What can make a pretty and successful girl at
the peak of her career and health leave everything behind and take the veil?
This story is for all who are sad for some reason and who have forgotten how
our Heavenly Father loves and cherishes his mischievous kids. She was hearing
God’s voice and his calling since early childhood but then broke up with him
after her mother’s death and locked the door of her heart to God for a decade…
She was close to death but did not fear it… She almost married a guy but then
abruptly ended her relationship with him… Novice Helena (Yudina) told a
reporter of our website about her journey to St Elisabeth Convent.
A Child Talking with God
I have
been talking with God since I was a child. I talked with him simply and
sincerely. I didn’t know anything about him but I believed in him for some
reason. We never talked about God in my family. My parents belonged to Soviet
intelligentsia: my mum, Natallia Yudina, was a piano teacher. My father,
Vladimir Yudin, was an army officer. I was born in Siberia, in Zheleznogorsk,
Krasnoyarsk Territory. Zheleznogorsk is a restricted-access town. It is
surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. Entry is allowed only via a checkpoint,
where every inhabitant of the town has to present his or her individual permit.
There is a huge nuclear plant right inside a mountain.
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| Vladimir Yudin and Natalia Yudina |
My
parents had been in the same class at school. After they finished school, they
went to colleges (a music college and a military college, respectively),
graduated from them, and got married. Our family had to travel a lot across our
vast country. My mother humbly acquiesced to the numerous transfers. All
children in our family were born in various parts of Russia. I was their fifth
and last child.
We all
received good education, including music education. I have always been
attracted to music. When I was just a toddler, I tried to reach out to the
piano and play. In spite of that, when I first came to the music school, the
examiner passed her verdict, “Violin! Why would you waste your daughter’s ear
on the silly piano? You’ve got real talent. Learn to play the violin!” Her
words came as a shock for me. My mum was an excellent teacher and found a way
to persuade me. “Lena, you will learn to play both the violin and the piano.” I
loved my mum and trusted her. Indeed, they laid big hopes on me: I performed at
concerts and won awards at music contests.
The most
difficult part for me is motivation. When I find out how to motivate myself, I
can do whatever it takes to achieve my goal. Unfortunately, that’s the hardest
part. It was entirely thanks to my mother that I finished the music school and
achieved a lot. I dreamed of singing, too, but they didn’t let me sing solo or
in a choir because I had to spend a lot of time practising my violin. That’s
how I was surrounded with music since my earliest days.
Loving Family Living in a Tent
We grew
up in a loving family. My parents never quarrelled. Of course, now I guess they
might have had some tensions and misunderstandings but we children never heard
any rude word from them.
Parental
love and support make a reliable foundation for one’s personality. I’m grateful
to my parents!
My dad
was a patriot and taught us to love our homeland. He had chosen his job out of
love for Russia and especially Siberia. Our father succeeded in implanting his
love for Russia into our hearts, too. I recall how my brother and I drove
around in his car, listened to LUBE band at full volume, and sobbed because
their lyrics really touched us. Unfortunately, my only and dear brother
Vladimir died in May 2017. We were close and like-minded. Of course, all live
unto God. Generally, God makes surviving the death of a loved person easier.
Living in
a family with many children teaches you to appreciate simple things. You figure
out how to share, find a compromise, and care for others. It really helps me
here in the Convent when there are three absolutely dissimilar people living in
the same cell, like three astronauts, each from a different planet.
Our
father always kept saying that we have to stay together, help and support one
another. Our parents would constantly remind us of the broom story: One twig is
easy to break but if you try to break all twigs together at once, you won’t be
able to break them. Naturally, we fought and screamed and quarrelled… I can’t
call myself a good-natured girl, you know. But I do my best to improve. Our
parents have taught us to value what we’ve got.
The law
in our family was: If you want to eat, eat. If you don’t want, don’t eat. As
simple as that.
