woman took out a bottle from behind the icons, poured a glass of water and gave it to the woman whom she did not want to let in.

— Take, drink, and then I shall let you in.

The woman took the glass in her hands, held it for some time. We could see from the expression of her face, that some kind of a struggle was taking place in her soul. She returned the glass, not even trying to take a sip out of it.

— I cannot drink, — she said.

Most of us, who passed through the Pioneer and Komsomol organizations during their school days, were brought up in atheism. And few and far between begin to believe in God. In daily life, we repeat the name of God in vain and inappropriately: ‘God grant,’ ‘So help you God,’ ‘God knows!’, ‘Swear to God’, etc., not fully understanding, what we are saying.

Many do not believe that Jesus Christ is the Lord, do not believe in the miracles performed by Him. A person wants a miracle, and, besides, one that he can see with his own eyes, — then, maybe, he will believe in God. We live according to the saying: ‘Until it thunders, the peasant will not cross himself.’

I lived about the same way. Though I was baptized in infancy, I started to wear a pectoral cross only about five years ago. I attended church once every six months, had confession even more rarely. I attached an icon of the Holy Mother of God on the front panel of my car. In time, I began to pray to God and His Holy Mother before each trip, with my own words (not knowing any of the traditional prayers).

And once, in the middle of the summer, in July, 1995, ‘thunder’ struck.

I was approaching an abrupt turn on the way out from Vysokovsk toward Volokolamsk. My speed was just under forty kilometers an hour. The pavement was wet after the rain. The approaching car, not being able to navigate the turn, hurled out into my lane — and our cars collided almost head-on. Only the two back wheels and the right back door remained undamaged.

I only regained consciousness after they had pulled me out of the car, having broken out the rest of the door. When I saw the condition of the driver's seat, I was amazed. In what position could I have been in there? I got away with several bruises, and the icon of the Holy Mother of God was somehow found clasped in my fist.

How could I not begin to believe? God had rescued me.

That is what one priest told me. On the day of Theophany, he was pouring the newly consecrated water into the parishioners’ vessels in the church. A woman approached him and gave him a bottle. As soon as the priest began to pour water into it, the bottle exploded in his hands and scattered into fine splinters. The amazed priest asked the woman:

— What kind of bottle is that? What had it held before?

The confused woman answered:

— Father, I wanted one youth to marry my daughter. To charm him, I took some magic water from an old woman, but was afraid to give it to my daughter. To be sure, I wanted to add some Holy Water to that water.

In 1994 I had a chance to work, unfortunately not for long, in the Church of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul. This church is the one of the most ancient and beautiful ones in Moscow. There was much that was amazing there. I witnessed several miracles. Here is one.

The service ended. I stood at the door. A woman approached me and, choking with tears, began to beg to be shown what icons were in the church and where. Her husband was dying, and she had just come from the hospital. Valentina’s (that was the woman's name) husband, — Alexis, had a very serious kidney disease, which somehow began with no warning. And so, we began to go from icon to icon, and lit candles at each one. I told her about the saints who were portrayed on the icons, trying to console her. How that woman cried, how she asked God to help her husband, to forgive him for his difficult disposition, for everything, that he had done bad in his life! Nobody around existed for her: only God, His Holy Mother and the saints. This is impossible to forget! I had never seen anything like this.

When she was leaving, I do not know why I asked her to give me her phone number. That evening, something made me call her. Suddenly, I heard her cheerful voice. She told me the following.

A distant relative just called her, who miraculously found a professor-urologist that specializes in that particular disease,. Even though a complete stranger had called, the professor agreed to examine the patient. He immediately set everything up with the Burdenko military hospital, where all the necessary equipment was kept, as well as with that hospital where Alexis was staying. And so, they were about to meet and go for Alexis, in order to transfer him to the Burdenko hospital. The relative’s conversation with the professor, and the negotiations with the hospitals, coincided with the time when Valentina was in church. Hope appeared! The professor examined Alexis till nearly midnight and prescribed treatment. It was very complex treatment. Valentina stayed in the hospital around the clock. Alexis survived.

We still call each other, and I know that he is safe and sound, from time to time repeating the treatment. Alexis is already quite active and does things about the house, he is even going to start working. This, when in fact, he had been given only days to live: the kidneys had already almost stopped working.

