Grandmother
In the family, Andryusha loved his grandmother most of all. Of course, he loved dad and mom too, and his older sister Munya, but especially his grandmother. You could tell her everything, ask her anything, and get a clear and friendly answer to all questions. And how kind she was, how much she knew, she could speak five foreign languages! Grandmother was known to the entire fifth grade in which Andryusha studied. She often helped his comrades when they came to him, explaining what they did not understand in class, and was always aware of their boyish affairs. Mom and Dad also knew a lot, but they went to work in the morning, returned late, tired, and if Andryusha started asking his mother why there were earthquakes or what kind of person Socrates was, his mother began to explain in a very interesting way, but as soon as the questions began to mount, she said: “That’s enough, Andryushok, I’m so tired today. Ask grandma." It turned out even worse with dad: when he came home, he immediately plunged into the evening newspapers and only plaintively asked: “Later, son, when I finish reading, wait!” But would you really wait for him if after the newspapers he started reading scientific journals, and then one of his friends came in or he and his mother went on a visit. There is nothing to say about Munya - she pretended to be an adult and looked at her brother as if he were a child. But my grandmother is a completely different matter... My love for her has not diminished over the years, but has grown stronger. When the war began in 1941, it was my grandmother, not my mother (she was evacuated to the hospital) who accompanied Andryusha to the army. She often wrote long, interesting letters to him at the front, only recently they began to come from her rarely and were very short. Mom reported that my grandmother’s eyes began to hurt badly and it was difficult for her to write. It was May 1944. Andrey was an artilleryman. After long and strong battles, he received an order to arrive with a group of fighters at a certain point and await further orders there. Having arrived at the appointed place, Andrei and the soldiers settled down in the forest. It was a calm, fine day, and everyone was in a cheerful mood. Andrey settled down under a tall oak tree and wanted to call out to his friend Kostya, but saw that he had gone far away from everyone to the side under a thick hazel bush and was already fast asleep, wrapped in a raincoat. Andrey lay down on his side and watched with interest as the ant dragged a large fly. Suddenly, his grandmother’s voice was heard next to him: “Andryusha, go sit next to Kostya.” In surprise, he fell on his back. “Where does grandma’s voice come from?” There was silence all around, the soldiers sat and talked. Andrei thought about the house, and suddenly the voice again: “Go quickly to Kostya.” He felt uneasy. “Why such an auditory hallucination?” And for the third time, but with frightening excitement: “Hurry, hurry, I ask you, run to Kostya!” There was such alarm in his voice that Andrei, without realizing it, jumped to his feet and ran past the amazed soldiers straight to Kostya. Before he could reach him, a terrible explosion shook the air, and Andrei, stunned by it, lost consciousness. When he and Kostya freed themselves from the earth that had covered them and approached the place where the fighters were sitting, not one of them was alive. Grandmother, as Andrei later learned, died six months before this incident.
Nastya
At the age of 16, my husband dated a girl, they loved each other very much, since childhood. We made joint plans with each other’s parents and communicated well. This girl's name was Nastya, they say she was very kind, people were drawn to her, when she was at school, she always stood up for those who were being bullied, she never said a bad word to anyone, and at the same time she was cheerful, everyone respected her, so pure bright personality.
The summer before her senior year began, Nastya sometimes began to say that she would not enroll anywhere and that she would not face exams, her parents were in shock. She also began to look at her friends for a long time, and to the question “Nastya, what are you doing?!” she answered, “Let me at least take a look.” That same summer, I came to visit the first teacher - gave her flowers and said that soon she would not be here... the teacher thought that Nastya was leaving somewhere. One evening she kissed Kirill (my husband) on the eyes, saying that she didn’t want them to hurt him.
The next morning she was taken to the hospital, and in the evening she died. She had some type of meningitis. Kirill was worried for a very long time and cried a lot, his eyes were constantly red and swollen and hurt very much. After her death, he dreamed of her only once on the ninth day - she said that all this time she had been with her family and friends, and now she was leaving, she said that there was no need to cry for her - she needed to move on, and her tears only delayed her. When I go to the cemetery, I’m afraid to go to her grave - it seems to me that I profited from her death.
