There are many surprises at the Kochakovsky necropolis.

When I was already leaving the cemetery, having said goodbye to the Tolstoy family. Necropolis of the Tolstoy family, I noticed behind the fence in the general cemetery something like a chapel with a golden dome.

They don’t just build chapels in Orthodox cemeteries. I found the gate and walked along the fence. In front of me was an open chapel behind a thin lacy metal grille.

I entered the chapel, which was well maintained, it was clear that someone was constantly looking after it. In the center of the chapel there is a makeshift altar and a place for candles.

There is a memorial plaque on the left side of the chapel. It turns out I ended up in the chapel of Evdokia Ivanovna Kudryavtseva, better known as Blessed Dunyasha.

Who was Dunyasha that she received such honors?

"Evdokia Ivanovna was born in the village of Staraya Kolpna, Shchekinsky district, on March 8, 1883. Her father served in the royal gendarmerie. She herself, until the age of 18, was the same as everyone else. Except that she was distinguished by her extraordinary beauty, stature and kindness. She had groom, named Vyacheslav. But on the eve of the wedding, she had a vision: she would remain a married maiden in the family...

From the very beginning of the 20th century, for about 80 years, she carried her Cross - Christ for the sake of the holy fool. She had no stake, no yard, no family, no corner. Her parents, John and Agafya, died when Dunyasha was very young.

In troubled times of unbelief and atheism, Evdokia was recognized as “mentally unhealthy, hiding her in a “psychiatric hospital.” But the fame of her as an extraordinary seer, prayer book and healer spread from word to mouth. The doctors themselves in the hospital came to her with a bow for help. Mother did not refuse anyone. Many, after healing, found Faith. But Evdokia did not like flattering people, she tried to move away from them. She said: “Fear people who praise you.” On the contrary, she affectionately welcomed those who scolded and scolded her .

The events of the beginning of the Second World War are especially memorable. There is a well-known story that Evdokia Ivanovna assured the leadership of Tula: “The German will not enter, I hid the keys.” Indeed, the Germans were unable to break through the defenses of Tula.

Sometimes the meaning of what was said became clear only after some time. During the difficult times of the Second World War, people came to her with their questions and fears to find out about the fate of father and son, brother or husband, from whom there was no news, looking for the last hope in her...

In Zarechye, where Dunyasha lived on Galkina Street, one mother had not received letters from her son, a tank driver, for a long time. “And you stretch out your hand to the icon,” advised the seer. An inkwell was hidden behind the icon. The mother wrote a letter to the front and received soon a response from the unit commander, who wrote that her son was alive, but wounded and lying in the hospital.

It happened that Evdokia tore up the “funeral” in front of everyone. Then news would come from this person, or he himself would return home.

To this day, Evdokia Ivanovna is remembered in the Spassky Temple, which is located on Gonchary (Puzakova 1). Near the path leading to the Temple, Agafya, the mother of the blessed maiden Evdokia, is buried. Very often Dunyasha came to the grave, ordered a memorial service, which was served by Father Illarion, and was very grateful to those who remembered her mother.

Parishioners and Temple employees talked about her... One woman recalls that when she was a girl, Dunyasha gave her diapers: pink and blue. Many years later, the meaning of the gift became clear, she understood what Evdokia Ivanovna had predicted for her. A woman gave birth to twins: a girl and a boy.

Some were afraid of her, afraid of her predictions...

One day a couple got married. And then the smartly dressed Mother Dunyasha entered the Temple and stood next to the bride. She froze and began to pray fervently to herself. The bride was in vain to fear - she had a long and happy marriage ahead of her.

Very often Dunyasha baptized the children herself (the priests did not refuse her). for many she became the Godmother. Evdokia Ivanovna Kudryavtseva ended her earthly journey in forced confinement in a psychiatric hospital on May 28, 1979 at the age of 96."

Dunyasha was buried at the Kochakovsky cemetery; in the chapel, her grave is modestly located in the upper right corner of the chapel. In addition to Evdokia Ivanovna, inside the chapel are the graves of her relatives: Alexandra Vasilievna Kudryavtseva (1924 -1948), Nina Gavrilovna Kudryavtseva (1925 - 1979) and Ilya Timofeevich Kudryavtsev (1894 - 1969).

There are many flowers in the chapel, both fresh and in baskets. Apparently someone was in front of me in the chapel, because... one of the candles was burning.

People constantly come to her, someone even calculated that more than half a million people have already visited the modest grave in the Tula outback. They come from different countries, many on purpose, having learned about it from the Internet.

“The prophetic words of the Great Prayer Book and Seer came true: “Come to me, from there I will help you even more.”

Miracles at the grave of Blessed Mother Evdokia continue to this day. The glow from her grave was even captured on regular photographic film. On Christmas days, some heard the majestic singing of a church choir, others heard the ringing of bells.

In this Holy place they are healed, find support, answers to many questions, and most importantly, people who believe in her and ask for her intercession and prayer gain Faith. Someone asks for help with everyday needs, someone in organizing their personal life, someone asks for Mother’s prayers for healing. Evdokia does not refuse help to anyone.

One parishioner, having decided in late autumn to remove fallen leaves from Dunyasha’s grave, knelt down and completely forgot about her sore knee joints, which never bothered her again. Another said that, having completely despaired of finding a job, she tearfully begged Evdokia to help her, because she had small children. Soon she was invited to a well-paid position.

Many thanks to her. found and united their destinies.

Evdokia especially loves children: she instructs, protects them from everything bad, and also helps in raising our children in this difficult time, full of many temptations."

You can believe all this or not believe it - everyone decides for themselves. But human faith can sometimes work miracles.

ASCEPTIVES

ABOUT BLESSED EVDOKIA

Several years ago, a good local historian suddenly appeared in Kotlas - Vera Vladimirovna Melentyeva, who began to publish books one after another about church life in her small homeland, where three dioceses converge: Arkhangelsk, Vologda and Vyatka.

The last of her books was dedicated to Blessed Evdokia (Dunyushka), whom I was told about back in the mid-90s. At that time we were talking about the Ustyug period of the blessed one’s life, but it turns out that for many years after the revolution she labored not far from Kotlas, at the church in the name of St. Basil the Great.

The new rector of this very dilapidated, disfigured, but still beautiful church, Father Victor Pantin, recently introduced us to Vera Vladimirovna.

“I am a compiler, not an author,” she insists. – An economist by profession, why did you feel drawn to write? At one time, Father Vasily Yavorsky, rector of Turovets, said: “What a good place our Turovets is, who would write about it...” Oh, I say, I’ll retire and write. But it so happened that even in retirement there were so many things to do that it was impossible to redo them. And then, when Father Vasily went to the Lord, my conscience gnawed at me. This is how the book appeared: “Turovets. Holy Rus', Holy Place."

I will say what Vera Vladimirovna, for obvious reasons, kept silent about. At one time, local historian Nikolai Sheptyakov called her work “a quiet feat of a parishioner.” I didn’t explain why, although the book is certainly good, a lot of work was put into it, I talked to many people, but the feat... The praise still seemed somewhat exaggerated to me. It turned out I was wrong.

Vera Vladimirovna’s husband sat so motionless during our conversation that it was unclear whether he saw us or heard us. He suffers from several serious illnesses. Two cancers and atherosclerosis. Every movement is painful for him, and he is unable to turn his head on his own. “I dress and undress him like a child,” says the owner. He is a former sea captain. I spend a long time looking at the photograph where Anatoly Pavlovich is still a young sailor, handsome, clear-eyed. He helped Vera Vladimirovna raise and raise two children from her first marriage. She also takes care of her elderly mother.

“I have two children,” Vera Vladimirovna laughs.

There really are two children, but she is not talking about them now. Explains:

- Husband and mother. Once they took care of me, now it’s my turn.

– When do you work? – I ask her.

– When my friends fall asleep and the phone goes silent. I sit until three o’clock in the morning, then I can’t believe it: did I really write this? I write by inspiration, not by education. I’m a fish when it comes to numbers, but I unexpectedly became a local historian. So, about Turovets. I was born in Kotlas, but as a child I didn’t go to kindergarten; I lived a lot with my grandmother in the village of Novinki, which is near Turovets. That’s why I consider him family. I went to church with my grandmother, and when I grew up, my mother gave me an image of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker and a prayer book. In difficult times they helped me. The children have been raised, thank God... Eat strawberries, my son brought them.

– It’s clear with the first book. They kept their promise. What prompted you to write the next one?

– The second book, “The Life Path of Archimandrite Modest,” is dedicated to Father Modest Melentyev.

- Yes, it seems I asked the wrong question. Living in your area and passing by the fate of Father Modest is difficult. Our newspaper talked about him many times.

– And then I came across an article about Blessed Evdokia in the Kotlas newspaper “Dvinskaya Pravda”. I became interested and started asking questions. Suddenly my cousin says: “I know where she is buried.” And he took me to the grave near Vasilievskaya Church. Since then I have been taking people there myself. The notebook with notes from Claudia Pavlovna Shergina, who was buried next to Blessed Evdokia, was very helpful. Other memories remain. It turned out that Evdokia did not walk until she was five years old, but the then young shepherd John of Kronstadt begged her. And she died in 1941, in the winter, after the start of the war. She was then about 90 years old. And you’d better read about the rest in my book.

I read it. Naturally, we cannot reprint it in its entirety in our newspaper; on the other hand, the circulation is tiny, but we would like to introduce the readers of our newspaper to the fate of Dunyushka. Therefore, with the help of abbreviations and slight editing, we prepared this story based on Vera Vladimirovna’s book “The Locally Revered Perspicacious Evdokia the Blessed”.

If a person is not forgotten for his deeds of faith for 20-30, or even 40 years, then, apparently, he lived a holy life. Evdokia’s resting place is a rural churchyard near the majestic, now reviving ancient temple in the name of St. Basil the Great. The temple stands alone on a hill surrounded by arable land, and it once served as the spiritual center of life for the peasants of many surrounding, now lost, villages - at a distance of about three miles from the Kotlas - Veliky Ustyug highway (near the village of Kurtsevo).

The folk trail to the grave of our Evdokia, or Dunyushka, as she is affectionately called here, has not been overgrown for more than seven decades. They remember and love her, seek help in everyday affairs and ailments, recognizing her holiness. Based on bits of memories passed down from generation to generation, written sources, and archival finds, a chain was created through which it was possible to reconstruct the life path of Blessed Evdokia and help for her sufferers after her death.

Evdokia lived in the mid-19th – first half of the 20th century. Her exact date of birth and full name are not yet known. In the notes of Margarita Fedorovna Koryakina, made from the memoirs of Claudia Pavlovna Shergina, it is written: “Mother Evdokia (shema-nun Serafima) from Sogra near Privodino, lived in Ustyug on Yaikov.”

Indeed, not far from the village of Privodino, Kotlas district, across the Northern Dvina River, on the Votlazhemskaya side, there is still a village called Sogra. Perhaps this is where Evdokia comes from.

Evdokia’s childhood and her further life until 1929 took place in the city of Veliky Ustyug. Maria Andrianovna Kazulina recalls: “There was such a blessed Dunyasha. When her mother died, two-week-old Dunyasha, along with her mother’s clothes, was brought to the St. John the Baptist Monastery by her father, and he brought a cow. Nun Tatiana undertook to educate.”

Further, already in the notes of Margarita Fedorovna Koryakina, we read: “Elder Evdokia the perspicacious did not walk until she was five years old. John of Kronstadt cured her because she said: “If my legs could walk, I would go to churches.” Then I went around all my life and treated people...”

In 1908, when the Veliky Ustyug Znamenno-Filippovsky convent for women was formed on Yaikovskaya Mountain, Evdokia moved there along with some of the other nuns of the St. John the Baptist Monastery. By 1918, there were already 120 people working in the monastery.