Hieromonk John served in the church of Zosima and Savvathias. He used to say, that we, adults, by not following the Christian way of life, are in the power of Satan, and demons attack our children through us, since they are not protected.

We turned out to be the witnesses of a case, which proved the truth of these words.

A boy of four or five was brought to the church to be baptized. A small child, cute, but his face was angry. They began to undress him, and then it started. He shouted, squealed, growled, he twisted and turned, struggled to get free. Six adults could hardly hold him. The child's strength was inhuman, as well as the voice with which he shouted. Only after they dipped him into the Baptismal Font, he calmed down and his little face brightened.

.

A woman of forty-five held conversations with ‘voices,’ which led her to mental disturbance. When they advised her to be baptized, the ‘voices’ began to try and convince her that she would die on the way to the church. After Baptism she felt better, but she was absolutely cured only after Communion of the Holy Body and Blood of Christ.

A mentally retarded girl was brought to the church on a cart on Sundays and feast days: she did not perceive anything, and her face showed absolutely no sense. The girl became transformed as soon as she was brought into the church. She examined everything around her, and when was given Communion, her little face became joyful.

This occurred in the 6-th City hospital in Moscow, in neuropathological department of the spine. We — several parishioners from the Elohovo Cathedral — visited that hospital, and helped the priest and patients in any way that we could. I remember, I entered one chamber and immediately saw a young man, who was, probably, the most seriously ill patient in the entire wing. He lay motionlessly on his back. I sat down by him, and we began to talk. This is what he told about himself.

One evening, he was coming home from work. He entered his building’s foyer, which was dark. Suddenly, he was attacked by several strangers, who started to beat him. He lost consciousness from the blows.

The first thing that he saw was the Lord, Who stood next to him, — so kind. The Lord asked: ‘Well, do you want to join Me, or to stay on the Earth?’ And he answered: ‘But what about my wife and daughter: how will they live without me?’ The Lord, without saying a word, smiled at him very tenderly — and everything disappeared...

After that vision, the man returned to life. That sickest patient, completely motionless, had a wonderful face, friendly and joyous (though it was hard to reconcile it with those pains which he had to be suffering), and very clear eyes.

This happened to my older brother. He is 10 years my senior. He was a typical modern businessman, successful. He has a family: a wife and two children. Once he became overanxious and had a heart attack. He had severe pains. The ambulance arrived; he was taken to a hospital. He was in rehabilitation for some time, then they put him in a double room. The hospital was good, equipped with the latest technology. Above everyone's bed there was a panel with a bell, to call the nurse, switches, etc.

On the second night, his roommate was transferred to the rehabilitation wing because of a severe deterioration of his condition. My brother was alone in the room. He could not sleep. Then, in the middle of the night, lying on his back, he suddenly felt coldness creeping up along his body, starting from the fingertips and toes. My brother rang the bell to call the nurse several times, but nobody came: the nurse had either gone somewhere, or had fallen asleep... But the cold kept rising up, coming closer to the heart. And my brother distinctly thought: ‘When this cold reaches my heart, I shall die.’

At this point, I have to mention, that my brother is an absolutely non-believing person. Moreover, he denies the Church. Any positive words about the Church cause a negative reaction in him.

But the cold continued to rise upwards, and then my faithless brother cried out: ‘Lord, rescue me!’ — And then? The movement of the cold stopped, faltered, then it slowly retreated the same way it began.

My brother was soon discharged from the hospital.

I did not believe in God. When it came time to join the army, my mother, frequently going to church and praying for me, gave me a piece of paper, with a prayer written on it, and said: ‘My son, let it always be with you.’ Later, I found out that the 90^th Psalm was written on the piece of paper. I was assigned to the paratroopers. One is not allowed to have superfluous things in their pockets in the army, so I sewed the prayer into the lining of my uniform jacket, near the left shoulder.

I was making my first parachute jump.

I shall never forget that moment when, having fallen down to the air abyss, I pulled the ring and... the parachute did not open.

I pulled the ring of the spare parachute — it did not open either.

The ground was approaching fast.

In those few seconds I could not, naturally, take out my mother's prayer and read it. Therefore I only slapped the place where it was, and cried: ‘Lord, rescue me!’