Debt good turn deserves another
Our family lived near Moscow in Novo-Gireevo; We had our own house there, but we went to Nikolskoye or Perovo to pray to God, but we didn’t go to our parish church: we didn’t like the priest and neither did the deacon. The Lord will judge them, not us, but it was difficult even to cross the threshold of the temple, it was so neglected and dirty, and I don’t even want to remember how they served. Almost no people went there, unless there were about ten people. Then the priest died, and soon after him the deacon. They sent us a new priest, Father Peter Konstantinov. We hear from friends that the priest is good and diligent. When he entered the temple for the first time and looked around, he just shook his head, and then he ordered the watchman to heat the water and, turning up the hem of his cassock, began to wash and clean the altar. He even washed the floors there with his own hands, and the next day after mass he asked the parishioners to gather and help him put the church in proper shape. We liked this story, and on the first Saturday my mother went to the all-night vigil to see the new priest. She returned satisfied: “Good father, he loves God.” After that, following my mother and we all began to go to our church, and my sister went to sing in the choir. Then Fr. and I We became friends with Peter, and he became our frequent guest. He was not very learned, but kind, pure in heart, responsive to the grief of others, and as for his faith, it was indestructible. He was not married. "Did not have time. While I was choosing and getting ready, all the brides were getting married,” he joked. He rented a room in Gireyev and lived poorly, but he knew no need. One day we didn’t have him for a long time, and when he finally came, my mother asked: “What are you doing with us, Fr. Peter, have you forgotten? “Yes, I had a guest, a bishop... I just returned from the camp and came straight to Moscow to work on restoration. He has no relatives, he didn’t find any acquaintances in Moscow either, but he knew me a little, so he asked to shelter me. And what a return! He is wearing old trousers, a torn jacket, a cap on his head and boots that are asking for porridge, and this is all he has. And it's December! I dressed him, put on his shoes, bought new felt boots, gave him my warm cassock, a little money, and for three weeks he lived with me, they slept in one bed, the hostess did not give him another. I fed him a little, otherwise he was staggering from the wind, and yesterday he was given an appointment. He thanked me so much: “I will never forget,” he says, “your kindness.” Yes, the Lord brought me to serve such a great man. Six months passed, and Father Peter was taken at night. It was 1937. Then he was sent to a concentration camp for 10 years. At first, spiritual children helped him: they sent parcels with things and food. But when the war began, they forgot about him, and when they remembered, there was nothing to send, everyone was starving. Rarely - rarely, with great difficulty they collected parcels. Then a rumor spread that Fr. Peter died. But he was alive and suffered from cold and illness. At the end of 1944, he was released, barely alive, and sent to Tashkent. “I went to Tashkent,” Fr. later recalled. Peter, thought it was warm there. Let me sell my quilted jacket and buy some bread, because I want to die. But the road is long, there is no end, at the stations everything is exorbitantly expensive and the money is gone in an instant. He took off his underwear and also sold it, but he himself remained in only a suit made of paper. It’s cold, but I can bear it, I’ll get there soon. So I got to Tashkent and quickly went to the Church Administration. I say that I am a priest and am asking for at least some work, but they just waved their hands at me: “There are a lot of you like that, show your documents first.” I explain to them that I just arrived from the camp, that the documents are in Moscow and I have not yet had time to request them, and again I ask them to give me any work so as not to die of hunger until the documents arrive. They don't listen, they kicked me out. What to do? I went to ask people for shelter; it was winter outside. They're chasing. “You,” they say, “are terrible, lousy, and you’re about to die.” What to do with you dead? Go ahead!” I stood on the porch of the cemetery church with the beggars, even to ask for a piece of bread - the beggars beat me: “Go away, not ours! They don’t serve much themselves.” I cried out of grief; it was better in the camp. I cry and pray: “Mother of God, save me!” Finally I begged one woman, and she let me into the barn where she had a pig. So I lived with the pig, and often stole food from her bucket. And I went to the cemetery church every day and kept praying, not in the church itself, of course, they wouldn’t have let me in, because I was all dirty, torn, my bare knees were glowing, the supports on my legs were old, and most importantly, I had lice - force. Somehow I heard beggars say that Vladyka has arrived and will serve this evening. "God! - Think. “Is this really the Lord whom I welcomed in Gireyev?” If he does, I'll ask him for help. Maybe the old bread and salt will remember.” I didn’t walk around like myself