After the October Revolution, Znamenno-Filippovsky, like other monasteries in Veliky Ustyug, chose to “change the sign” rather than be dispersed. Apparently, the sisters hoped that Soviet rule would not last long, so they needed to survive as a monastic community. Well, the authorities probably harbored hopes of re-educating the opium-addled citizens with the help of work and some pressure. As a result, in October 1918, the monastery was closed, and its property was transferred to the newly registered production and consumer community, which included 80 nuns of the monastery. Among them was Evdokia.

In 1928, the city needed new premises for an orphanage-isolator intended for orphans and sick children (mainly with tuberculosis and syphilis). There was nothing better than the buildings of the Znamenno-Filippovsky Monastery, and the sisters in the community did not want to be re-educated. In March 1929, a decision was made to permanently close the monastery and evict the community. Thus ended the period of Evdokia’s life in the glorious city of Veliky Ustyug.

The memories of the blessed one’s contemporaries have been preserved about that time. For example, the martyr dean archpriest Fyodor Veselkov (b. 1886) recalled how he met Evdokia in Veliky Ustyug in his youth, in 1919, when he was going to the final exam at the Theological Seminary. I was shy before the exam, but I had to go. On the way, I saw blessed Dunya and made a wish: if I come up for a blessing, I’ll pass the exam, if I don’t, I won’t pass (and he himself was only a deacon at that time). Dunya was walking past, suddenly crossed the street and came up for a blessing. Father Fyodor actually passed the exam with excellent marks.

Many of Dunyushka's prophecies were sad. Perhaps the Lord sent them through her so that a person could settle his affairs, prepare for a meeting with the Heavenly Father or confession for Christ’s sake. Let's say, after the closure of the St. John the Baptist Monastery, Evdokia lived in the Yakovsky Monastery. She built up partitions in the cell - it was cramped! Then the bishop arrived. She grabbed him and pushed him into the cell, into her dungeon. Soon the bishop was taken to prison, where he was shot.

For some reason, Dunyasha gave her felt boots to the abbess of the monastery. Two days later, mother was sent to logging. But, of course, there were also predictions of a different kind. One day, novice Tatiana was crumbling bread for the pigeons, and Dunyasha took it and said: “Feed, feed, your pigeons will…” And so it happened. When the monastery was destroyed, Tatiana got married and gave birth to twins. Or here are the cases according to the memoirs of nun Anna Andreevna Verkhovtseva, who from the age of 13 was in the Ustyug monasteries with Evdokia and was friends with her:

“Everyone knew Evdokia in Ustyug. She often walked around the market, and they vyingly offered her goods. It was believed that whoever she took something from would sell it all at a profit, and whoever looked at it and didn’t take it would take all the goods back home. Evdokia put everything she took into a padded jacket, for which she was nicknamed Big Pazukha in the city.

Evdokia loved to sleep in the oven, in the warm ashes. In the morning she shook the ashes off herself onto the floor, and they grumbled at her for this. And I laid out the rug, the ash fell on it, and I shook out the rug.

Once Evdokia told her: “And you, Anna, the dead will feed you.” And so it happened. After the sisters were driven out of the monastery, she lived for two years by reading the Psalter over the Ustyug dead.

Many years later, already in Solvychegodsk, Anna once swam in Vychegda and began to drown. “Dunka, save me, Dunka, save me!” – she cried then. Evdokia saved.”

The mother of Claudia Pavlovna Shergina (the future nun, whose grave is located next to Dunyushkina) was well acquainted with Evdokia and visited her in Ustyug. Little Klava kept asking, but her mother did not want to take her with her, since the road was long; we walked from the village of Rasseka, Kotlas district, to Ustyug. In addition, Klava suffered from deafness as a child. But Dunya stood up for the girl, shrewdly calling her “her wing.” Klava went: even though her legs were bleeding, she still went and endured. She approached the threshold, and Dunya suddenly opened the door for her, as if she knew that the girl was coming to her. "Christ is Risen!" – Evdokia greeted. “Truly he is risen!” – Claudia answered, suddenly clearly hearing the greeting. Since then, her hearing has returned forever.

After a long church service in Ustyug, Claudia’s mother one day began to worry about how they would get home. Evdokia rolls the matchbox on the table and says: “It’s lucky and lucky and it’ll take you home, lucky and lucky and it’ll take you home.” Don’t worry, a white horse with a coachman in a white caftan will run and take you.” And so it happened. Very quickly they arrived at their village. They looked around: there was no white horse, no coachman in a white caftan and with a white beard. They crossed themselves and decided that it would not have happened here without St. Nicholas the Wonderworker...

After the closure of the Veliky Ustyug Znamenno-Filippovsky Yaikovsky Monastery, Evdokia returned to her homeland, to the Kotlas district of the Arkhangelsk region. Since the Soviet authorities did not favor Evdokia, they came for her more than once to arrest her for witchcraft (healing through prayers was not recognized). But each time she miraculously managed to escape persecution. At that time, the Votlazhem Holy Trinity Church was no longer in operation; grain warehouses were located there. Evdokia could not live without prayer, without church, so she moved to live on the other side of the river, in the vicinity of the St. Basil the Great Church operating at that time.

The memories of her prophecies in the new place were preserved. To Father Sergius Voronov, the priest of the Vasilyevskaya Church, Evdokia predicted his death. To the question: “Dunyushka, I’m going to die, who will bury me?” - She replied that the soldiers would do it. And so it happened. Father Sergius was arrested and shot on Ivanovskaya Mountain in Veliky Ustyug on December 26, 1937. Even sadder was the prediction of another girl who turned to Duna with a question about her upcoming marriage. Without saying a word, Evdokia put it on the bench, covered it with a white scarf and said: “Here’s your wedding.” Indeed, the girl soon died.

The Lord knows who to reveal what to, who to help - it would be through whom. One day Evdokia asked to stay overnight with two sisters living with two children. Although they lived poorly, they allowed a guest into the house and even shared a modest dinner with her. Before going to bed, Dunyushka advised them to go behind the ravine and scratch the garbage heap. Waking up in the morning, the women did not find the guest, but remembered her order. Arriving at the ravine, they discovered that three bags of millet were hidden there. It was something that women and children fell in love with during times of famine.

During collectivization, Dunyushka ordered another family to leave bags of grain near the well. A sudden blizzard scattered the grain across the yard and covered it with snow. The Bolsheviks, who arrived the next day with the goal of dispossession, searched all the secluded nooks and crannies, but never found what they were looking for. As a result, the grain remained, it was carefully removed from under the snow and provided food for themselves until spring.

In recent years, Evdokia lived in the house of her mother Claudia Pavlovna Shergina. Claudia herself became Evdokia’s first assistant. “My little wing,” that’s what Dunyushka called her, and her younger sister Anna, “my little horse,” also for her help. Once they took her to wash. Without undressing, in a fur coat and shawl, Evdokia poured a tub of water on herself - that’s all, she washed herself, take her back. Despite this “washing”, there was never a bad smell from it.

Evdokia came to the gatehouse of the Vasilyevsky Church (it had not yet been destroyed) to die at the age of about 90 with a bundle. The winter was frosty then. The church guards told Duna: “You will die, we can’t dig a grave, we are old.” She replied: “They will bring Annushka, and they will bury me too, and they will bury Annushka and me from the village of Pestovo.” She prayed for three nights and died. On that day, a deceased woman was actually brought from the village of Pestovo. They dug a grave for Annushka, but dug a little to the side for Dunya. So they buried her in the same grave with Annushka.

When she was dying, that day there was an unusual sky above the temple, the temple was glowing. They say there was a rainbow and the Mother of God stood in the sky. Klavdia Pavlovna Shergina, when she talked about this, kept saying: “That’s what Evdokia was like...”

Since God has no death, Evdokia’s help to people did not weaken after her death... Ekaterina from the village of Erga was young, but for an unknown reason she stopped eating. Lost weight: skin and bones. He and his mother went to Evdokiya’s grave and prayed. Suddenly Katya asked for food. Since then I started eating and gained weight.

But people go to the grave not only asking for healing, but also with various everyday problems. Or they mentally turn to her. Here are live examples:

“Faina Alekseevna Lobova said that her mother went to the grave and asked Dunyushka to help her fall in love with her eldest son’s wife. She succeeded, she fell in love with her daughter-in-law. My grandmother told Tatyana Vasilyevna Paramonova a curious incident. She, along with two women from Kotlas, went to Dunyushka’s grave. We got there, stood there, prayed, and put money on the grave (that was the custom back then). One woman put down three rubles. Already on the way back, on the train, he said: “Maybe in vain...” In general, I felt sorry. She arrived home and found three rubles lying on her porch. The woman got scared, ran to her companions and said: “What have I done, what have I said!” I felt ashamed and scared. These are the miracles Evdokia works.”

Many people went to the grave. Such a pilgrimage did not please the existing atheistic government. It was decided to level the graves near the temple, primarily Dunyushka’s grave. They sent a tractor, it reached the fence, and then stood rooted to the spot and could not move. Another time the same thing happened to the tractor. In 1962–1963 There was also an attempt to destroy the grave by the district authorities and the police. They managed to pull out the monument, but parishioners who arrived in time immediately put it back and refused to leave. The tractor that was pulling out the monument stalled and its chains broke. The tractor driver jumped from the tractor and became legless. What happened to him later is unknown.

However, later the grave was destroyed in a different way. The iron fence was also broken along with the pipes on which it was supported. Then Evdokia’s grave was restored again. We started fencing. They say that one local man, but living in Moscow, fell ill. He dreamed about Dunyushka. At that time, her grave, which had been destroyed, had already been restored, but there was no fence. The man made a wooden fence, brought it himself from Moscow and installed it, and soon recovered.

Now there is a metal fence on the grave of Blessed Evdokia; in 2002 it was installed by Kotlash resident Vitaly Anatolyevich Chertkov. They say about him that he used to be very sick, but when he completed this good deed, it was as if all his ailments went away.

People still turn to Dunyushka for help. This can be seen at least by the fact that the flowers on the grave are constantly renewed, candles and lamps appear.

God grant us more ascetics like Blessed Evdokia; God grant, more such prayer books for us, many sinners, and Orthodox Rus'! And then life will be easier for all of us; We will then find everything in our needs and grief - both help and consolation. There is a huge request to pilgrims who come to Evdokia’s grave: please do not leave things on the fence, so as not to create flea markets (rain, snow, wind spoil them, they fade and do not decorate the grave), it is better to take them with you and wear them for good. health.

Money should also not be used to desecrate a grave; it is not needed there. It’s better to donate or transfer your donation to the restoration of St. Basil’s Church. Blessed Evdokia will certainly welcome this.

Prepared by Vladimir GRIGORYAN

Archpriest Sergius Gulko
MY MEMORIES OF CHUDINOVSKAYA DUNYUSHKA

By the wondrous Providence of God in the Pskov-Pechora Monastery, the Lord arranged for my family
blessed acquaintance with nun Elizaveta, a native Muscovite, now a nun
Holy Dormition Monastery in Alexandrovo. All my life I thank the Lord for this,
and this acquaintance between us is alive to this day, starting in 1966.

Who is Nun Elizabeth? – it should be a separate, joyful, instructive
and an interesting story that requires enough time, which, as always, we don’t have enough.

Even in my early youth I came across wondrous words from St. John Chrysostom, who seems to ask:
“What is a person’s most valuable possession?” - And then he answers: “Some say that the most valuable thing a person has is
that's life; others say it is health; others that it is happiness, wealth, prosperity, etc.
All this is good, but not true. The most valuable thing a person has is TIME. Lost health, wealth, prosperity - everything can come back to you if you have time ahead. If you wasted or lost time, you can’t get it back with anything.” And in our lives, for the most part, we spend this most expensive, priceless wealth - TIME, far from its intended purpose. Apparently, it is not without reason that a person will answer before the Lord for wasted time as for the sin of sacrilege. Give us, Lord, a little more time to complete the deeds pleasing to You, at least in the biography of the nun Elizabeth herself, who has her own spiritual riches

Twice Mother Elizabeth visited our family, twice there was great joy in the family. First time in the village. Oktyabrsky, this is the second time here in Korkino.