In reply, I heard the flapping of the opening parachute.

Everything would come later: the inquiries of officers and friends, my mother's joy and tears, but even before I reached the ground, I promised myself that I would enter the seminary.

Later, upon graduating from the seminary, I joined a monastery, now I am a hieromonk.

One nun, living in the Russian Gornensky monastery close to Jerusalem, told me the following. She was transferred there from the Puhtizky monastery.

She stepped onto the Holy Land with trembling and delight...

Then came her first Pascha in the Holy Land. Almost a day ahead, she occupied a place closer to the entrance of the Lord’s Tomb, in order to see everything clearly.

Midday of Great Saturday arrived.

All the lights were switched off in the Church of the Lord's Tomb. Tens of thousands of people waited impatiently for the Miracle.

Reflections of light appeared in the Cuvuclia. The happy Patriarch took out two clusters of lit candles from the Cuvuclia to pass the fire on to the jubilant people.

Many people were looking up at the dome of the temple —blue lightning was flashing across it...

But our nun did not see the lightning. And the flame of the candles was common, though she eagerly looked, trying not to miss anything.

Great Saturday passed.

What feelings did the nun experience? There was disappointment, but then came the understanding that she was personally unworthy to see the Miracle …

One year passed. Great Saturday came again.

Now the nun took the most humble place in the Temple. She could barely see the Cuvuclia. She lowered her eyes and decided not to lift them, thinking: ‘I am unworthy to see the Miracle.’

The hours of expectation passed. The shout of triumph shook the Church again. The nun did not raise her head.

Suddenly it seemed that someone forced her to look. Her glance fell on the corner of the Cuvuclia, where there is a special opening through which the burning candles from the Cuvuclia were transferred outside. And so, a bright, twinkling cloud came out of that opening - and there and then the cluster of 33 candles in her hand lit up by itself.

The tears of joy that came to her eyes! What gratitude to God she felt!

That time, she saw the lightning in the dome, too.

It was the year 1921. Nadia and I lived in a dark room in Constantinople, whose window faced a lavatory. We were emigrants, who had run away from Russia. Nadia had a small son, whom she managed to place in an orphanage, and I had nobody: my husband was killed on an armored train, and I was alone in the world.

All the belongings were sold, in fact, I had none, I lived on Nadia’s money, but now she had nothing, and we had not eaten for three days. We simply put a finger in salt, sucked it and lay down on our mutual wide bed.

What were we to do? Nadia found herself a job, because she knew foreign languages, but I didn’t, and nobody hired me. But many tried to buy us, and we were so frightened of the impudence of the surrounding people, that we were afraid of everyone and asked our landlady, a fat old Turkish woman, not to let anybody in.

We did not give our address to anyone —we were so afraid. Why, recently, we were nearly sold to a public house by our own compatriots. We were accidentally rescued by a French officer.

How I wanted to die!

Nadia believed in God, and that our life would change for the better. I, too, believed in God, but thought that He had forgotten us... I was sick of staying in bed, sick of the dirty walls, and though I was afraid of everything in Constantinople, I rose and, putting on my only suit, went out. I walked, reeling from weakness, but I felt better in the fresh air. Suddenly, someone caught me by the hand. It was Kolya, who had been my husband’s comrade on the armored train.

We greeted each other, told each other about our sorrows. He offered to take me to a familiar merchant N. — who had opened a restaurant for the emigrants, and to ask him to employ me.

— Oh, , Nadia and I will die of hunger before I find a job, in fact, we haven't eaten for 3 days, — I said.

— Maria Nikolaevna! And you say nothing! Here, take this, — Kolya exclaimed, worrying, handing me a coin.

— Do you have more?

Kolya hesitated.

— Well, no.

— Then I shall not take it.

We argued for a long time and at last decided: Kolya and I bought bread with all the money, one third he took to himself, and I ran home with the other two thirds.

— Nadia! — I shouted directly from the doorstep. — Bread!

We ate the soft fragrant roll, and could not have enough.

—Angelic bread, — Nadia was saying, filling her mouth full.

She was happy and already full of energy, while my heart was heavy again, and I did not want to go to Kolya's merchant: I was always so unlucky in life, that I was sure that it would end up as a failure.