all day - I was very worried, and in the evening I came to the temple before everyone else. I’m waiting, but my heart is pounding: is he or is he not? Will he admit it or not? I stand praying. A car pulled up and Vladyka got out. I look - he is! Here I forgot everything in the world, broke through the people and shouted in a voice not my own: “Lord, save me!” He stopped, looked at me and said: “I don’t recognize.” People let me go to hell, and I shout even more loudly: “It’s me, Father Peter from Novo-Gireev!” Vladyka looked at me, tears appeared in his eyes and said: “Now I know. Stay here, I’ll send the cell attendant now.” And he entered the temple. And I stand there, shaking all over and crying. People surrounded me, let's ask questions. And I can’t even talk. Then the cell attendant came out and shouted: “Who is Father Peter from Novo-Gireev?” I responded. He gives me money and says: “Vladyka asked you to wash yourself, change clothes and come to him tomorrow after mass.” At this point the people believed that I really was a priest. Some people started calling to them, but the woman with whom I lived in the stable came up and took me to her place. She heated a black bathhouse and let me in to wash. While I was washing, she went and bought me underwear and clothes from friends with Vladyka’s money. Then she gave me a small room with a bed and a table. I lay down on something clean, clean myself, and cried: “Queen of Heaven! Glory to You! Thanks to the efforts of the Bishop, Father Peter was restored to his priestly rights and appointed second priest to the very cemetery church from whose porch the beggars drove him. Subsequently, the poor brethren loved him very much for his simplicity and generosity. He knew them all by name, was interested in their troubles and joys, and helped them as much as he could. One time when I came to Fr. Peter on vacation, we walked with him along the beautiful Tashkent boulevard. Passing by one of the sofas standing there, we saw an exhausted, ragged man on it. Addressing Fr. Peter, he hesitantly said: “Help, father, I’m from prison.” Father Peter stopped, looked at the ragamuffin, then sternly told me: “Step aside.” I walked away, but I could see how Fr. Peter pulled his wallet out of his pocket, took out a thick wad of money from it and handed it to the person asking. I felt embarrassed watching this scene, and I turned away, but I could hear a voice muffled by sobs: “Thank you, father, thank you! You saved me! God reward you!”
Preface
“...Faith comes by hearing...” writes the Apostle Paul (Rom. 10:17).
The Christian faith is the most precious gift to man from the Lord, which must not only be carefully preserved, but also strengthened, and strive to increase its strength.
One of the means for this is the testimony of contemporary Christians about the manifestations now in the world of the grace and power of God, in some cases absolutely miraculous.
There are also stories that we heard in most cases from eyewitnesses.
Some of the stories highlight real-life examples worth emulating. Other stories can serve as a warning to believers against mistakes and examples of the actions of dark forces.
We repeat - they are all taken from modern times and for us there was no doubt about the veracity of their narrators.
old man
I heard this story from the late Olympiada Ivanovna. While passing it on, she was worried, and the son in question sat next to her and nodded his head affirmatively when in some places in the story she turned to him for confirmation. This is what I heard from her: “Vanya was seven years old then. He was smart, intelligent and a big naughty guy. We lived in Moscow on Zemlyanoy Val, and Vanin’s godfather diagonally from us in a five-story building. One day before evening I sent Vanyusha to his godfather to invite him to tea. Vanyusha ran across the road, went up to the third floor, and since he couldn’t reach the bell at the door, he stood on the staircase railing and was just about to reach out to the bell when his legs slipped and he fell down the flight of stairs. The old doorman, sitting below, saw Vanya fall like a sack onto the cement floor. The old man knew our family well and, seeing such a misfortune, hurried to us shouting: “Your son was killed!” All of us who were at home rushed to help Vanya, but when we ran up to the house, we saw that he himself was slowly walking towards us. “Vanya, my dear, are you alive!?” I grabbed him in my arms. “Where does it hurt?” “It doesn’t hurt anywhere. I just ran to my godfather and wanted to call and fell down. I’m lying on the floor and can’t get up, then the old man who’s in the picture in your bedroom came up to me. He picked me up, put me on my feet, so firmly, and said: “Well, walk well, don’t fall!” I went, but I just can’t remember why you sent me to my godfather?” After that, Vanya slept for a day and woke up completely healthy. And in my bedroom there hung a large image of St. Seraphim.
Ladder
When I was young, I dated a guy who was all good, tall, handsome, but he drank often. We dated for almost 5 years, even tried to live together. And all this time I had dreams with stairs - old, broken, without some of the steps. And I climb up them with all my might, in my dream I really needed to go up!