And then one day she asks: “But somewhere here, in the Urals, you have Dunyushka, an ascetic of piety?”

– Of course there is, this is our Dunyushka Chudinovskaya, 150 km. from us, and we can easily go to her.

Such a trip took place and after that she asks to tell something about Dunyushka, since conversations about her among believers can be heard in Moscow. And I promised Elizabeth to describe how the Lord allowed me to come into contact with Dunyushka, although she died back in 1948. I entitled my story: “Wonderful is God in His saints.”

GOD IS WONDERFUL IN HIS SAINTS!

Wonderful are the works of His saints. Almost everyone, especially Orthodox people, had to endure a terrible and terrible anti-people and anti-God hardship. Now, when you look through this long-suffering page of our history again and again, everywhere you clearly see traces of God’s providential punishment and care for Russia and its people.

How could the Russian people endure this devilish, misanthropic, deadly massacre and emerge victorious in their spirit? Of course, only with the miraculous help of God. The words of the Savior always ring in the heart of a Christian: “I am with you all the days (Matthew 28:20) ... Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27). And a man faithful to Holy Orthodoxy, not fearing death itself, stood in firm faith in God and love for his neighbor, because... Should mortals fear death when Christ, the Conqueror of death, tells us: “I will raise [you] up at the last day” (John 6:40).

In support of weaker-spirited people, the Lord, not wanting the death of a sinner, erected pillars of faith and piety with the command: “You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. So let your light shine before people, so that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:13, 14-16). And people saw this Light, followed it, they themselves were ignited by the Light of Christ and ignited it in their neighbors.

Such a lamp on Chelyabinsk land was the great and bold prayer book to God, an ascetic of piety, who suffered a lot from the atheists during the terrible hard times of the 30s, Chudinovskaya Dunyushka. That’s what we all affectionately call her after her permanent place of residence in the village of Chudinovo, which is 200 km away. from Chelyabinsk.

For eternal memory there will be a righteous man (Ps. 111:6), and so that the memory does not pass in time without a trace, there are attempts to collect from the mouths of people who are still living witnesses who directly knew Dunyushka in some way, stories about her prayerful assistance to those asking and grieving people. Moreover, now such a blessed time has come when it has become possible to canonize, at least among the saints, locally revered people who have been honored with the special grace of God, people who live piously. The diocese even created a commission from among the laity and clergy to collect the history and biography of local devotees of piety.

But collecting the necessary and complete information from people scattered everywhere during the chaotic time turned out to be far from easy. I would like to have the entire sequence of her life story, because... This is one of the requirements of the rules of canonization, but from the surviving witnesses come only warm, touching, fragmentary memories of her gracious help to the grieving petitioner.

The requirements for canonization of ascetics of piety include the following: a complete detailed biography, how the ascetic prayed, what prayers he read, who specifically received grace-filled help, the presence of obvious miraculous phenomena, etc.

Metropolitan Juvenaly, who headed the commission for the canonization of saints of the Russian Orthodox Church, said that the main sign of the holiness of a particular ascetic is his life according to the Gospel, manifested in his words and deeds.

I will give one small point about the difficulties of collecting witness interviews. At that time I served in the city of Yemanzhelinsk and once consecrated the house of a resident of the city V.V. Ivanova, the most diligent parishioner of the temple, with whom we often talked about Dunyushka.

The majority of respondents' responses looked something like this:

– Vera Vladimirovna Ivanova, a resident of Yemanzhelinsk, one of those very close to Dunyushka, once wanted to spy on how Dunyushka prayed at night. “I lay down,” recalls Vera Vladimirovna, “and closed my eyes, as if I were sleeping. I hear that after a while Dunyushka gets out of bed to pray. I froze, holding my breath. Dunyushka went to the holy corner, took some holy water and sprinkled it on me. I immediately collapsed, went into a sleepy oblivion and woke up late in the morning. Dunyushka was already busy doing something around the house, and then asked me: “Well, my girl, did you see how Dunyushka prays at night?” ...What could be answered here other than: “Sorry, mother.”

So, a clear chronological sequence, locations and meetings with other ascetics of Dunyushka are omitted from the stories of witnesses.

In this we see the general weakness of our people, acquired by the atheistic captivity, the carelessness about preserving the memory of great and holy people, sometimes living among us, without whose bold prayer we often cannot and are not able to correct our life, distorted by the devil’s machinations. But this also shows the strength of the spirit of our people, who, seeing their brother walking in the Light, since it is said, I AM THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD, WALK IN THIS LIGHT AND YOU WILL BE SONS OF THE LIGHT, who walks on the true path, since it is said - I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH And LIFE, then the very life of a fellow man, whether he has a complete biography or not, is trustworthy. And a person, blessed with the prayerful help of an ascetic of piety, with faith and joy in the Lord settles him in the depths of his simple, childishly pure heart. She loves him no longer with earthly love and takes the memory of him with her into eternity.

It is only for this reason that there was a gap or deficiency in the chronological biography of our local Ural, the great ascetic of piety, Chudinovskaya Dunyushka. Although for us, for any believing heart that has at least once come into contact with Dunyushka, even after her transition to eternity, biographical incompleteness has no meaning. She is ours, we know her, we love her, she is always with us, she is the bold bearer of our weak prayers and bitter requests to our God, she is our spiritual mediator between us, the Urals, and God.

Of course, it’s painfully sad that the immediate novices who were inseparably with Dunyushka are almost no longer alive. But the Lord, by His mercy, miraculously vouchsafed me to see one such novice, Dunyushka, three days before her death, with whom I had a silent dialogue that remained in my memory and heart for the rest of my life.

I think it was in 1970. We lived then in the village of Rosa (Korkinsky district). I worked in a mine, studied in the evening department at a mining technical school. My wife and I already had two children - girls and my very elderly mother, who sometimes also needed care, like a child. My wife also worked in production and studied in absentia at the Trinity Veterinary Institute, and therefore, as always, there was not enough time for household chores, so we had to, from time to time, help each other, organize a grandiose house cleaning, so sometimes There wasn’t even enough daylight for this.

So one day there was a day of general cleaning around the house. And at this most inopportune time for receiving guests, Andrei Nikolaevich Vyaltsev came to us. A very beloved, respected and true believer parishioner of our Peter and Paul parish, a resident of Korkino. For his faith and Christian decency, he was respected by everyone, even far beyond the borders of our region. For us, burdened with everyday worries, he, as a man free from family and work (pensioner), was our Korkin courier-pilgrim to the holy places of Russia (he was well known to all hermit elders of that time), and with him we all sent our a mite of alms in support of all believers in need, relying on the discretion of Andrei Nikolaevich himself, in which he was very honest and careful. In response, he brought us the blessings of the elders, but this should also be a separate and interesting story.

It flashed through my mind: “Oh, Andrei Nikolaevich, how you arrived at the wrong time.” It was necessary to sit with him, he told us a lot about the life of the great, at that time still living, hermit elders, their teachings and warnings about the current and coming disorderly time. It used to be that he and I would sit whole nights over such touching conversations. Today I didn’t have such time for conversations.

And Andrei Nikolaevich right from the doorway: “Seryozha, I’m passing through and just for a minute. I am now going to Troitsk to visit, as I was told, one of Dunyushka’s closest novices who is dying. Won't you come with me?

Well, what can I say?.. Our general cleaning of the house is in full swing. We cleaned the stove (chimneys), and greased, and bleached, and washing, and children, and floors, and there were piglets in the barn - that was also work. What kind of wife will let you go, and how will you ask for time off, seeing so much to do and too much for two. It turned out that my wife and I had a free day for both of us, which happened to us, due to the nature of our industrial employment, very rarely.

My wife heard Andrei Nikolaevich’s proposal, but I didn’t dare move my tongue, but asked: “Masha, what should I do?” – indicating with a nod towards Andrei Nikolaevich.

“Go with God,” Maria answered unexpectedly and without hesitation.

I was literally stunned by my wife’s instant decision. It happened that they would get an emergency call from the mine (I worked as a mechanic at a mining site), and then I had to leave home almost with a scandal, which Maria was right in her own way. And then, to leave everything in such an inappropriate state and go to see some dying grandmother... - and suddenly the wife’s consent?! It was amazing, and, as I now understand, not without the Providence of God and not without Dunyushka’s blessing.

I immediately got ready and we set off. Troitsk is located a hundred kilometers from us, it’s spring time, the most muddy roads. For some reason we were traveling by train. At that time there were such “labor” trains.

And here we are at the gate of an old log house on the street. Lovchikova in Troitsk. Three sisters lived in the house: Ulyana, Nina and Alexandra - she was the purpose of our visit.

There were two rooms in the house and the small one, as they say, was Dunyushka’s cell, where she stayed when she visited Troitsk. A beautifully decorated bed with a children’s toy – a doll – sitting on it; large portrait of Father Fr. John of Kronstadt (it was rumored that he blessed him); there are many icons in the holy corner; Some of her old “outfits” were hanging on a nail.

When I entered the house, into the hallway, which was also the kitchen, on the right, near the wall, there was a bed and on it lay an elderly grandmother, extremely thin (as they later explained, she had not had anything in her mouth for three months and four days) . But what touched and surprised me: she, with all her exhaustion, when there should have been no appearance or kindness, was unusually sweet. Something inexplicable attracted my attention to her and, despite my desire, I stood at the head of the bed, at her feet, admiring her.

What can you admire here? - there’s nothing to look at here... If one of my peers saw me in such a situation and condition, they would probably twirl their finger at my temple, saying: “What are you... that?” But I was “wrong.” In front of me lay a man leaving for God, from whom came a sweet, warm, bright, pure old-age attractiveness. From her came what we so tenderly call holy grace.

I was also surprised that Andrei Nikolaevich, who was a regular here, glanced almost at her, bowed affably and went into the upper room with the rest of Alexandra’s sisters. I was left alone with her. The old woman’s eyes were open, and no matter how much I looked at her, they did not blink. Her gaze was directed somewhere at one point, and at the same time she was looking at me. It was awkward for me to constantly look at her and I couldn’t tear myself away.

I came closer to her and looked into her eyes - they were colorless and cloudy, she was not breathing. The thought flashed that she had died and that she should tell her sisters. But suddenly, something like a barely noticeable smile appeared on her face. “Well, thank God, she’s alive,” I thought. Her hands lay like whips on her chest.

Suddenly, her right hand seemed to move slightly. Then there was an attempt to lift it from the chest. Then another attempt and, finally, the hand rose and Alexandra showed me, with the help of her thumb and index finger, “quarter”, and the hand again fell powerlessly to her chest. The smile on his face remained the same.

I didn’t know what this meant and looked at her in surprise and indifference. She again, overcoming incredible difficulties before her death, repeated the same gesture. A minute later, apparently having rested, she repeated the same thing to me again, and her smile was better expressed. I smiled too and nodded my head in agreement. So in this silent dialogue, motionless, we looked at each other for quite a long time.

Finally, Andrei Nikolaevich and his sisters left the upper room. I had to think about the way back home. There was a persistent thought inside: “Well, how can I leave without knowing what Alexandra’s gesture means? Why should she, powerless, dying (to say the least, almost dead), try to show a stranger something that she herself cannot explain?

I asked my sisters: “My grandmother showed me a quarter with her fingers. What does it mean?" “They explained that when Dunyushka was still alive, he commanded Alexandra to tell everyone that whoever knew Dunyushka during her life and honored him, according to her prayer, would be honored. And the one who honors her after her death will be a quarter higher.