Still, Nadia succeeded to persuade me; I went to N — but received a cold refusal from him:

— There are no vacancies...

Ah, why did I bother to humble myself...? I lay down and cried... Nadia had some luck finding a job, and I again had to live at her expense. How long could such an existence last? I had had enough; there was only one way out — the Bosphorus. There were many like me at its bottom…

For some reason I slept very soundly that night, and at daybreak I saw a dream: it was a dark room, in the corner — there was a shining icon of the Heavenly Queen, and I heard a voice from it:

—Go to the Church this Friday...

I woke up feeling joyful, pious...

For a long time I lay and relived what I had seen, then I began to wake Nadia:

— Hear what an unusual dream I saw. Wake up, I ask you.

Nadia was rubbing her eyes, not understanding anything. But my story quickly brought her to her senses.

— What a marvelous dream! — she whispered rapturously. — the Heavenly Queen is foretelling you something good. Wait; is there any Holy Feast this Friday?

Nadia grabbed the only book taken from home, — ‘The Life of the Holy Mother of God’- and started to thumb through it.

— Today is Tuesday, which means that on Friday there will be a feast day in honor of the icon ‘The Unexpected Joy’ — on the first of May (old calendar, - editor's note).

I spent that whole day, inspired by hope, but towards evening I became melancholy again. What is a dream, and how can it be trusted? I went to our embassy church on Friday only in order to not upset Nadia

The Liturgy ended... Where was the miracle? There was no miracle...

I was going home, blinded by tears. Suddenly, I heard Kolya's voice in my ear:

— Maria Nikolaevna, I have been searching for you around the city. What kind of behavior is this — not to give your address to anybody! In fact, I have asked all the Russians, I am run off my feet, and came here today, thinking: maybe you are in the church? Let's go to N. — he has sent me for you...

— Again to that moneybag? Never!

— But he had some change of heart; he came to me himself, and begged me to find you.

Finally, I agreed, though I knew, that nothing would come out of it...

N. met us like treasured guests, invited us in, acquainted us with his wife, then said:

— Listen to me, much-respected Maria Nikolaevna, and then judge, as you will. I refused you, because all the waitresses' places were occupied, and I did not have any other work. I refused you and was at ease: formally, I was right. Night came, and I dreamt that I stood before the icon of the Heavenly Queen and heard her voice, so formidable, that I trembled all over. ‘You, — I heard, — did not give a job to the woman who had come to you, and she may die, and you will be guilty of that.’ I woke up petrified. The Heavenly Queen Herself came to protect you! I could hardly wait until morning, when I went to Nikolai Petrovich: I asked him to bring you, and he refused, — he did not know when and where to search for you. I cannot describe how my wife and I worried. Thank God, you came. And I have already planned out, that the tables can be moved a little closer together in the dining hall to add one more, while two of them we shall take outside and put them near the entrance, so there will be work for you, and I ask you to start tomorrow, I shall make you the senior waitress.

I listened and could not understand, and something glorious, powerful, inaccessible to the mind, was growing in my soul — the feeling of unexpected joy.

My great-grandmother lived in her manor in the Yaroslavl province. She lay immobile in bed for more than ten years— her legs were paralyzed. In the corner, above her bed, there hung a Vladimir icon of the Mother of God, which she frequently appealed to in prayer.

Once she heard a noise, as if something fell, and heard the voice: ‘Rise and lift it.’ She looked around — there was nobody there. ‘Just my imagination,’ — she thought.

And again she heard the words: ‘Rise and lift it.’ Fear and surprise overwhelmed her: ‘How can I stand, when I lie immobile for so many years?’

Then she heard the voice for the third time, firm, like a command: ‘I tell you, rise and lift it.’

Then she felt strength inside her, put her legs on the floor and went to that corner from which she had heard the voice. So what did she see? The icon (a board without overlay, but very well painted — the Face was life-like) lay on the floor, split in two parts.

She bent fearfully, lifted the icon and began to connect the two halves, and it was if the icon grew together. But because she connected the parts imprecisely, the Mother of God had one part of the face higher than the other.

My grandmother has been well ever since. The icon was transferred to the church, and it started to work miracles.