And the guy is getting worse and worse - he’s already jealous for no reason, and he’s started to raise his hand. Well, I couldn’t stand it, I collected his things and kicked him out. A month later I couldn’t stand it - he came, sobbed bitterly... I took him back - I really loved him. Some time passed - he was back at his best, and even stronger than before. Then I started drinking a glass - he drove me crazy. And I had a dream - I will remember it for the rest of my life - that he and I, holding hands, were running down the stairs. I decided that this was a very bad dream, and I realized in the morning: I’ve had enough. I broke up with him forever, and I don’t know where the love went. Now I’ve been married for 5 years, my beautiful daughter is growing up, I live in another city and I don’t regret it one bit - I know that he’s still alone and drinks the same way. Since then, I have never dreamed of stairs.
Dream
There are empty dreams, but there are special, prophetic ones. This is one dream I saw in my youth. I dreamed that I was standing in complete darkness and heard a voice addressed to me: “My own mother wants to kill her child.” The words and voice filled me with horror. I woke up full of fear. The sun brightly flooded the room, sparrows chirped loudly outside the window. I looked at the clock - it was eight. My mother-in-law, with whom we slept in the same room, woke up too. “What a terrible dream I just had,” I told her and began to tell her. My mother-in-law sat up excitedly on her bed and looked at me inquisitively: “Are you dreaming now?” “Yes,” I answered. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. “What’s wrong with you, mom?” She wiped her eyes and said sadly: “Knowing your beliefs, we wanted to hide the fact that today at nine o’clock Nellie (my sister-in-law) should go to the hospital for an abortion, but after the dream you had, I can no longer make a secret of it.” . I was horrified: “Mom, why didn’t you stop Nelly?” - "What to do? She and Arkady already have three children. He alone cannot feed such a family, and Nellie must work too. And if there is a baby, she will have to stay at home.” “When the Lord sends a child, He gives the parents strength to raise him. Nothing happens without the will of God. I’ll go to Nellie and try to dissuade her.” The mother-in-law shook her head. “You won’t have time, Nellie is about to go to the hospital.” But I didn’t listen to anything anymore. Without getting dressed, I was still in my nightgown, threw on my coat, put my bare feet in my shoes and, putting on my hat as I went, ran out into the street. It was a long way to go. I changed from a tram to a bus, from a bus to another tram, trying to shorten the journey, but meanwhile the clock hand had already passed nine. “Queen of Heaven, help! — I prayed, “Saint Nicholas, stop Nellie!” We ran into Nellie on the threshold of her house. Her face was haggard, gloomy, and she was holding a small suitcase in her hands. I grabbed her shoulders: “Darling, I know everything! I just had a terrible dream about you: someone’s voice said that my own mother wants to kill her child. Don't go to the hospital! Nellie stood silently, then grabbed me by the hand and turned towards the house: “And I’m not going anywhere,” she said with tears. - Nowhere! Let him live!" Nellie gave birth to a boy. “He grew up to be the best of all her children and the most beloved.”
The actress's story
One winter evening in 1959, I went into a restaurant with Mark. I remember that we ordered solyanka, something else, wine, and before I had time to start eating, I felt someone’s gaze on me. The man sitting at the next table looked at me, or rather at what I was about to eat, with hungry, burning eyes. He was gray-haired, with an exhausted face, in a gray old suit. There was nothing in front of him except a plate of bread. The whole appearance of this man struck me so much that, without saying anything to Mark, I turned towards the stranger and said affably: “Why are you sitting alone? Come sit down with us!” He hesitated for a minute, then came and sat down at our table. I quickly moved my device to it and immediately ordered a portion of hodgepodge for myself to the waitress who came up. “I wouldn’t advise you to mess with this citizen,” the girl whispered to me, but I patted her hand in a friendly manner and, without looking at Mark, who was furious, took care of my guest. And he, without looking at anyone, ate greedily, and his hands were shaking. When his hunger was satisfied, this man simply and sincerely said that he was 50 years old, he was a travel engineer by profession and was married to film actress K. She stopped loving him and, trying to get rid of him, denounced him. As a result, he was given 25 years in a concentration camp. This year, after 20 years, rehabilitation came, and now he returned to his home in Leningrad. But his ex-wife did not even let him into the door. Friends and acquaintances - some died over the years, others left, others were afraid of the former concentration camp prisoner and refused to help. Without money, without warm clothes, having neither shelter nor the opportunity to get a job, and also very ill, he decided to return back to the concentration camp. There he could find a job and a corner... One friend finally took pity and gave him money for a ticket. And today at two o'clock in the morning he leaves