Getting ready to go home, and knowing that this grandmother was passing away, I decided to photograph her. There was only one frame left in the camera I grabbed from home (I loved filming my children). It was a little dark in the hallway where Alexandra was lying. I attached a flash. The shutter clicked, the flash did not fire. I was surprised and upset. “This must not be necessary,” I calmed myself with difficulty, but it’s a pity, at home there will be nothing to add to my story. Three days later I was informed that Alexandra had gone to the Lord with a smile on her face. One must assume that Dunyushka did not leave her alone at that moment.

...I heard from people, and Andrei Nikolaevich told me a lot, that Dunyushka’s grave, fenced with a metal fence, which was brought together by our Korkinsky believers, in the back of a “one and a half” (that was the name of the truck of that time), is expanding lengthwise and crosswise, simply put, it is growing.

The people who told me this, we all had great authority of trust. We were happy and surprised at this news. We rejoiced because the Lord, through His great people, showed all of us, unbelievers and doubters, His Divine power and will. It is very possible that this was due to Dunyushka’s prayers, so that through this small miraculous phenomenon the people would think and go to the Lord.

The first question to me, at each subsequent meeting with Andrei Nikolaevich, was: “Seryozha, did you go to Dunyushka’s grave?” It was 150 km from our house. Covering such a distance off-road (although the Korkin men often rode) on a bicycle did not make me happy, and the main reason was lack of time.

But then, happiness smiled on Maria and me - we bought “Zaporozhets” of the first issue. They jokingly called him “hunchbacked.” And with it came the opportunity for the whole family to go to Chudinovo to visit Dunyushka’s grave.

It was an ordinary fence welded from reinforcing iron (rods), almost CLOSELY PLANTED on the mound of the grave. There was no gate at all, and instead there was a hole from a sawn fence. Andrei Nikolaevich, who participated in the installation of the fence, said affirmatively that before this fence was smaller. We didn't argue or deny.

...Two years have passed since my first visit to Dunyushka’s grave. My mother and my close grandmother friends asked me to take them to Dunyushka’s grave. I was interested myself, because... A fair amount of time had passed and I really wanted to see for myself some small change at the grave. (Forgive me, Lord, and you, Dunyushka, for my tempting curiosity).

When I arrived, I was amazed by what I saw! The earthen mound of the grave, covered with turf, disappeared. Instead, a wide and long tomb filled with earth was built of red brick. On the opposite side of the burial mound, on my first visit, it was IMPOSSIBLE to pass between the fence and the mound. In order not to fall on the hill, it was necessary to hold on to the bars of the fence. At the entrance, near the hole where one rod of reinforcement was cut, the distance was wider (two male feet, toe to heel). Thus, it was possible to pass without holding on to the fence. Now, with the grave expanded with brick, the width of the opposite side became two man’s feet, and at the entrance it was even wider.

We prayed at the grave (the Chudinovsky Church was not in use at that time and was dilapidated), read the 17th kathisma, and remembered Dunyushka, our family and friends. Internally, I asked Dunyushka to help me in my life with his prayers, and then for some reason I really wanted to walk around the tomb. At the feet, behind the crosses (there were three crosses: Evdokia, Tikhon, Daria), a lilac bush grew. The bush was not that big, but dense, so that the trunks of the lilacs passed through the fence of the fence, as if intertwined with it. Despite my strong desire to walk around or crawl around the grave, I just couldn’t. Somewhat unsatisfied, I sat down at the edge of the grave near the crosses and asked my wife to take a photo of me. Crouching, I touched both the fence and the edge of the brickwork near the tomb. (And now, you can walk around the grave and bush at full height).

It has become part of my prayer rule to always remember the blessed maiden Evdokia (yes, I understand that before church canonization I remember her as blessed, and if anyone corrects me on this, I will agree, but we call her that out of our warm Christian love for her ), and at the same time, ask her for help in my difficult life situations. It was purely mine, and I didn’t share it with anyone. I began to notice some unusually happy cases of help, and especially when I ordered a “custom” or memorial service for her at church. I have used this for many years and now it is even difficult for me to describe all the examples of her prayerful assistance, but I will at least try some.

...One day, our well-respected Lydia Ivanovna, regent from the upper choir, asked me to take Dunyushka to his grave. Although she was very young (she and I were the same age), everyone called her authoritatively by her first name and patronymic.

“Seryozha, if you ever go to Chudinovo, you would take my mother and me to Dunyushka’s grave.”

I agreed, and they set a day free from work.

I knew her direct, strict, one might say, tough character and, of course, I really wanted to please our regent.

At home, going to bed, I checked the alarm clock using the signals from the “radio beacon”. I set the exact time, and somehow accidentally twisted the alarm spring, and it burst. Of course, this did not bode well; I could have overslept.

“I often get up at night to see the children,” Maria tried to reassure me, “so we won’t oversleep.”

After evening prayers we went to bed. On the bed, I mentally turned to my Guardian Angel: “My angel, tomorrow we are going to go to Dunyushka’s grave. Lydia is a very serious girl, and I need to be at her gate at six in the morning. Wake me up early, the alarm clock is broken, and Maria and the children can also oversleep.” He said and fell asleep, as they say, the sleep of the righteous.

I feel that someone sweet, sweet, leaned towards my ear and, in a sweet, sweet, gentle, gentle voice, said:

- Seryozha!

I immediately jumped up, it was bright in the windows, looked at the alarm clock and was horrified - it was five minutes to six.

- Maria, you overslept!

Well, what to do, you’ll have to listen to a fair reproach from Lydia.

“Now I can’t get my children up and dressed quickly.” I still need to get dressed myself and take something for the children on the road. “Go alone,” Maria suggests.

Well, okay, even if I’m alone, the time to get ready will obviously be reduced, but I also need to wash myself, and get dressed, and run to the garage while you open it, while you drive the car out, while you close the garage, and also drive from Rosa to Korkino - this is at best about half an hour, or even more. There are almost no roads (now something like roads has appeared). You can’t go fast in a Zaporozhets, he just doesn’t know how to do it.

I do everything almost running, and I myself reprimand my Angel: “Guardian Angel, how did this happen, I asked - earlier? What will I get from Lydia now?”

And now I'm on the road. I drive up to her gate with fear and trembling. She and her mother are already standing and waiting. My heart sank: gone, ashamed, not serious! I drive up to the gate, turn off the engine and get out of the car. On the roof of a five-story building in the morning silence, the call signs of a radio beacon and the melody were heard: “My native country is wide.” My head is working feverishly: “What is this? "Lighthouse"? Six in the morning?! Why? On the road I chatted for at least half an hour, if not more, I checked the clock at night using the same “Mayak”, they couldn’t lie for that long. What is it?"

I proudly approach Lydia, say hello, and in response I receive: “Well, you’re great. I can set my watch by you!”

Almost the entire way to Chudinovo I was silent in surprise.

“So our alarm clock was correct if Lydia confirmed the beacon signals.” And only then did I understand everything and tremble even more: “My Guardian Angel, forgive me, for God’s sake. I was burning with You, and You, taking pity on me, let me sleep a little more and carried me to Korkino on Your wings. After all, I definitely spent these five minutes to wash myself, get dressed, run to the garage, open it, drive out, and lock it with a screw lock. Where was I then on the road for half an hour?.. My God! what kind of fear, I was out of time!?”

While doing household chores, while tucking the children into bed (be sure to tell a fairy tale), after evening prayers, we ourselves always went to bed already at two o’clock in the morning. So the Guardian Angel, at Dunyushka’s prayer request, taking pity on me, gave me a little rest, strengthening me with this and in faith.

Just as the Lord is incomprehensible, so are the works of His hands incomprehensible, and if something is revealed to us, it is to the extent of our capacity and for understanding.

…One day, on another trip to Dunyushka’s grave, Korkin’s Anisyushka was traveling with us. Since childhood, I loved her more than any of my mother’s friends. This grandmother was simply an angel of God. Some people said that she was a secret nun. But someone said no. I cannot forget the joy that she gave me in my early, early childhood.

After dad died at the front, we were terribly poor. How we survived the war, and then the hungry post-war period, given my minority and my mother’s ill health, is only the grace of God and another miracle, which can only be described in a separate story.

After dispossession and repression, my mother’s parents died in exile from starvation in Karaganda. They also wanted to exile my mother, as a kulak daughter, but since she was (at that time) literate, she was left in charge of a collective farm, completely unsuited to the normal maintenance of a large number of livestock. In case of an unsuccessful calving, if the calf caught a cold at birth and died from the cold, the mother, as an enemy of the people, was sentenced to death, but the Lord had mercy. Having left all her health there, my mother could never work in production again. There was a glimmer of happiness when my dad took her as his wife, who later died at the front (in 1942). Having received a new terrible mental blow with the news of her father’s death, my mother took to bed for good. It was in this state that she and I survived both the war and the terrible post-war famine.

And so, I was already in sixth grade. I would never go to school, ashamed of my wretched clothes. Both the children and some teachers laughed at me. I was despised, and I felt it. It was only out of love for my mother, not wanting to upset her in any way, that I was obedient.

In the sixth! In class, I wore knee-length pants with an armhole over the shoulder. On my legs were stockings, sometimes mine, sometimes my mother’s, tied above the knees with strings. Mom always prayed, her prayer was continuous. I knew a lot of prayers by heart. I almost didn’t get out of bed. The neighboring women in the barracks, sometimes suffering from their illnesses, turned to their mother for advice and help, and their mother baptized their sore spot, which gave them relief. For this, some of them thanked my lying mother in some way. So, one day, one such woman brought a piece of dark gray cotton cloth.

When Anisyushka came to visit our mother, my mother asked her to sew me pants from this material. We inherited an old Singer sewing machine. All the women from our barracks used it. Anisyushka used this machine to sew my PANTS! Who can understand and share my joy? – I no longer had a shoulder strap, I was almost like an adult!

And now, I’m taking this Anisyushka, in my own car, to Chudinovo to Dunyushka’s grave! We've arrived. I was very worried about the fact that Anisyushka, having a very fat and voluminous body, would never fit through the hole in Dunyushka’s fence. I thought: “If I’m just passing through; my Maria, who is plumper than me, is already squeezing through with great difficulty; No way for Anisyushka.” Inwardly he very much regretted this: “Well, it’s okay,” he reassured himself, “she’ll pray behind the fence and remember Dunyushka.” Moreover, she and she, as we were told, were friends.”

My mother was very thin and could easily fit through the hole in the fence. My mother told me how she and Father Fr. Patrokol in Pochaev walked through a hole in the stones into the caves: “Son, not every person can go into the caves. Moreover, the entrance does not depend on the fullness of the body. There is an exit from the caves in another place, but it is even smaller. Nobody passes there. But the Lord vouchsafed me and my father. The head just won’t go away, and then somehow it turns out that you all come up.”

When we, as is usually done, venerated Dunyushka’s cross, I wanted to take a few pictures, and suddenly I saw Anisyushka inside the fence!.. “My God,” I was surprised, “she barely entered my Zaporozhets, how did she crawled through this hole!?” I turned to my wife in a whisper: “Masha, did you see how Anisyushka crawled through the hole?”

“No,” she answered.

– Listen, if I suddenly forget, then you keep it in mind. Let's see how she gets out of the fence?

We prayed, ate on the fence table, venerated the cross one more time and got ready to head back. Some of our people have already begun to pass through the hole in the fence. I climbed quickly and wanted to take a souvenir photo of everyone walking “in single file” along the path from the grave. I ran forward a little to cover everyone with the lens. I looked into the camera viewfinder and was literally dumbfounded - Anisyushka was walking along the path after her mother! I ran up to Maria and asked:

– Did you see how Anisya walked by?

