Personal Stories: I live thanks to the Mother of God
My parents came from Kuban. My father was killed in the wartime, and my mother moved to Transcarpathia, where I was born. Our house stood near the church in honour of the Nativity of Mother of God, at a distance of about four hundred metres. The priest who served there had two children, a boy of my age, and a girl a bit older. So I spent almost all my time in the church. The time was very hard, and the priest had something to eat. We spent nights in the church as wards.
Soon persecutions began. A man who had been an officer
of the White Army hid a lot of spiritual books from the Cheka officers under
the ground of his house. Such books could hardly be found even in the church.
We copied these books into our exercise books secretly. Once, when I was very
tired, I took this exercise book in school by mistake. When my teacher saw this
exercise book, she took it away from me and sent for the district militia
officer. They took me directly from the school and sent me to Saratov oblast
into an orphanage. I was ten at that time.
What I experienced in the orphanage cannot be
expressed in plain language. It was the time of war and hunger. When they took
us to the city, kind people gave us something to wear. Some boys smoked. I was
always asked about my parents, whether they were believers or not, although
they could read it in my biographical particulars. When there was somebody from
a Christian family, life was very difficult for him, he was beaten even by
counselors. Thus I had everything beaten out of me in a couple of years; I was
scared to death to say that I believe in God. During my last year in the
orphanage, when I only had to stay there for half more year, my mother died. We
heard then that orphans can enter military institutions. I was one of them.
The school taught students who were to serve the
nation beyond its borders. I graduated from this school, had practise at the
state border, and then I found myself in special missions military unit. My
life went astray after that: Serbia, Bulgaria, five years in Angola. So I
completely stopped going to church.
When I was wounded for the first time, I recalled my
childhood and our church. I had not prayed throughout all those years, I had
forgotten about God. But here I remembered that when I was a young boy during
the war, a bullet went one centimetre close to my head and did not hurt me. My
mum then said that I was saved by Mother of God.
After I was wounded, I started looking for any
literature. At that time there were few churches, one priest for five or six
villages. However, some people helped me. I met an old woman who brought me
some books and two small icons of the Saviour and of Mother of God of Kazan.
This old woman told me that she knew Marshal Zhukov very well. She said that he
also had the icon of Mother of God of Kazan in his car, although he was a Marshal!
Finally, I returned to the Soviet Union. I visited
some churches in Ukraine, spent some time in Lithuania, and eventually settled
in Pskov oblast, where I was in charge of a huge farm. Everything was fine but
suddenly an accident changed all my life. I had to leave my house and go to the
place where nobody knew me. That was how the Lord brought me to Pskov-Caves
monastery.
I stayed in the monastery for more than ten years. At
first it was difficult to get rid of my past. First, I had served in the army
in the past. Second, I missed the large farm where I had worked because there
were about one hundred bulls, eighty pigs, a mill, tractors, and everything
worked very well. I had to lose it at a glance. Later I somehow reconciled
myself with this fact. Besides, Fr. John (Krestiankin) helped me a lot. He
allowed me to come to him anytime to talk. So when I had problems, I went to
him. We prayed with him and talked, he anointed me with oil and everything
became fine at once.
I decently tried to work diligently; I quickly got
accustomed to the life of the monastery. I worked in the fields on a tractor
and guarded the holy monastery. Later, because I knew foreign languages, I was
told to serve as a guide for tourists. The Lord strengthened me, it was easy
for me to pray, I could sit in church nights away.
In 1993, I had terrible aches in the throat. I could
not understand what was going on with me. So I went to doctors. They said I was
contused, and they could not do anything for me. I suffered like this for half
a year. No medicine could help me. It was impossible to endure pain, so I began
to cry at nights, and I even had thoughts about suicide. All of a sudden, the
doctor of our monastery called me. She inspected me carefully and said, “Here
is your referral for treatment. Go to Pskov immediately.” There they dragged me
through hospitals, when at last, a young doctor said, “You are ill with cancer,
but do not be in despair.” He helped me to get into an oncology clinic, where I
stayed for six years. They would let me go the monastery for a couple of days,
and then they would take me into the hospital again. Finally, I lost fifteen
kgs and was carried in a stretcher. The doctors were sincere about my
diagnosis. My brothers in the monastery even made a coffin for me. I saw it in
my dream, and I did not like it.
It was Christmas eve. The ward assistants brought me
to the ward and lay me onto my bed. There happened an event I will never
forget. It was not that I fell asleep, but I could dimly see St. Michael Church
in Pskov monastery. Light showed in the left choir (where I had never been).
Mother of God, clad in red, went out and knelt. I cannot explain what it was
but I could walk again in a couple of days. I still live because of Mother of God. God’s
Providence led me to Belarus, into St. Elisabeth Convent. Belarus is dear to me
because it was in Minsk, in Novinki, that my older brother died. Now I search
for the place of his burial. I would like to consecrate this land, and build a
chapel.
That is how I live and work. May the Lord help me to
serve Him, His Church and people as much as I can.
A Story from
2009 by Monk Pavel