back. All these days he was very hungry, but today he plucked up his courage and went into the restaurant, because he was told that bread was free here. During the story, the man’s face twitched, and his whole body twitched. I looked at his tattered jacket and asked: “Do you have a coat?” “No, I’m wearing everything I have.” At home I had a suitcase with my late husband’s things, and I quickly decided what I would do: after paying for lunch (I always did this, since Mark never had money), I took my new friend by the arm and invited him to my home . There I pulled out a suitcase and took out my husband’s warm underwear, his suit, a knitted Swedish jacket and an autumn coat. When the guest changed his clothes, he had a nervous attack: he fell on the floor in my small room, thrashed against it, sobbed and shouted incoherent words. Mark ran away in horror, and I began to calm the unfortunate man down like a child. Gradually he came to his senses, but he still sobbed for a long time and kept looking at me without taking his eyes off. The time was approaching one o'clock in the morning. I called a taxi and we went to the station. There I put him in the carriage, gave him some money and stood at the window until the train started moving. A month later I received a letter from him. He wrote that on the way he became very ill, and therefore he was taken off the train and admitted to the hospital. He is doing well in the hospital. And he will never forget me. If his wife condemned him to death, then I brought resurrection. He will not forget my eyes, they will always be with him. In difficult days of illness, he thinks about me, about the fact that I saw in him a person, a friend and a brother. He sends me all the brightest, most beautiful things that are in his soul... When he gets better, he will write... But there were no more letters.
Do not call me
Once I had a very strong fight with a young man; for a long time he did not want to get in touch. I just didn’t pick up the phone - I completely ignored him. And against the backdrop of all my worries, I constantly dream that I am trying to talk to him, and he is running away from me. And in one such dream I dreamed that I was running after him. and he finally stops and tells me: “Don’t call me at all until December 14th.” I ask: “And then?” - “And then we’ll see.” But somehow I didn’t pay attention to this, after this dream I made a couple of calls to him, but to no avail. And then it stopped working for three weeks, and you won’t believe it: on December 15th I called myself. It was only later that I found the connection in the days when I remembered the dream.
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Coat
At our school, tenth graders had a party. It was not a graduation, but it seems an evening in connection with March 8th or something like that. There were very few guests, only me and the head teacher, and then we decided not to place a nanny at the hanger, but to look after ourselves. At the end of the evening, when everyone began to leave, a crying girl runs up to me: “My coat is not on the hanger, but it is new, they bought it for me two weeks ago for fifteen hundred.” I went with her to the locker room. The coat was nowhere to be found. Confused and excited tenth graders discussed what had happened. There was nothing to do - the loss was not found. She sent a student living nearby to her home to get an old coat for the victim, and she told her to come to school tomorrow with her mother. The next day, she called our lawyer and decided this: let the parents take the case against us to court, and we, according to the court’s decision, will pay the cost of the coat. So they did everything and forgot to think about this matter. The new school year has arrived. I was sitting in my school office. There's a knock on the door. A girl comes in, greets me, calls me by name and patronymic. She looks agitated and hesitates. To start a conversation, I ask how she knows me? “I studied at your school in the ninth grade, but for a very short time. I was at your school party, the girls let me in as a former student.” The girl lowered her head and fell silent, clenching something in her fist. “And it was I who stole a coat at the evening and walked around in it, and no one knew anything,” she continued almost in a whisper. But then I went to church for confession and when I told the priest about this, he did not allow me to take communion, but ordered me to first return your coat or money and tell you everything. I’ve already worn out my coat a lot, but here’s the money. The girl unclenched her fist, quickly put the money on my table and ran out of the office. I unfolded the crumpled pieces of paper, there were fifteen hundred.
Cases of miraculous and instant healing through prayers to the Mother of God on Her feast day
My friend (F.V.K.) told me the following:
As a result of many years of difficult trials that I had to endure by the will of God, my health was completely shaken.
I began to suffer from chronic indigestion. But what was especially dangerous for me was the state of complete nervous exhaustion. I lost the ability to read and talk for more than 10 minutes. At the same time, I got severe headaches and my imagination became foggy.
The doctors told me that my health situation was very serious and that I needed long-term treatment, complete rest and rest in a sanatorium.