- No, I forgot.

So, I think that excessive curiosity is not useful, and maybe even harmful for us. The fact itself is enough, it is enough that we see where the Lord is, there the law of nature yields to the Lawgiver.

Mentally, I asked both Dunyushka and Anisyushka for forgiveness for being too curious. There was no doubt left - Anisyushka, Dunyushka’s girlfriend, was also great before the Lord. (Now, for the sake of the bishop’s visit to the grave, there is a gate in the fence. It’s a pity.)

(But then there were “clever people” led by the Chudinovsky rector and removed the fence completely. Ostensibly for the convenience of visitors. This was unacceptable. The fact of the miraculous growth of the fence was eliminated. To my remark about complete arbitrariness, I received a rude answer from the rector. Now the grave is without a fence ).

... It turned out somehow by itself (as it should be in the life of a believer), wherever he went, or whatever he did, he asked, as usual, for God’s blessing and Dunyushka’s bold prayers.

I remember on December 19, Nikolin’s day, during the winter session I had to take an exam in electronics and automation. He was indignant: “Someone managed to take an exam on such a holiday! (And the day was Sunday). After all, it could have been a day earlier or a day later. No, on the holiday itself.” It’s obvious that you won’t be able to get to church in time for the service.

- Dunyushka-Mother, pray that I will be among the top five test takers, maybe then somehow I’ll have time for the liturgy. And you, Holy Hierarch Father Nicholas, help me pass the exam quickly.

I arrived early at the bus stop on Rosa and am waiting for the bus to Korkino. The buses seemed to have failed, not a single one was there. There were a lot of people - darkness. Some to work, some to the city to the market. It's Sunday. Everyone is nervous and swearing. I was almost depressed: now, not only to go to work, but to at least be on time for exams.

Finally, the already crowded bus arrived. The crowd squeezed me and carried me into the bus as if in their arms, I only had time to move my legs. Well, thank God, I'm on my way. In Korkino I run from the Kirov Palace stop to the technical school. Snowfall like never before. Without undressing, I run to the second floor, where the automation cabinet is. The classmates are all gathered and in complete silence. It turned out that the first five students had entered and were preparing to answer. You are allowed to think for fifteen minutes. Thus, I ended up last in line. Now, not only do I go to work, I don’t know when I’ll get home.

Suddenly the office door opens, our teacher comes out and announces:

– In order not to waste time, who wants to do it without preparation?

- Let me! – and ran to the door.

- Take off your coat, come in.

In a matter of minutes, with an A in my record book, I was free. I cross the threshold of the temple, and the priest shouts:

– Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit... i.e. the beginning of the Divine Liturgy...

“Lord,” words of gratitude come out spontaneously, “glory to You!” Sainted Father Nicholas, thank you for your help! Dunyushka-mother, thank you!!

How can I say that this is not God’s help through Dunyushka’s prayers?!

... He worked in a mine as an electrician. My shift, this time, was night. The mechanic detained me for a while in the machine shop. Our team of coal miners went into the lava ahead of me. The walk to the lava is about two kilometers. A kilometer downhill, which is very tiring. To facilitate the delivery of miners to the workplace, an aerial ropeway was installed in the slope. A metal rod made of pipe - a “carriage” - was vertically attached to the rope, on which there was a wooden seat similar to a bicycle, and stands - supports for the legs. So a person could sit on the seat either “astride” or “sideways”. The speed of the rope movement was low, and people boarded “on the fly.”

So, over time, I was internally affirmed according to the word of God and the Apostle: “Pray without ceasing, so that you do not fall into misfortune.” There was a blessed time in my youth when I did just that, and the main credit for this belongs to my dear mother, who was the best example for me. (now I’m completely lazy).

With special diligence, if you can call it that, I tried to maintain unceasing prayer during the night shift: - it’s good, I can’t sleep, and few people interfere with my prayer. I also knew that in the monasteries that I visited every year during my vacation, the so-called “indestructible psalter” was read. Day and night there is constant prayer “for everyone and for everything.” Monastics read it. These are workers who, after daytime monastic obediences, stand on a nightly feat of prayer. But night is night, and people are people, sleep takes its toll in such a way that even drivers driving in traffic sometimes fall asleep on the road. Night prayer is the most valuable and difficult thing, and therefore a feat.

This is what I thought in my feeble-mindedness: “Lord, if one of these devotees of prayer, due to human weakness, suddenly falls asleep, let him be forgotten a little by sleep, but I still don’t sleep, even though I’m at work, I’ll make up for the common brotherly prayer, I’ll pray from memory " And he prayed. I read memorized psalms, prayers, holiday troparia, to the saints, and repeated everything again. Fortunately, during the night shift, there were no bosses, no extra or strangers around. I understood that it looked naive, but I always did it this way.

And so, that wonderful night shift. Having received spare parts for the mechanisms from the mechanic, he went down into the mine and approached the slope, where the cable car was still rotating. The entire brigade has already left. I’m waiting for my, as we jokingly called, “bicycle.” Another seat came up, “Dunyushka, pray,” I sat down on it sideways and drove off. I’m going, the prayer “goes.”

Suddenly, suddenly, somewhere in the middle of the slope, I didn’t even have time to blink an eye when I was thrown up to the tops of the slope’s fastenings, and I fell onto the “slope ground.” (on the floor). Scary sound! Grinding! Wooden chips are pouring in all directions from the tops, where the pulleys along which the rope runs are attached. Lying in bewilderment, I look at the ceiling: - my “bicycle”, pressed by a pulley, is tearing the logs of the upper peasants into chips and, all mangled and pressed to the ceiling, it moved on.

- Lord, glory to You! Dunyushka, thank you!.. – there are no more words, everything inside is frozen. I got scared later when I was lying down and saw what was happening under the ceiling! What if I sat on a “bicycle” astride! I would never have been thrown off, but instantly, having been pressed to the top, I would have been smeared over the tops. Since then, I only drove sideways along the slope.

The reason: the rock masses gradually squeezed the wooden incline fastening machine towards the rope, and the pulley went past it and, in the end, ended up on the “carrier” of my “bicycle”. This could have happened before me; this could have happened after me, but it happened on me, and here is God’s mercy! Here is the apostolic commandment for you: “Pray without ceasing”; here is the vigilant protection of your Guardian Angel; here is the help of the saint whom you ask and who boldly prays to the Lord for you with you; Here's your parent's prayer for you. People sweetly say: “Without God there is no way to reach the threshold.” One should add: “And without the prayers of His holy saints for you.”

My whole life is filled with similar cases, when I had to be “on the verge” of death or when, according to all laws, certain death should have happened to me. When you look through your past life, you are afraid to even be surprised: - there are too many happy incidents in it, and each of them deserves to be included in the heading “Miracles of the 20th Century.” But after each such incident the question arose: “Lord, why have you left me?” For repentance, what else? He Himself says: “I do not want the death of a sinner.” Truly true words: “While the Lord punished me, He did not give me over to death.”

I’ll tell you another wonderful incident that happened to me, where I owe it to Dunyushka’s prayerful help.

My mother prayed a lot for me to leave my job in the mine. I didn’t see where I could apply myself other than the mine, so I remained at my previous place of work. But my mother continued to pray for me, and, as I now understand, I owe my parting with the mine to her, to her prayer.

...I have seen from the holy fathers that if God pleases, then the most harmful thing or situation for you becomes extremely useful. And experienced it.

At the mine, despite all my considerable usefulness for it, militant atheism came over me with the cruelty of destruction. I must say that the miners of our site treated me very respectfully and lovingly. I worked as a mechanic at a mining site. It happened that I walked past the “slaughterers”, i.e. those who directly cut coal, seeing me in advance, warn each other: “men, stop swearing, Sergei Ivanovich is coming.” I felt a little funny, as if they were afraid that I might scold them for this. Perhaps they knew from their grandmothers at home that I was a believer and went to Church. I tried to maintain the honor of a believer under any circumstances, and therefore I was respected. My team of mechanics doted on me. This was my friendly, united driving force. But the mine management hated me. They told me to my face: “You are our ideological enemy.” And the more they discriminated against me in some way, bypassed me (for example, professional gifts once a year, additional rest, which was given as an increase in the level of specialization in neighboring coal mines, etc.), the more they themselves suffered from this in their conscience. I didn’t regret it or be offended at all; I had something to be happy about and something to do. I was not afraid of ridicule or any infringement, but I could no longer work with the enemies of my God, and as a believer, I had neither moral nor spiritual right. I left the mine. In practice, I was slowly destroyed for many years, but after the mine, the most complete and blessed life began, which I never expected.

My wife and I got a job at the Chelyabinsk poultry farm. She is a veterinarian, I am in the instrumentation and control department. Then I was transferred to a very delicate, in the sense of automation, workshop - an incubator.

I worked 12 hours a day, the schedule was “sliding” and thus I had to work the night shift. I must say that it was here that I learned to read “The Apostle” out loud.

On March 14, in the morning, I came home from work from the night shift. The wife left for work, the children are at school. I opened the door of our house with the key and saw my mother in her room, sitting on the bed. She always got up very early and spent almost all her time in prayer.

What happened to me next, I can now call nothing more than a revelation. I was told accurately and truthfully (so that I wouldn’t doubt it), without words, that my mother was going to go urgently (somewhere) and was only waiting for me. My heart skipped a beat with fear and shame in front of my mother. “Did I really promise to take her to church today and forgot?” No matter how much I strained my memory, I could not remember anything. And it was a day of the week, not Sunday. True, on this day there was the memory of the Venerable Martyr Evdokia, but there was no service in the church.

Something steadily assures me inside that my mother is ready to go right away and is urgently waiting for me. I undressed and approached my mother in terrible guilt. They greeted her affectionately, as usual, and I delicately began to ask my mother about her trip and, having apologized for my delay due to forgetfulness, I am now ready to take her. It turned out that she didn’t ask me for anything yesterday, and I didn’t promise anything. My chest felt a little lighter. She somehow especially sweetly asked me: “Son, sit next to me.” She and I were great friends with each other and we often had such get-togethers. But this invitation was somehow special. At first I attributed this to ordinary maternal affection, but it was something else. Now I understand her state of mind. Humanly, if only such a comparison is permissible, she asked me to stay with her, as Christ once asked His disciples in Gethsemane: “My soul is mortally sorrowful, stay here and watch with Me.”

Mom somehow demandingly took my hand in hers. We sat like that in silence for several minutes. I extended my free hand and took from the table Nikolai Pestov’s book “Above the Apocalypse,” which I reprinted together with one nun (this same Elizaveta) in Moscow, when I was on an agricultural business trip to VDNKh. Mom listened. Suddenly she, not like a woman, squeezed my hand. Then again her hand became soft. For some reason I felt that she was dying. With his free hand he reached for the prayer book. I began to slowly read the canon “On the Exodus of the Soul.” Our lamp was always on.

Mom actually began to breathe rarely. She sat with her eyes closed. I handed a lit candle into her hands. My breathing became very rare: for half a page of reading there was one sigh, then for a page and I couldn’t hear any more...

After reading the canon, I laid my mother on the bed. It's hard to say that she died - she fell asleep in a quiet sleep. It is not for nothing that in Christianity this moment is called the Dormition. Mom had been preparing for this hour all her life. A thought flashed: “Mom died on Evdokia, on the day of the angel Dunyushka. Lord, how good! Dunyushka-Mother, help my mother now in her new condition, accompany her yourself!”

I remembered that in one of my long-ago conversations with my mother about her death, she very much asked me to bury her not in the village of Oktyabrsky, where we lived, but at the Korkinsky cemetery. “Son,” she said, “bury me in Korkino. All my church friends are there. When, on Mother’s Day, our women go to their people, and they will visit and remember me.” Of course, I promised, but it was unthinkable to fulfill it. It was “Andropov’s” time, there was terrible severity and absurd stupidity in everything. Maybe a tough hand was needed, but not in every place. It was almost impossible to bury a person with a residence permit from another city in the city cemetery. We needed funds and huge connections at the level of 2 executive committees.