My mother was a pious woman, and took in pilgrims. I remember one elder — a priest with long gray hair, dressed in a white linen under-cassock. On his back he carried a heavy bag, as if filled with sand, and in his hand — an iron staff so heavy that we, children, could not lift it.

Our father died, leaving my mother with six small children. The mother decided to open a seamstress workshop in order to feed her children. She borrowed some money, bought fabrics, hired skilled workers and hung a sign at the main entrance about taking orders. She began to wait for customers, but they did not come. The month was coming to an end, she had to pay the workers their salary, and there was no money. My mother began to despair.

Suddenly, this pilgrim comes. She tells him tearfully about her sorrow. ‘Don't worry, Ulyanushka, — the pilgrim said, — I shall give you a great assistant, you will have plenty of orders. Send someone to help me.’

Mama sent our nurse, and they brought a large Vladimir icon of the Mother of God from the pilgrim's cell. He did not stay in his cell much, more often he went on pilgrimages to sacred places.

The pilgrim ordered that icon hung in the workshop, and said that a votive lamp should always be lit in front of it.

When the icon was hung and the icon lamp lit, mother gathered all of us children. The pilgrim-priest read prayers, and we prayed with him for a long time. Mama prayed with tears. Then Father blessed all of us, told mama not to despair, and left.

Suddenly, customers started to call. Call after call — they accepted 12 orders before lunch. The next day they temporarily stopped taking orders: enough orders had come in on one day to last a whole month. Later, it even became necessary to expand the workshop.

I knew one family, in which there was a pious mother and a young officer-son. During military service, he forgot God, and started to lead a carousing life. His mother, as much as she tried, could not influence him, and only prayed hard to the Mother of God for the salvation of his soul.

Dying, she called her son to her, and asked him to promise to fulfill her last wish. The son agreed. The mother asked him to go to the church after her funeral, and to kiss the wonder-working icon of the Heavenly Queen.

That request of the dying mother struck the son like a lightning bolt. In view of the dissolute life he was leading and the inclination of his soul, it seemed that fulfilling that request was something awful, because his faith had not yet died completely and he understood that this was blasphemy.

The mother died. Despite the depth of his downfall and his terror of the holy object, the son did not consider it possible to break his word, as an officer, and forced himself to go to the church.

It seemed like a storm rose in his soul, and the closer he came to the church, the more difficult it became for him to go. But his sense of duty made him reach the church. He saw that icon of the Heavenly Queen, which he was supposed to kiss. Beads of perspiration appeared on his face, and he could not move. With great effort he made a step forward and stopped again. It took him an hour to cover the few short steps to the icon, and when at last, with his last strength, he kissed the icon, he fell to the ground unconscious...

When he came to his senses, he was already a different person. It was as if scales fell from his eyes. He saw the depths of his decline and felt all the bitterness, which he had caused his mother.

He changed his life completely, began to attend church and to pray for the pardon of his sins and for the peace of his departed mother’s soul, whose prayers saved his soul.

A priest was serving in one of the Moscow churches. A pious woman named Maria, who had come to Moscow from a village in 1936, was living in his family like a relative.

In the 1930s, the priest and his wife had to leave Moscow for several years. The wife returned first. She had to look for a job, but there was nobody to leave the daughter with.

Maria had come to Moscow just recently and became a servant She wanted to work for a pious family, one that she could work for until she died.

Nothing seemed to work out for Maria for a long time. Once, she came to one of the Moscow churches, stopped before a wonder-working icon of the Mother of God, and began to beg her tearfully to find her work in a pious family. When she was leaving the church, an unfamiliar woman stopped her. Her appearance struck Maria...

The Woman told her: ‘Go to church tomorrow, come up to the priest when he will be letting the people kiss the Cross. Ask him to help you; I shall take care of the rest.’

The Woman disappeared, and Maria realized that it had been the Mother of God Herself before her.

The next day the Matushka came to that same church – the wife of the priest. At the end of the service, when she approached the priest who was giving the cross to the parishioners, she asked him to help her find a servant that could look after her young daughter during her absence. The priest said, that he wasn’t familiar with anyone like that, and she went to kiss the icon of the Mother of God.

Maria approached the priest after her, and asked to find her a job in a pious family. Surprised by such a coincidence, the priest told her: ‘Go to that woman that is standing in front of the icon, she is looking for a servant.’