I had no opportunity to obtain either one or the other in my position at that time. I was horrified by the state of inactivity (at age 30) to which I was doomed.
I lived in Murom at that time.
On one of the major holidays dedicated to the Most Holy Theotokos, I stood at the festive all-night vigil.
For the first time in my life, I turned with an ardent prayer to the Mother of God: “I can endure a constant stomach illness, if the Lord wants to send me this cross, but live without difficulty, without reading the Holy Scriptures and spiritual books, without the opportunity to communicate with people for spiritual reasons.” conversations - I can't. Then I have nothing to live for.
Most Holy Theotokos, I ask You, heal this way for the first time - give me the opportunity for mental work, spiritual reading and spiritual conversations.”
So I prayed fervently for my healing. When I approached the priest, kissed the festive icon of the Mother of God, received anointing with oil and tasted the blessed bread, I felt that something special had happened in me: the thoughts in my head became completely clear, as if a special power had entered into me.
From that moment on, not the slightest trace of my illness of the head and nerves remained in me.
Moreover, I gained the ability to speak and converse or read for any number of hours without the slightest fatigue. I still have a stomach illness, but I patiently endure it, remembering the words of the Lord (from the letter of the Apostle Paul) that “...My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).
Vow
A small provincial town on the banks of the Donets, quiet wide streets, and on one of them a spacious wooden house with green shutters. A poor official, Porfiry Vasilyevich, lives there with a large family and his widowed brother, archpriest Fr. Alexander. First Fr. Alexander served as a priest in the provincial town, but after the death of his wife he became bored and moved in with his brother. It was he who helped him build the house; without his help, Porfiry Vasilyevich would never have seen his house. And how will you see if there are six small children, and he is the only breadwinner? One summer evening the family was sitting under an old pear tree and having dinner; suddenly a bright flash illuminated the garden. “It’s burning somewhere close,” said Porfiy Vasilyevich and hurried with his eldest son into the street. It was burning through the house. Everyone was confused, they didn’t know what to do, what to grab onto. Porfiry Vasilyevich’s wife was the first to come to her senses and rushed into the nursery to take the younger children out of their cribs. The children and valuable items were taken to distant neighbors, and in the meantime Fr. Alexander went out to the middle of the courtyard and, solemnly raising his hands to the sky, exclaimed: “Lord, save my brother’s house from fire, and I vow to go to Jerusalem to worship Your Holy Sepulcher!” The neighbor’s house burned for a long time, but still half of the house was saved, and by the middle of the night everything was quiet and calm on the street. Father Alexander talked animatedly about the trip for several days, even took the railway directory from the mayor, but then the conversations stopped, everything was forgotten, and he didn’t go anywhere. Two years passed, and then a fire broke out next to Porfiy Vasilyevich’s house. Only a huge garden separated his house from the fire. This time Fr. Alexander did not make any vows, but, disheveled and haggard, he walked around the yard and, beating himself on the chest, whispered: “For my sin, for not fulfilling my vow, my brother’s house will burn down.” But the house didn’t burn down, although it was burning intensely—the garden was saved. Again, conversations about a trip to Jerusalem were resumed, a route was planned, and again Fr. Alexander stayed at home. A year passed, and the merchant mansion opposite Porfiry Vasilyevich caught fire from lightning. The fire was huge. Porfiry Vasilyevich's house survived miraculously, although its shutters were already smoking and the corner began to smolder. The whole family carried water and watered the roof and façade. What was Fr. doing at this time? Alexander - unknown, there was no time for him. In the morning the whole family gathered for tea, only Fr. Alexandra. Suddenly a bell rang outside the window and the traveling troika stopped at the gate. “Who ordered the horses?” - Porfiry Vasilyevich became worried. “I ordered the horses,” said Fr. Alexander, appearing at the door in a traveling cassock and with a hat in his hand. “I’m now going to the railway station, from there to Odessa, and then to Jerusalem.” Everyone stood stunned, and Fr. Alexander approached the large icon hanging in the corner, bowed to the ground and said soulfully: “Glory to Your long-suffering, Lord!”
Warned
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I was widowed early. About 5 years later I had a dream, as if the coffin with my husband’s body was dug up and brought back to the apartment, and now I was sitting in a room alone with a closed coffin, the room was dark and only a lot of candles were burning. And I felt very creepy because of this, in a dream I thought: I need to slowly run away from home. I went out, sneaking to the front door, I slammed it from the corridor, and it opened again into the room - and so on several times. Suddenly I hear my husband’s voice from the coffin: “Put out the candles!” - and woke up. And a month later there was a strong fire at our house from an unextinguished candle, late at night, and everyone and the children almost burned to death. I warned you, it comes out.