“Mother Dunyushka, help me fulfill my mother’s last request, to bury her in Korkino!” – I mentally ask her. All my attempts and efforts were to no avail, although I was on very good terms with the chairmen of both executive committees.

Surprisingly, what I could not resolve at the level of two executive committees, this insoluble issue was unexpectedly and freely resolved by the most inconspicuous woman, a little familiar to me, working in the city committee as a bath attendant, who locked the locker with visitors’ clothes! She was the sister of that same Lydia Ivanovna, our regent. Valentina (the bath attendant!) asked the boss, and the funeral was allowed. They dug a grave where my mother had previously pointed out her finger to me: “Put me here.” For me, this was a clear and miraculous help for Dunyushka.

So, my work friends are digging a grave (the month of March, the ground is deeply frozen, and above there is sun, thaw and dirt), the digging is almost impossible. Former friends from the mine, mechanics, out of old friendship, made a tool capable of destroying permafrost. Great help, very grateful to them. (who would have thought that later, as a priest, I would have to give one of them the Holy Mysteries of Christ twice before his death and carry him into eternity in a Christian manner. I deeply believe he is saved. This was my first industrial teacher and mentor, Anatoly Ivanovich Murza). At home the psalter is read, Maria and I are busy with funeral concerns and only at night we ourselves read the psalter for our mother.

On the second day, after lunch, Maria sent me to Korkino to feed the guys digging a grave. The Lord will save and help them in their day of difficulty. They put in a lot of effort. We were very friendly, and I felt that they wanted me to be with them: “Guys, let me go, tomorrow is the funeral, I’ll spend at least a little more time with my mother.”

Driving home. Through the village Rosa I drive up to the village of Kalachovo on the Chelyabinsk-Etkul highway. There is a spring thaw and incredible ice outside. At that time, our brother did not even think about studded tires; this luxury was only for “the chosen ones and the powerful of this world.” My road, slightly downhill, descended to the main highway Chelyabinsk - Etkul. It was a high embankment grader road. If you drive off the roadway, you'll playfully flip over the roof. Now this dangerous place has been filled with KamAZ rocks from the mine.

I'm approaching the highway. There are 30 meters left before it. I need to turn towards Chelyabinsk, to the left. The regular bus going from Chelyabinsk to Roza turns right, in my direction. We both drive extremely quietly. At a turn, the bus skids sharply, and we find ourselves on the same lane. I'm driving almost on foot, but I still can't slow down. It will skid and I will tumble downhill. The bus driver and I look at each other blankly. The back of the bus continues to skid, and its front is almost at my hood. The distance between us is 3-4 meters. There is no way out.

“Lord,” I screamed mentally, “if I need to break, then not now... My mother lies there, I will be here.” Dunyushka-Mother, pray!

There is no more time, no more salvation. To protect my eyes from the flying glass, I throw the steering wheel, covering my face with my hands, and almost at the moment of impact, I fall into the front adjacent passenger seat. A terrible minute of waiting... Now there will be a blow..., well.., well... Nerves are on edge: well, more likely..., well..!

There is no impact.

- What is this? – flashed in my head, – did he manage to turn away?

If so, then, according to the timing, the back of the bus should now hit my front and I’ll fly downhill... Well.., well... There’s no impact. Yeah, that means it’s about to hit the left wing... come on!.. No hit. Now there will be a knock on my door... The most intense second! There is no impact.

“That’s it,” the thought flashes, “now just through the back door.”

“Let him hit,” I decide, and, jumping off, I grab the steering wheel.

There is no bus. I look as far to the left as I can: it’s not there. I turn back to the right, and he gets out of my Muscovite, and I get out of the bus!!! Behind me, the entire Moskvich interior (I had a Moskvich-combi IZH-2125) is the red color of the back of the bus and its huge number written in white paint. Then my back seat appeared, the rear window appeared and then we walked out of each other.

Not understanding anything about everything that was happening, there was a clear, loud and distinct voice in my head: “And He passed through them!”

- God! Saved! Glory to You! Mother Dunyushka, thank you!

But where is the bus? I opened the door and looked back. The bus driver, half leaning out of the window of his cab, looks at me with wide, surprised, uncomprehending eyes. I waved my hand: “Go!” - and we parted. There are no words. There is inexpressible joy in every cell of mine. I'm flying to my mother...

- What happened to you? – Maria asked me at home, noticing something wrong in me.

“I’ll tell you later,” I answered.

It really wasn’t the right time; my mother was lying in front of me. He told me after the funeral. Both once again experienced it together and rejoiced.

This is God's mercy for human insignificance! Just ask, nothing is impossible with the Lord, as the prophet says: “Whenever he wants, the order of nature is conquered, he does whatever he wants.” Here is the prayerful help of Dunyushka, and of every holy saint of God whom you call for help!

I tried not to tell this incident to anyone. The unbeliever did not want to throw pure beads under his feet, and the believer was afraid to lead him into unnecessary temptation. In addition, they might have thought that after the death of his mother, something was wrong with the guy’s head.

One priest, a hieromonk, clearly convinced me of this. Moreover, hegumen. (They say that he has now left the Russian Orthodox Church. I was his deacon in Yemanzhelinsk for some time, that’s why I opened up). He listened and said with a sarcastic grin: “Don’t tell anyone else, they’ll laugh.”

I respected the clergy since childhood, I still revere them now, so I didn’t argue or prove it, but inside I screamed indignantly:

– Do I have the right to remain silent about the will and power of God, which helps us humans, when you yourself proclaim at every service: “I will not die, but I will live and carry on the works of the Lord!”..?

It was very painful, you can’t complain to anyone, no one needs you. Only after reading in “The Apostle” did I calm down a little, that although “they came from us, they were not ours.”

- "Do not tell anybody"…

– How can you remain in silent ingratitude when you are in extreme, mortal hopelessness, and, suddenly, salvation!?

If you can, imagine, dear reader: before my eyes, in my presence, three of my daughters, 5 years old, 10 and 11, are drowning at the same time. There are a lot of people lying on the shore, general noise and hubbub. And someone shouts: “Look, they’re drowning, they’re drowning!” I heard these words, but took them for an inappropriate joke. The bottom is hard, sandy, and shallow for a fairly good distance. In a word – “gerbil”, Korkinsky city beach. 30 years have passed since that day, which I still cannot remember without horror. But, in order...

1977, July, Petrov fast, swimming season, wife at the summer pre-diploma examination session at the institute in Troitsk. My girls, seduced by girlfriends from neighboring houses, irresistibly ask me to let them and all the kids go to the “bathing”.

“Girls, let’s do this,” I suggest to them, “Mom is taking exams, all upset and worried, and we, in absurd joy, will run naked along the shore like Papuans.” She will arrive on July 15, there is not much left, and then we will go and relax together with her. In the meantime, let's stay at home and ask God to help her with her exams.

The proposal was accepted. Upon Maria’s arrival, I explained to her that I promised to take the children not to a “bathroom” under these conditions. Go.

I was the first to enter the water and, making the sign of the cross, said:

- Lord, this year we are swimming for the first time. Bless us and don’t let us perish on the waters! Mother Dunyushka, pray for us!

We swim and flounder. None of the children can swim. Maria did not go into the water and sits on the shore. A little further away from the common bath, my two eldest daughters Anya and Masha played catch in the water. My youngest, Tatyana, and I went chest deep and “carried” her in my arms, teaching her to swim. And then a cry: “Look! They're drowning! They're drowning!"

It turned out that they were my elders. While playing and hugging, they suddenly lost the bottom and went under the water. Only the Lord knows how the eldest, Anya, broke away from the embrace of the other, miraculously climbed a slippery cliff underwater and shouted to me for help:

- Dad, Manyasha is drowning!

There were about 15 meters between us. Out of surprise and fright, I abandoned the younger one and rushed to swim to the middle one. Then I suddenly remembered that Tatyana’s height would also be hidden under water. He rushed back, she was not on the surface. I dived, the water was muddy, I couldn’t see anything. I groped, snatched it up and, with all my strength, threw Tatyana in full view closer to the shore, hoping that she would no longer be hidden there or that people on the shore, seeing my position, would pick up the younger one.

These are truly truthful words: “Do not trust in princes, in the sons of men, for in them there is no salvation.” In front of a mass of people, a tragedy is happening (you can call it by its full name), they see how I rush around and don’t have time, and no one moved to help! Now, decades later, Tatyana recalls:

“I thought dad was playing with me like that, abandoning me, and I wasn’t at all scared.” I opened my eyes and there was green water all around.

The eldest daughter Anyuta ran up, the depth was up to her neck in this place, and pulled out Tatyana. And at this time the mother went to our car, where other people’s boys were already “taking charge”.

Throwing Tatyana to the shore, he again rushed in search of Manyasha. I dived several times, feeling the bottom. Then he suddenly slid sharply into the depths. I instantly understood: the metal pipe was a meter in diameter. It was the girls who lost it. There is a slope after the pipe, where could Manyasha have been taken?

“She must,” I think, “flounder..!?”

He froze, spreading his arms, feeling for where the water ripples. I felt it on the right, rushed, the movement of the water intensified. So, somewhere, very close! He felt it and grabbed it. She me too. I'm already running out of air. The bottom is solid clay silt.

“She,” I think, “has been under water longer than I have, we need to give her a breath of air at least once.” (I realized this nonsense later, when I was at home. She could have been unconscious and then my efforts were in vain, I was just delaying time).

With great difficulty, he tore her away from him, grabbed her by the soles of her feet and lifted her above his head, thinking maybe he could get some air. My legs sank into the mud above my knees. A thought flashed:

“Did her head come to the surface of the water?” - He waited another 2-3 seconds, maybe he’ll take a breath after all.

I began to completely suffocate myself and I felt that my feet were firmly sitting in clay. With incredible final strength, he pulled Manyasha down onto himself and only through this pulled out his legs. She tries to grab me. Grabbing her by the pigtails, he began to scramble to the surface.

- Well, where is it, this surface? Are we moving or not..? That’s it, I can’t, I don’t have the strength anymore, I need to breathe... or sip water.

And suddenly he felt the ill-fated pipe. There was hope, and it seemed like more strength. I can’t reach the top of the pipe, the whole pipe is covered in clay and is terribly slippery. Somehow, and already in a good fright, he and the girl finally climbed to the top of the pipe. It was possible to stand on your feet; the bottom was hard and sandy. The depth is about one and a half meters.

There is nothing in the world more valuable than a breath of air!!!

Manyasha was not breathing, she was unconscious. He carried her ashore in his arms and laid her on the hot sand. He put his ear to his chest - his heart was beating. I turned it over my knee, it came out like a glass of water and was gone. He laid him on his back again. The heart is beating, there is no breathing.

A whole crowd of advisers came running:

- Artificial respiration! Artificial respiration!..

- Let me do it! – someone shouted right in my ear.

I knew that she was not breathing due to self-protective spasms. Therefore, artificial respiration in this case will not help, and may even harm. And so it happened. The critical moment came, she took a convulsive, unconscious breath - it came to life. Another breath! On the third breath, she began to cry heavily, without regaining consciousness. For us, this crying was an indescribable joy!

Lord, glory to You!!! Thank you, but what a small word this is... Glory to Thee, Lord, glory to Thee! Mother Dunyushka, thank you!

The eldest daughter, Anyuta, now Mother Anna (her husband, Protodeacon Nikolai serves in the Holy Trinity Cathedral in Chelyabinsk), recalls:

- No, dad, you did the right thing by raising Manyasha above you. She took a breath two or three times.