So the Mother of God Herself united Maria and the priest’s family.

The church in Selenskoe, near Klin, was shut down before the war, and Aunt Polya remained its warden. During the war, the authorities wanted to set up a warehouse in the church, but she would not give them the keys. At that time it was considered, that the church was of no benefit and that the parish should pay taxes.

What did Aunt Polya do? She had a cow. She raised calves, sold them, and used the money obtained from their sale to pay the church tax.

Once she sold a calf and prepared the money to pay the tax. Thieves entered her house during the night, attacked her and began to strangle her. She prayed then: ‘Mother of God, help, help!’ And suddenly, buckets fell somewhere in the house. The din was terrible. She thought then: maybe a cat jumped from the attic, but she did not even have a cat. The swindlers dropped everything and ran away... She paid the tax.

There was another incident. She had a calf. But at that time the "contracting" of cattle was being carried out, and the cattle was taken by force and sent somewhere. She was not home, while the calf broke loose and went away with the herd. She cried for a long time: ‘Now I cannot pay for the church.’ She had holes in her boots, and her door was all in cracks. She froze in the winter. ‘When I come home, I tap my legs with a stick, and my legs revive,’ — she used to say. And so, she cried for some days. Suddenly, there was a knock at a window. She approached the window and saw someone's hand leaving a packet, and a voice said: ‘Take, God's servant.’ Everything disappeared. She opened the packet, and there lay some money — the exact amount needed to pay the tax.

The war was in its second month. The news from the front was alarming; the factory began evacuating, and I started to prepare the laboratory, of which I was in charge, for that.

The director sent for me at the end of August.

— Yuri Pavlovich, the Germans have broken through the line of defense and have quickly moved in our direction. The factory will be evacuated at night, but now we must take the children out. You will be responsible for the evacuation of the factory daycare and its personnel. There are 102 children. You shall go in two trucks; a third will carry food and necessities. Our best drivers will be behind the wheels — Pinchuk, Michael Stepanovich, and Constantine Ryabchenko, in the third vehicle —Svetlana Utkina. You must leave now, without delay. Well, have a safe trip!

Trucks covered with canvas were standing in the factory yard; I looked inside — they were packed with children, frightened, anxious, many of them were crying.

I walked up to the first vehicle. Michael Stepanovich, a broad, strong person, sat at the steering wheel with a calm, focused look. We have known each other for a long time.

I jumped into the cabin, and we took off. Mothers, fathers, grandmothers were running behind the trucks, shouting something. The children cried and stretched out their hands to them.

The trucks left the city and went down a highway. Soon a German plane began to circle above us. The first shell fell nearby on the side of the road.

— We have to make a run for it with our cargo; — Michael Stepanovich grumbled and drove the truck into the forest next to the highway.

We remained in the forest until the bombardment ended, then we drove on, but within an hour a German plane began to chug above our heads again. The region was heavily forested, and we managed to hide in the thicket of trees.

Fully understanding the danger of our position, I began to consult with the drivers and the head of the daycare as to what to do next.

Michael Stepanovich suggested: "This is my opinion: we shall reach the Krasniy embankment while the road passes near the forest, there we shall wait for night, because further on there will be ninety kilometers of open country. The Germans will not see us at night, so we shall leave at night, —

— How will you go in the dark without headlights, is it not dangerous? — I asked.

— If the night is clear, then it is very simple, but if it will be cloudy — we shall stray, — said Kostya with a short laugh.

When darkness fell, we continued our trip.

— Do you know this road well? — I asked Michael Stepanovich.

— No, I never had a chance to drive here. But do not worry, the highway leads right to Vetvichka, we shall pass it by morning, and farther on, the road leads through such a thicket, that no German will see us.

The rain pattered quietly. I was dead tired. The whisper of the rain was lulling me to sleep, I could hardly keep my eyes open, my head persistently began to nod, and I fell asleep. I woke up because the truck stopped.

— What happened?

— We are in a field, we have left the road, — Michael Stepanovich answered angrily. — It’s totally dark. We shall follow the compass, we can’t just stand here.

We hardly started before I fell asleep again. A strong jolt of the truck and a loud shout woke me:

— Why is this person getting under the wheels? He has lost his mind! What does you want?