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Scary but true: mystical stories about children and the other world
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Snow, snow, snow... It blinds my eyes, and I run as fast as I can around the village. I am 16 years old, I am the secretary of the school Komsomol cell. Today our amateur group is staging a play at the factory club, and I play the main role. I learned it by heart, but the costume is not ready, so I have to hurry. There is no one at home: father is on a business trip, mother, probably, has gone to her grandmother. I open the chest and take out an enormous, wide theatrical skirt. You need to sew a frill and braid to it. Eh! At least Katya came to help! Of all my friends, Katya is my favorite. She is the daughter of a priest, but I never believed in God, and how can you believe if religion is a dope? Katya also takes part in amateur performances, but she is unlucky: she wants to play the main roles, but she gets the most insignificant ones. But she got out of the situation; learns what he likes and plays it out for himself. They laugh at her, but at least that’s okay for Katya! Well, I need to sew quickly, otherwise the girls and boys will soon come after me to go to the club together. Why is my head starting to hurt so bad and I’m feeling feverish! What an endless assembly, and my head hurts so much that my fingers don’t obey. No, I can’t sew anymore, I’ll go to bed, otherwise I’m getting worse and worse... Voices are heard outside the door, the stomping of feet, and a noisy crowd of performance participants burst into the room. Seeing me lying down, they fuss around the bed stupidly. But then someone puts a thermometer on me, someone pulls the felt boots off my feet, which I couldn’t take off, and covers me with a blanket. “Vasil,” I hear Kim’s voice, “run for the doctor. Maya, find Lyusina’s mother, Katya, take out the thermometer. How many? 41°, oh, oh...!” Mom came. I feel so bad that I can't tell her anything. Kim puts a pill in my mouth: “Swallow it, my sister sent me from the clinic. But the doctor has already left, today is Saturday.” I spit out the bitter medicine in disgust and cry from pain, from heaviness throughout my body and from some kind of oppressive melancholy. Everyone goes to the club. Katya lingers and tells her mother: “Nadezhda Andreevna, after the performance I will come running to you and spend the night with Lyusya, so you can safely go on the night shift.” Yes, Katya will have to play both her and my role today. There is a terrible ringing in my ears, I feel so bad. I must be dying... Mom puts a wet towel on my forehead, but I throw it off and rush around the bed. The sheets burn the body, the pillow is hot. At least a little cool! Where did this light come from in the room? Bright and at the same time soft and gentle. What is this? In the very center of the light is the image of the Kazan Mother of God. I know it well, my grandmother has one like this hanging. Only this is not an image, but the Holy Virgin is alive, and waves of joy come from Her to me. “Mom,” I suddenly say loudly, “the Mother of God has come to us.” Mom comes up to me and cries: “Baby, it seems to you that you are about to die, you are dying.” “And the radiance is becoming more solemn, ever brighter, in its light to the right of the Mother of God I see the face of Christ. It's like it's written on a towel; I can even see the golden tassels on the edge of the towel and, at the same time, I feel that His Face is alive and looking at me with gentle, extraordinary eyes. “Mom, God Himself is here,” I whisper, and from somewhere far away I hear her crying and lamenting. Powerful joy covers my entire being. I lose track of time, of where I am; I only want one thing, for this to never end. Two faces in an unearthly glow and me, and nothing else, nothing else is needed... But the light went out as quickly as it appeared. I lie there for a long time and don’t move. Something new has entered me, I am like a cup overflowing to the brim. I press my hands to my chest and stand up; but how can this be, since I was very sick and dying, and now I’m completely healthy? Mom comes up to me in fear: “Lyusenka, what’s wrong with you? Lie down, dear." “No, mommy, everything’s gone for me, touch it: my hands are cold and my head is cold, and nothing hurts. Let me help you pack your things, and quickly go to the factory, otherwise you will be late. Don’t worry, I’m completely healthy.” Mom leaves, and I wait for Katya. She is the only one I can tell about what happened to me. No one else. Oh, I wish she would come sooner!.. The creaking of snow under the window, the tramp of Katya’s fast feet - and here she is on the threshold. There are snowflakes on my scarf and fur coat, my face is covered in makeup, and my eyes look at me anxiously. "Kate! Kate! You know what happened! - I shout. “Just listen!” We talked all night, and early in the morning Katya took me to her father. For the first time in my life I confessed and received communion... Thus began my new life.