“Being left alone under water,” recalls Manyasha, “I was very scared. I don't know where is up and where is down. I'm still drowning, but I'm floundering. Suddenly someone grabbed me tightly. I understood: dad. That’s it, it’s not scary now, and I lost consciousness.

Now we were both lying on the sand, covered with black glossy clay from a mountain (mine) rock. When she came to her senses, she stopped crying and ran into my arms. The happiest and most joyful moment! You can't loosen the hug! Having rested a little more, I suggest Manyasha go to the water and wash herself a little near the shore. She fought back with all her might and tears, not wanting to get closer to the water:

- No, dad, let's go home. Let's wash ourselves at home!

Here I remembered an episode I once read from the stories of Archbishop Elijah Minyaty: “One learned man had one of the windows of his house overlooking the sea. While preparing his dissertation on the life of marine animals, the scientist spent hours admiring the sea. One day, while on a ship at sea, studying it, a storm occurred and the ship sank. The scientist miraculously escaped on the board. After that, he ordered the builders to brick the window that faced the sea.”

When we arrived home, my mother (she was still alive then) asks me with tears:

- Son, tell me what happened to you? When you were leaving and closing the door with the key, I woke up, and since then, without getting up from my knees, I cried and prayed for you!

Seeing her severe upset, I hid it. And only then, then, did he tell everything.

– Son, have you asked the Lord for help?

At these words I felt like an electric shock:

- No, mommy! When I was under water, I didn’t even remember Him once! Lord, forgive me, please!

Now only I understood what it is like for the Lord to remain in weakness.

Here is the Lord’s help through the prayers of His saints, and for us, the blessed maiden Evdokia Chudinovskaya! This is what dying Alexandra was telling me, pointing “quarter” with her fingers!

- Dunyushka said: tell everyone. Whoever will honor me during my lifetime is an honor. Whoever honors me after my death will be a quarter higher.

The way it is. And I, by God’s grace, Archpriest Sergius, although “bitter,” but with the happy experience of my life, confirm this.

...But the other day, on July 25, 2006, I turned 68 years old. And on my birthday, my savior, by God’s grace, came - surgeon, gastroenterologist Tamara Fedorovna Lokhotkina. Member of the Academy of Medical Sciences, now retired, living in Moscow, visiting Chelyabinsk once a year. For my name day she gave me the book “The Invisible World of Angels.” And in it I came across an episode similar to my terrible road accident, which I decided to attribute to my story for skeptics:

Miraculous rescues on highways

There are many cases where salvation occurs in a much more incomprehensible manner and is always attributed to angelic power.

A similar incident was reported by Jessica Bellman from Los Angeles, who was driving with her mother on a multi-lane expressway near Hollywood. It was rush hour, the highway was congested, cars were literally moving bumper to bumper at high speed.

Suddenly, a huge van driving in front of them lost control, turned around and stood across the road. If this had happened in the last lane, then they would have had a chance to turn off the highway and avoid a disaster. But Jessica was out of luck. She only had a split second to brake and turn to the side. Her car flew through three rows of fast moving traffic. A collision was inevitable.

But a miracle happened. Time seemed to slow down, and there was a strange silence. It seemed to Jessica as if the car, along with her and her mother, were inside a deep well. Contact with the outside world was completely lost.

Jessica remembers making a passionate plea for help, the kind of prayer only uttered in the face of imminent death. She remembers her mother's eyes, frozen in horror. Then she saw a close-up of two men in a car, laughing and completely oblivious to the fact that Jessica's car was passing through them, as if through fog. There was a thud and Jessica's car stopped.

Jessica looked around and saw rows of vehicles passing by. She and her mother were completely fine, and there was not a single scratch on the car. In some incomprehensible way they were saved from inevitable death.

(This is my case with the bus, just one to one. - Father Sergius)

Some more memories of the continuation of God's mercy towards me, a sinner.

It’s an interesting thing - I shouldn’t have been recruited to serve in the Army, since I was my mother’s, an incapacitated old woman, and the only breadwinner. I drew the attention of the Korkinsky military commissar to the situation of my mother. They promised to give her a pension. So - I serve in the ranks of the Soviet Army faithfully. A year of my service has passed, and still they haven’t given my mother a pension. The anger and indignation in the soul is unbearable. I am writing to all authorities, but as they say: the well-fed cannot understand the hungry, this is a conversation between two deaf people. Such was our absurd Soviet reality.

Finally, my mother happily reports that she was given a pension of 10 rubles a month. There was no limit to my tears and grief for my starving mother! 6 rubles - rent for an apartment, 4 rubles for food and medicine for an old woman who gave her husband and now her son to her beloved Motherland during the war, while remaining hungry herself. I remembered a soldier’s song about Red Army women:

She didn’t wear an overcoat, she didn’t walk under bullets,

She only gave her husband to the Fatherland.

Who will understand and who will help, except the Lord? And I prayed. The service was, thank God, easy; I carried kerosene to a military airfield to refuel heavy aircraft. Sometimes, being carried away by the Jesus Prayer, I didn’t remember how long I walked to the town for fuel and lubricants and back to the airfield. But what worried me most was that I didn’t remember how I behaved while driving on the highway. At the end of the day, coming to my senses, I shuddered internally and thought that there was something wrong with my head, that it was me, I had worked the day and I don’t remember anything.

Mnh told me later. Elizaveta, when she, as a young girl, worked at a space equipment factory and soldered “SheeRs” - plug connectors connecting individual compartments of spaceships and satellites. She worked in the best team of electricians, where she was poorly tolerated by the team members for her non-partisanship and faith in God. So, one day, assembling another SR, in which there were more than a hundred pairs of wires and which had to strictly correspond to the final wiring of the harness, which required frequent, thorough “diagnosis” of individual pairs of wires, Elena (her name before becoming a nun) suddenly mentally “ left” for the Pskov-Pechora Monastery to visit Father Savva (Ostapenko). Father came out with the Chalice to give communion to people. After the last communicant, he loudly called Elena to the pulpit and blessed her to receive communion. She stood through the service to the end and after her release she went to the Cross, where the priest blessed her again and sent her home. At this time, she soldered the last pair of wires of the harness to the ShR and woke up, surrounded by a crew about to go on a lunch break. Astonished by something, they stood rooted to the spot around Elena. The first to respond to what was happening was the foreman who hated Elena: “So that’s who is driving away marriage! She solders without checking, and then we redo it!” “No,” Elena answers, “my harnesses according to the diagram are assembled correctly, you can check.” - “Of course, we’ll check!” – and started dialing. It turned out that everything was correct. Surprised by the unprecedented, we went for lunch.

I will continue about my service. He served in the Kalinin region, where my dad died in 1942. Our company was based at an old airfield destroyed by the Germans. There was no trace of electricity, even in the nearest villages. He was surprised: “And this is the center of Russia?!”

Finally, from the regimental airfield, which was served by our company, they gave the go-ahead to extend the power line to our parking lot.

Voltage 380. Pull six km. They brought completely non-standard supports (pillars), i.e. so thin that a lineman’s claws cannot grasp them without falling off the pole. For safety reasons, this is unacceptable! They were waiting for the fitters, but they weren’t there. As time went. It was the second half of November, it was drizzling during the day, and everything was freezing at night.

Suddenly I was called to the unit commander. Well, I think they will force me to put up pillars and draw a line. And so it happened: according to the documents of my personal files, they figured out that I was an electrician. The unit commander, with the rank of major, greeted me very rudely, and right from the doorway:

- Why were you silent about the fact that you are an electrician?

– Comrade Major, I am a mine electrician working on cables and had nothing to do with overhead lines. I can’t even imagine how work can be done on the claws, besides, these are not supports, but poles, such a small diameter of the supports is unacceptable, you can break your legs.

- You will be punished for arguing with the commander, but for now go, select 15 people from the security company and get to work, you need light.

But what are the guys from the security company? That’s why they are in the guards because they are completely unaccustomed to any kind of work, especially since they are all without the slightest education. In a word – security. One day they peel potatoes in the canteen, the next day they guard the aircraft parking lot. With great difficulty they set up the supports, if you can call them that. All that was left was my job - to string the wires. The pillars are not only thin, but also icy. It was almost impossible to move on the pole; I rolled down many times. Only God knows how I didn't break my legs. At each pillar I asked for God’s help and Dunyushkin’s prayers. Finally, in the evening of one day, I called the regimental electricians to supply voltage to our line. One could go to the barracks to rest, but many years of patriotic upbringing did not allow leaving. All that remains is to connect the wires of our local network, which illuminates our parking lot, to the line. I turned off the switch in the duty room, put up a notice: “Do not turn it on, there are people on the line,” connected all the floodlights in the parking lot, the last one remained, right at the porch of the duty room (wardroom). I saw a group of guys come for night duty with a foreman. I thought that they saw me too. But as soon as I connected the last wire of the spotlight and took my hands away from the wires, the spotlight lit up and our entire parking lot was illuminated. Someone, despite the full house, turned on the switch inside the duty room. I'm all up to my waist between the wires, which are now live. You can't move. He started shouting for someone to come out into the street. The super-conscript sergeant came out, and when he saw me screaming on the post, he turned pale. It turns out that he turned on the switch. Not a single ordinary soldier dared, but an adult, competent person, responsible for everything, unblocked the switch, removed the full house, did not call anyone about working on the line, did not check the line himself, and turned on the voltage. But what’s surprising is how it could happen that, being among the wires, I didn’t touch a single one at the moment the voltage was applied. The Lord has miraculously preserved me. So much for the power of prayer! Dunyushka’s prayers, which I always asked her for, and my mother’s prayers. I already knew how she prayed all her life.

For my mother’s prayers and her tears for me, for our common love for each other, Marshal Malinovsky allowed me to go home in my second year of service. (I, of course, previously described my mother’s situation to him, and they immediately let me go).

This happiness happened 4-5 days before the New Year. We are standing with several guys on vacation at the station, impatiently waiting for the train. All the trains were passing through, our station was too insignificant. One train stopped for two minutes, but they did not take us due to lack of seats in the carriage. At the moment the train departed, I yelled to the conductor that we would stand in the vestibule. The Lord softened her heart, and she let us into the vestibule.

You can imagine how cold it is there! And we, there were four of us, were wearing tarpaulin soldiers' boots. In order not to completely freeze our feet, we “tap danced.” But as soon as the conductor was heard approaching our door, we stood quietly. We are soldiers, patient and proud!

Suddenly she hurriedly ran in and knocked on the carriage toilet. It turned out that the tap was frozen. You need a tool to unscrew the faucet. Almost in tears, well frightened, she asks us to help. I had pliers in my pocket. I quickly disassembled the faucet, cleaned the ice that had just set and reassembled it. The conductor’s heart also melted, and she let us into her closet, where we warmed up and drove to Moscow. Providence and mercy of God!

How did I, a soldier traveling home from the army, end up with pliers in my pocket? In the winter, we drivers were given quilted trousers and decommissioned flight fur jackets. At the time of dismissal, someone “stole” my jacket in the barracks. They deducted the cost from me, and I was left with almost no demobilization money. It's a shame. I dreamed of coming home, buying a tool for work, but here you are - on the road and have nothing to eat. Hugely offended, he also “stole” old, almost worthless pliers from the kit of his tanker, justifying his sin, saying, well, at least for the first time he should work with something in the mine. So they came in handy on my demobilization journey. The sin of taking something that was not mine, of course, drilled into me, but the thought, perhaps wrong, calmed me: “After all, the Lord commanded the Israelites before they left Egypt to go and take gold things from the Egyptians, with which they later left Egypt.” . This was regarded as payment for all their free labor in Egyptian captivity. I included myself here too.