At the
weekends, when we stayed together, we would cook a meal for the entire family.
For instance, we would make pelmeni and then eat them together. After lunch, we
would climb the big parents’ bed and read books. I preferred having fun instead
of reading. Yet, when everyone was busy reading, you had to do the same. That’s
precisely what it’s like in the Convent. It is hard to stand during the entire
service but everyone does, and it empowers you. Little by little, you grow
accustomed to it.
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| Little Lena with her sisters |
I have
always loved nature. I recall how I dreamed of escaping into the forest,
building a hut, and living in unity with the nature. Before I went to bed, I
would fantasise about living in the forest, finding something to eat and
something to spend my days on. I even drew up blueprints. Sometimes I would
skip school because I wanted to go outdoors and chill out. Our Siberian forests
are absolutely stunning and incredibly beautiful. I would lie on the ground
watching… The nature is so lively, you know…
It was my
own decision to come to church when I was five
I
wouldn’t call my parents atheists but apparently the Soviet dictatorship had
taught them to be cautious of looking in the direction of God. Although my
family was totally non-religious, I had the unconquerable drive towards God
since I was a child. I talked with him since my earliest childhood. Let me
illustrate it with a story.
I was
five. It was time for Easter. Of course, I didn’t know anything about Easter.
Orthodox Christians in our town gathered in a small cabin made into a church.
They would summon the flock by ringing a beater — actually, a hanging piece of
a steel rail. I was walking to my grandmother’s house and doing what I liked to
do, that is crushing the ice on frozen puddles. I was so excited to stand on
thin and fragile ice and watch it crush and give way to water.
 |
| Lena, 4 years |
Suddenly,
I heard the beater ringing. I was so excited and eager to go to church! My
heart started pounding. I can’t explain… I don’t know why but I had a clear
understanding that one had to wear a cross in order to set foot in a church.
Returning to the town from a dacha, we would always show our permits on the
checkpoint. It was a very important and meaningful ritual for us children. That
was possibly where I got that association from: a christcross is a permit to
church. I didn’t have a christcross. So they won’t let me in, will they?
I stepped
into a puddle. The ice cracked and I saw something shining inside the puddle. I
bent to look at it, and it was an icon of the Mother of God with a cross on the
reverse side. That’s my permit!
I happily
ran to the church. The church was separated by two busy roads. I don’t know how
I managed to move past all those cars. I ran into the church. There were many
people consecrating the kulich Easter cakes. A woman turned to me and gave me
an egg: “Christ is Risen!” “No thanks, I can’t —” I had been taught not to
accept anything from strangers, you know. She said, “Take the egg, you have
to.” I did. The woman asked me, “Whose kid are you?” I thought, “Well, time to
show my permit.” I took out the icon, lifted it up as high as I could (like a
permit) and blurted out: “Look! That’s what I’ve got!”
Later
that day, I told my mum, “Mum, you know, you should baptise me.” My mother was
amazed, “Lena, where do you get that from? What are you talking about?”
Remember, we lived in the Soviet Union. I was upset. I was attempting to get a
christcross somewhere. I even tried to get the cross from other children in my
nursery school in exchange for something else, but they wouldn’t go for it
(laughs).
I felt
God’s presence and my connection to him since my earliest childhood. I can’t
explain how this kind of childish and sincere faith was ignited in my heart.
Naturally, it seems to me now that it happened thanks to the prayers of some
deceased relative of mine.
I have a
photo album titled Our Baby where my parents recorded all details of my life as
a baby. First tooth, first steps, first words. The section titled Favourite
Holidays is filled in with my mother’s handwriting: Birthday, New Year, the 8th
of March, the sister’s birthday. I wrote “Christmas” and “Easter” next to it —
my older sisters had taught me how to write. Where did that come from? We never
celebrated Christmas and Easter.