Darling
My husband hugs me at night, holds me close, whispers tender words in my ear, I fall asleep happy in his strong arms, and wake up all in tears - my beloved passed away a few months ago. But it seems to me that he still lives in this apartment, but only in another dimension, I often smell his cologne, hear his steps, the radio in the kitchen tunes itself to his favorite wave. Damn it, I'm going crazy. Sometimes I see him walking along the corridor, dissolving near the door. I constantly feel his presence, I am sure, I know for sure in some of the worlds he is alive. And sometimes it seems to me that I have entered another dimension.
Godfather
My great friend's name was Yuri Isaakovich.
Once I asked him: “Yura, why does your father have such a rare name among Russians?” “Well, there’s a whole story,” he answered, “My father’s parents were rich landowners. They lived well, in great love for each other, but they had a grave grief: all the children who were born died in infancy, before they reached the age of one year. No matter what my grandparents did, no matter who they turned to, nothing helped: children died, and that’s all. Both of them were exhausted from grief, and besides, there was shame in front of people. My grandmother became pregnant with her fifth child, and they told my grandfather: there is a popular belief that if immediately after the birth of the baby the father goes out onto the road and calls the first person he meets to be his godfather and gives his name to the newborn, the child will survive. Grandfather wanted a child so much that he agreed to everything. The time came for my grandmother to give birth, and she was delivered on December 11 at two o'clock in the morning as a boy. He was born so weak, he could barely breathe. The grandfather quickly sent for the priest, ordered everything in the hall to be prepared for the christening, and he himself got dressed and went to look for the godfather. He walks along the road and thinks: “Well, where in the village at two o’clock in the morning will I meet a living person on the street, after all, everyone is sleeping.” But still he goes, and suddenly he sees that someone is also coming towards him. The grandfather was delighted, hurried, came up and saw that it was the fool Isaac. The grandfather looked at him, and everything in his soul turned cold: “What a godfather!” But there’s nothing you can do: the first person you meet. He says to the fool: “Isaac, let’s come to me to baptize my son.” And he so willingly: “Let’s go, master, we’ll be godfathers.” We've arrived. Grandfather thought that the servants would burst out laughing when they saw what kind of godfather he had brought, but nothing like that - all the servants, crowded in the hallway waiting for the master, respectfully greeted the fool. Grandfather looked at the dirty face with caution! and Isaac's hands, on his rags and bare feet. “Maksimych,” he said to the butler, “wash him, change him into all my clothes, and give him his shoes, he’s barefoot.” Less than an hour had passed when a cleanly washed Isaac, dressed in his grandfather’s suit, but barefoot (he didn’t want to put on shoes), stood at the font, carefully holding the newborn. They named the boy after his godfather Isaac, and he not only survived, but lived to be 76 years old. The story about little Isaac does not end there. Many, many years have passed. He got married and had two sons. Both are good, handsome boys - Vadim and Yuri. Yura was 12 years old when he fell ill with lobar pneumonia. The best doctors treated him, to no avail. Yura was dying. The old priest, who was invited to give communion to the dying man, said to Isaac Nikolaevich: “If I were you, I would send a telegram to Father John of Kronstadt and ask him to pray for Yurochka’s recovery. Father John is a lamp that shines throughout the whole world. Send it!” “What are you saying, father? Father John is in St. Petersburg, and you and I are in Irkutsk. And at this distance he will pray for Yura! Stop the fairy tales!” “As you wish,” the priest answered restrainedly, “but I would send it.” Left alone, Isaac Nikolaevich walked around his office for a long time, then put on his hat and left for the telegraph office. A few hours later Yura felt better, and two days later he was healthy.” [/td]
Left together
My grandfather, cousin (grandmother’s brother), lived with his wife for almost 60 years. She died on March 2, she was also very old. On the day of the funeral, I dreamed about my grandfather and said that she was waiting for him. In the morning, the grandfather called his daughter and said that they would prepare his laundry, that they had invited the priest for unction and confession, and that he was going to see his grandmother. The daughter didn’t believe it, she came, cleaned his apartment, prepared food for him, and from March 8 to 9, the grandfather died.