I looked through the window. There was a female figure a few steps from us, with the arms stretched out to both sides, starkly white in the dense blackness of the night.

— Comrade, what do you want?

The woman was silent. The driver jumped out of the cabin, but a minute later he returned.

— There's no one there. Could I have imagined it?

— No, a woman was standing right here, — I said.

— Tall, and all in white.

— Then, she has hidden. What a time for jokes. It is enough to make my flesh creep; —said Michael Stepanovich, suddenly becoming nervous.

He started the vehicle, but the wheels did not even make the second turn before the white figure appeared again, and I felt fear, bordering on mortal horror, from her appearance, especially from the warning sign of her stretched hands.

— Michael Stepanovich, stop! — I cried desperately.

We jumped out of the cabin, Kostya ran up to us:

— What happened?

Without waiting for us, Michael Stepanovich rushed to the woman ahead, and in a second they both disappeared from my sight.

— Come here, quickly! — he suddenly shouted. We ran to his voice.

— Careful, stop! — he whispered in a constrained voice, pointing at something next to us. We looked and recoiled — it was an abyss. We stood at its edge; small stones fell down with a rustle when we made a careless movement.

— Why did we stop? — Svetlana ran up to us.

— Because of this, — said Kostya, pointing at the abyss.

Svetlana exclaimed and waved her hands.

— If not for Her, — Michael Stepanovich took off his cap, — all of us would be there, at the bottom, now.

His voice trembled; he hardly stood on the legs.

— Uncle Misha, who is She? — asked Kostya, frightened.

— What are you, a fool or insane? Don’t you understand? Who could it be if not the Mother of God?

— Where was She? — Svetlana whispered timidly.

— Here, now, — answered Kostya with a whisper, and also took his cap off...

A wonderful event occurred in the Belovezh forest preserve during the war. On September 27, 1942 Soviet paratroopers landed in the forest near the village of Rozhkovki in the Kamenetskii region of the Brest area. The Germans found out about that and started to comb the forest. Two German soldiers died in the shooting, while the paratroopers left safe and sound.

The infuriated fascists decided to take the entire village hostage — to shoot 100 peaceful inhabitants for each German soldier.

On the night of 27 — 28 of September, the fascist soldiers surrounded the village and let nobody out. They ordered all the inhabitants to gather with their carts and things at the edge of the village within two hours. Sixteen persons were appointed to dig holes of 2 meters to 20 meters in size and two meters deep. The youth over 16 years old was separated out to be taken away to Germany. All the rest of the inhabitants of the village were put in a column and driven to the hole.

The Germans put the people on edge of the hole, and placed machine guns around them. People fell on their knees and began to cry and pray.

At that moment, a German plane appeared above the village, which soon landed not far from the hole. The officers supervising the reprisals ran up to it. An high ranking officer came out of the plane. He said that he had to take off right away, and if in two hours he did not return, all the hostages were to be shot.

Precisely two hours later, the plane returned and landed at the same place. The same officer came out. The people were told that they should have been shot, and the village — burnt, but thanks to the officer who came, everyone would be released; the children, cattle and all the property that had been confiscated, would be returned. The hole was not to be filled for a year. If during that time anything happened, everyone would be shot. After that, everyone was released and could go home.

Two weeks later, the officer who had arrived on the plane came again and brought an icon of the Mother of God with the Babe in Her hands, carved out of wood. The village church was not completely restored yet, but services were already being held. The officer said: ‘When the plane flew above the field, The Virgin appeared and pointed down. Keep this icon — She is your Savior!’

Our village celebrates this day — September 28 — annually. A service is held in the church.

I worked with Natasha in a sewing factory since 1922. She was not only an atheist, but also laughed at believers, though she was by nature kind and helped others. After 1927, we now longer saw each other — she was transferred to another factory. I met her again in 1947. She greeted me affectionately and told me the following:

— In 1942, I worked in a studio on Kaluzhskaya Street. It was a long commute, and during the war –difficult. I suffered both cold and hunger. Once I was on my way to work, and came out of the subway at six o'clock in the morning. It was late fall, frosts had begun. The streets were dark and deserted. Crossing the square, I stepped into a large puddle and fell in it. I tried to get up — and I could not, I rose — and again I fell, as though someone was pushing me. I was exhausted, I beg