By the
way, I would always feel sad because I liked that holiday. One Easter, I took
raw eggs (mum didn’t let us boil eggs during the poverty-stricken 1990s), dyed
them with gouache, put them in a plastic bag, and went to church to have them
consecrated.
My
sisters laughed at me and called me a holier-than-thou. All the same, I was
absolutely certain that I was doing the right thing.
Here is
another story from my childhood. I came to my best friend Zhenya (we went to
music school together). Although children who study music, just like children
who do other “not-so-children-friendly” jobs, tend to compete with each other,
Zhenya and I loved one another with a genuine Christian love and never envied
one another.
 |
| Lena and Zhenya |
Zhenya’s
family celebrated Easter. Their house teeming with guests, Easter cakes, dyed
eggs, exclamations “Christ is risen!” She felt really tense in the presence of
so many people. On the contrary, I was looking cheerfully at what was
happening, and kept saying, “Zhenya, look! It’s so much fun, isn’t it!” I was genuinely
thrilled.
I wanted
to share my Easter joy with my favourite music teacher, Valentina Iosifovna. I
had several ballpoint pens, one of which was half-empty, in my pocket. I
shouted right at the door, “Christ is risen!” and gave her the pens. I wanted
to give something to her as a gift for Easter. She replied with a smile: “He is
risen, indeed!” Then she added, “You know, I’m a Catholic. We don’t celebrate
Easter today.” I thought to myself, “Their faith is so boring, I’ll never go
there. They don’t even have Easter!”
I Was Offended by God and Spent a Decade
Without Him
When I
was twelve, my mum died. She was 47, too young to die. I felt hurt and blamed
God. I was seriously offended. I demanded that He bring her back and take me
instead. I lay down waiting for my death. But I didn’t die. I felt really
furious: “If so, I don’t need you any longer.” That was how I broke my
connection to God. I closed the door of my heart to him.
It was
painful. You keep moving around and Good keeps acting in your life. He
continues to help and guide you. The Mother of God keeps loving you, too. Bit
by bit, you come to realise that God has been taking care of you wherever you
went. In spite of that, you turn away from him obstinately.
I spent
ten years without God. I was adamant in not letting him back into my heart
although I wanted to go to church and participate in worship. I had to have
this moment of rejection because I was left longing for God during all that
time.
“Are You Alive? It’s a Miracle!”
I was
baptised when I was 16 for fear of death. It happened in hospital. I was
brought to a hospital bed by a serious illness: I had suppurated bones in my
head. I couldn’t walk. I stayed in various hospitals, the last being the
Russian Children’s Hospital in Moscow. My aunt, who was my dad’s sister, sent
for a priest. I was in conflict with God at that time already so I reluctantly
agreed to be baptised. Surely, I feel very sorry for my attitude now. Baptism
is such a happy occasion! That was when I took communion for the first time.
My second
communion was before a serious surgery. A boy named Kolya, who was the same age
as me and had a horrible genetic disease (lupus erythematosus), was in the same
hospital with his grandmother (his mother had died). He drove me in a
wheelchair to a nocturnal Easter liturgy where we spent a couple of hours.
The Lord
cherished and loved me so tenderly, in spite of everything! It’s unspeakable!
My doctor’s colleagues were warning her against the surgery. They predicted a
1/100 chance of my surviving it. I had literally no chance to remain a healthy
person.
A bone in
my head which contained the internal carotid artery had been rotten, just 3 mm
were left to go before you cut into that artery, and if you do, it’d cause
immediate death. However, my doctor Valentina Ryszardovna wasn’t scared. She
was a professor and a famous surgeon. She came into my ward and told me
everything candidly, waiting for my decision. “1/100 chance is still a chance.
Let’s try.”
The
surgery took a while. Several medical crews took turns in performing that
surgery. It was a success. I woke up in an intensive therapy room. I opened my
eyes and saw several doctors towering over me. “Are you alive?” I nodded.
Valentina Ryszardovna burst into the room, fell down on her knees and kissed my
hands crying, “Lena, you see, we’ve made it! It’s a miracle!” It was during the
Bright Easter Week.
O Lord Let Me Come Back!
Speaking
in a layperson’s terms, everything was great: I managed to recover after the
surgery, I received an excellent education and a decent job that paid well. I
did it on my own. God had endowed me with many gifts, such as independence and
sharp wit. I would always get out unharmed from any situation and not be
overpowered by anything. I’d simply regain my focus and move on. I possessed
some inner strength. However, I was far from God.
When I
was 22, ten years after I broke with God, I came to a tipping point in my life.
A dead-end. Loss of meaning. I was on the verge of a breakdown. My soul cried
out in despair, “Lord, how long will You torture me? Please make me come back
to You!”
I stopped
eating. I spent my days lying in bed and watching Soyuz TV channel. One day, I
got up and somehow went to a church. As far as I recall, someone had told me
that I had to receive a blessing for driving my car. The Lord was guiding my
steps and sent me certain people at certain points. I went to my parish church
and asked the rector, “Please bless me to drive my car.” “Did the GAI (the
agency that does the same in Russia that DMV does in the US and DVLA does in
the UK — translator’s note) bless you? If yes, then I bless you, too.” I was
hooked by his simple and easygoing attitude. I caught myself thinking that I
had to come back to God at last.
I didn’t
know how to return to God, though. It was exactly like the prodigal son: he ate
pig food and knew that he had to go back but he was too afraid because he had
fallen and he didn’t know what to do about it? Lord have mercy, it was
incredibly difficult to overcome that nagging fear. How can I return? What will
happen? What should I do?
The Lord
can see one’s heart, and He will always answer one’s prayer. A woman from my
job gave me a book by John Krestiankin, “Constructing Your Confession”. The
book sat unread on my shelf until I… Until I decided to get married.
St Matrona of Moscow Rescues Me From Marriage
I decided
to get married. Preparations for the ceremony were underway. Suddenly, I
started having really weird feelings. I felt aversion when I thought about
family life. I just couldn’t force myself into it! I had to go and choose my
wedding gown, and I did it with tears in my eyes. All girls dream about
marriage but I couldn’t help crying when looking at myself in a wedding gown.
It was
incomprehensible and hard to explain. On the one hand, I wanted to have a
family and kids but I felt that something inside me protested against it. I
didn’t have anyone to seek advice from. My dad would tell me, “Decide for
yourself, you are old enough now.” But I simply couldn’t make up my mind…
I came
across a book with the biography of St Matrona of Moscow, an Akathist to her,
some prayers and stories about her miraculous help. I didn’t go to church yet,
and I didn’t know any of the saints. I don’t know why I read that book. I was
so impressed that I prayed before sleep, “Matrona, I’m very lonely. Please help
me and tell me what to do.” Saint Matrona answered to my prayer that very
night.
I saw a
dream where St Matrona hugged me. She hugged me, and I felt so calm, so
peaceful, as if she were my mum. I saw my bridegroom standing at a distance and
yelling at me. I was so upset… “Listen, stop talking, can’t you see who she is.
You’ve got to be reverent…” All of a sudden, he disappeared. St Matrona pointed
at something. It was a church with black star-spotted domes.
I got up
thinking that I had to go to Moscow. I could only understand that the church I
had seen in my dream was a monastery or a convent of some kind, and that she
had ordered me to go there. Of course, my wedding didn’t happen. My brother, my
friends, and I went on a holiday to Italy for a month. However, the Lord had
already touched my heart. Something was breaking apart inside me. Everything
seemed useless, alien, and empty. Even if you try to stop thinking about it and
block the outcry of your soul, your soul keeps crying louder and louder. When we
finally got back home, I immediately opened the book by John Krestiankin.
To be
continued…
Recorded by Sister Maria
Kotova
March 27, 2018
St.
Elisabeth Convent
CONVERSATION