Finally, by God's grace, I arrived in Chelyabinsk. It’s December 31, 1961, 10 pm, and there’s exactly one ruble in my pocket. There are no buses in Korkino; we somehow got into Yemanzhelinsky, which passed by Korkino. Thank God I’m on my way. The bus is flying straight ahead. I'm pressed against the bus door, through which the headwind whistles, and my poor back is fighting the cold again. In Timofeevka I literally fell out of the bus. Joy cannot be expressed: I’m almost home! I lived on Rosa. It's 11 o'clock, there are no buses. The decision was made instantly - run! At 12.00 - I will be next to my mother! But something was holding me back: what if some bus on duty passed me while I was running, it would be very offensive. About 15 minutes later, to my happiness, the duty bus arrived. There are a lot of people, I’m again pressed against the door, but I’m endlessly happy! God save and have mercy on those bus attendants; neither one nor the other took money for the fare from me, a poor soldier.

And here I am on my native Rose. I got out in the center near a three-story grocery store (that's what we all called it). Thought - what to give mommy? - 1 ruble in my pocket. Mom always loved boiling water with gingerbread. I went into the store, Lord, I thought, at least I don’t want to meet anyone I know, I don’t want to see anyone except my mother! A kilogram of gingerbread cost 90 kopecks. With a bag of gingerbread, I fly faster than the bus to the end of the Rose to the 12th kindergarten, opposite which is our miner’s house, which I have never been to before.

I was taken into the army from the barracks where my father brought us in 1939. An ordinary miner's barracks. Which later, in my absence, was broken down to make room for private garages, and my mother, as a single person, was given 14 square meters to share. m. of housing. I was glad that this was not a barracks and my mother did not need to light the stove.

I stand at my mother’s door and slowly knock. You can hear New Year's fun in the apartment. A neighbor opened the door: “Who do you want?” - “My mother lives here.” - “Come on in.” I open the door to my mother's closet. Mom lies on the bed under a blanket, her head covered. The thought flashed - he was sick. (Having caught a cold in the unsettled cattle yards in the 30s during collectivization, as a kulak daughter and “enemy of the people,” she left all her health there. The Lord sent her my folder, and he took her from the collective farm to this mining village. During the war On the 41st he was taken to the front, in the 42nd he died.)

I took off my overcoat and slowly revealed my mother’s face. The light bulb does not light, it has burned out and must have been there for a long time; the light comes from the corridor through the slightly open door. Mom opens her eyes and looks at me in bewilderment. I whisper: “Mom!” Mom, not believing her eyes, asks: “Son, is that you?” - “I, mommy!” - “Son, is it really you?” - “It’s true, mommy, it’s me!” There was no end to our joy and tears! Otherwise, it would have been impossible to express our joy to each other. All the time, kissing me and feeling me, she became convinced that it was really me.

Having calmed down a little and remembering that she needed to feed me on the way, she, as if guilty, with deep apology, said: “Son, I have nothing to eat.” For me it was like a thunderclap - my mother had nothing to eat! - “Mommy, I have gingerbread cookies, let’s celebrate the New Year with tea and gingerbread!”

It must have been five minutes to twelve, because the neighbors were making more noise. We decided to go to the kitchen to drink tea, she drank it without tea leaves, but with gingerbread. A neighbor appeared on the threshold. I understood what would be invited to the table. How much I would give just to be with my mother alone! (Mom said that this woman was good, and often fed my mother something because my mother spent time with her baby daughter when she could. The mother herself worked at our school as a teacher, her husband was a tractor driver in the open-pit mine.) Mom persuaded me go because we will have to live together next door. We need peace.

...On the first working day after the New Year, I ran to the military registration and enlistment office to register for military service, and on the same day I ran to the mine and got a job as an electrician at my own site. It was necessary to live by something.

One day, the conveyors, overflowing with coal, stopped, and it became quiet. I went down the road to find out the reason for the stop. It turned out that the “empty supply” had run out, all the trolleys were filled with coal, and there was no replacement yet. You have to wait for the electric locomotive to pick up the loaded train and deliver the empty one. The carriages of the train were pulled up to the coal flow by a winch, and the entire train, coupled together by carriage couplers, seemed to be in a tense state. It was interesting to stand on the tense coupling between the trolleys, pressing it with your foot, and swing up and down. With nothing to do.

I must say that everyone worked patriotically and quickly. And therefore they committed violations of job descriptions and safety regulations. So, for example, electric locomotive drivers, instead of slowly approaching the train, literally “controlled” the engine in front of it with a controller, forcing the wheels to rotate in the opposite direction, and thereby achieved rapid braking.

It was the same this time. The driver, having accelerated, dreamed of stopping instantly, but at the turn towards our train, his pantograph (current-collecting device) fell off and, having lost all control, the electric locomotive crashes into our loaded train at full speed. The trolleys, like dominoes, knock against each other with buffers linked by couplings. And I, a fool, stood on the hitch between the buffers and, you see, swayed. Instantly, my coupling sharply weakened and my right leg, falling between the carriage buffers, was crushed.

A terrible pain pierced me all over! Lord, why did I act so carelessly, because now I am a young disabled person for life, I just came from the army and here you are. There is no strength to endure the pain of a crushed leg. The blow hit the ankles of the feet. A moment later the trolleys weakened, my leg was pulled out, but it was impossible to move, my boot was wet with blood. (At that time, we, as servants, were given rubber boots and ankle boots instead of boots). We need to somehow remove the bot and see what’s wrong with the leg. You will have to endure additional pain.

After the army, I really didn’t like foot wraps, and my mother always knitted woolen socks for me. Having put on a simple one, and then a woolen one, it was comfortable to walk and work.

Having somehow pulled off the boot, I saw a bloody sock. He carefully pulled off the woolen sock, then the cotton one. The leg is all covered in blood, it’s impossible to understand anything, where is the wound, where is the torn skin, where are the bones? He jumped to the gutter, thinking of rinsing his leg in it and easing the pain with cold water. It felt somehow more pleasant in the cold water. The water in the ditch flowed, tinted with blood. After waiting a little, I decided to take my leg out and examine the injury. The leg is intact. There are no wounds. Lord, I screamed inside myself, what is this?! Is my leg intact?!!? But where did the blood come from, and so much...?

I tried to move my fingers, and it worked. Joy knows no bounds! The elderly woman working on the winch looked at all this with rounded eyes and bewilderment. But I knew - this is the grace of God, these are the prayers of my mother, these are the prayers of Dunyushka, whom I always asked for help! Then I wrung out the blood from the thin sock and washed it in the groove, then wrung out the wool sock and washed it too. Then he put on his shoes and tried to step on his foot a little. The pain didn't seem to increase. By the end of the shift, I walked home with a slight limp. Well, who can say that this is not a miracle?!

...I remember this miner's incident. Several cycles were worked out on our new longwall face (pack of coal) (several strips of coal were removed). It is impossible to take coal any further, since after the coal was removed there was an incredibly large empty space and this is very dangerous due to the sudden collapse of the entire “roof”, i.e. the huge resulting area, which at any time can spontaneously collapse, as miners say, up to the chest of the face, i.e. to the entire coal seam. To prevent this dangerous problem from happening, there is the concept of “roof management”, i.e. in the mined-out space around the wooden posts supporting the “roof” from collapse, a steel cable is looped, the end of which is firmly secured in a safe place not far from the landing winch, and the cable is pulled out by turning on the winch. The cable breaks the racks like straw, and the roof gradually collapses in parts right away to the place where the untouched fastening stands. This is roof management. When the lava is “planted” in this way, the miners begin excavation of a new cycle.

And so the cable is wound around the mined-out space, and the winch pulls the cable. If this is done in the longwall for the first time, the process is called "primary planting". So, the cable broke all the posts, and the sandy roof doesn’t even think about falling. This is the worst thing. A collapse can occur at any second and at once with the entire mass, now no longer supported by the roof racks, the area of ​​which is more than 1500 square meters. meters.

The shift is over, and the miners have gone home; now not a single person will enter the lava. The danger is mortal. Everyone will be waiting for the landing result. What will be will be.

I, too, was about to leave home and, out of curiosity, looked into the dark and deep space of the menacingly overhanging roof. It's very creepy even for the eyes. Then I noticed a stretched and badly thrown cable with a button for controlling the landing winch. If the roof collapsed, the cable and button could well have been buried under the rubble. After grumbling at the workers, he decided to wind the cable onto the winch, which was quite dangerously close to the ventilation drift and, in the event of a general collapse, could be buried forever.

I stretched the cable to a safe place along the drift and there tied it around a strong post. With the help of a cable and pulleys, the winch slowly pulled itself onto the ventilation road and was safe. Inside I was indignant: a team of twenty people abandoned and left, and I had to drag it out alone, I lost good time, and I was not doing my job at all. It was just a pity to lose such a powerful and convenient mechanism.

Satisfied with his stupid patriotism, he went home along the drift. I climbed the vertical gezeng (15 m) to the main ventilation cross-cut. This is a capital horizontal working, very wide (like a subway) with two parallel railways for electric locomotives. I walked along the cross-cut about 20 meters, not a soul around, and dead silence.

Suddenly someone suddenly pushed me sharply in the back with terrible force, I fall and roll head over heels along the rail road. My helmet flew far ahead. When he stopped tumbling, he stood up and, thank God, nothing seemed to hurt. Then I realized that it was lava that had “sat down.” The overhanging sandstone surface collapsed and formed a strong wave of displaced air, which pushed me in the back. In the distance I found my miner's helmet and decided to return and see the result of the landing.

As expected: the roof sat up to the chest of the face. The lava is completely out of commission. Now they will break through a new “stove” i.e. cut new lava. It is very labor intensive and poorly paid. But this is a matter for the miners. I looked at the winch, the winch was safe. Air without movement, staying for a long time is dangerous in terms of gas pollution, now a dead-end mine. I removed the voltage from the electrical equipment and went home.

Now all I could think about was that when I pulled the winch, I was in terrible danger. The lava could settle at any second, and if I had been in the drift, the wind would have smashed me against the mounting posts and metal equipment, and if it had caught me in a vertical gezeng, it could have jokingly torn me off the ladder, thrown me up and I would have taken off , would have collapsed down the drift. It would be death. Therefore, I was a few minutes away from death. But the Lord allowed me to live for the prayers of my mother, for the prayers of Dunyushka, for the prayers of the Guardian Angel, whom I always prayed for help.

IMPOSSIBLE RESCUE

I had a work friend, Slavka Martyanov, we were the same age, and now his memory is eternal. Vodka has done its insidious work.

When we were young, he and I worked in a mine on “steep” lavas. They were named after the angle of occurrence of the coal seam. Sometimes a coal pack (coal seam) lies horizontally or with some slope. At our site, the longwall (the place of direct coal mining) was located at an angle of 80 degrees, almost vertically. Slavka, having no education, worked on the haulage, turned on the conveyor and loaded coal into trolleys. I worked as an electrician.

Air for ventilation of the lava passed from the crosscut (this was the “first horizon of the mine” at around 100 meters), where Slavka filled the trolleys with coal, then through the conveyor drift, through the lava itself, where the “miners” worked (the so-called miners who directly beat the coal in the “chest of the face”), and then the air passed through the ventilation drift and through the pit directly to the surface. Sometimes, having quickly completed the task, he and I, with our unbridled youth and valiant strength, climbed out through the pit “up the mountain” to the surface, and until the end of the shift we basked in the sun. The length of the lava was 70 meters.

One morning, when we arrived at work, we heard that the night shift, for some reason, had not worked well, and the face was left almost unsecured, and besides, the “explosion” (explosion action) in the face’s chest had gone wrong, bevelling the chest itself . To level the chest of the face, it was necessary to drill out the bevel and burn it off again. After manually clearing the face of coal, our team had to secure the face for an entire shift.

Having heard that there was not enough coal to pump today, Slavka, like a tempter, suggested that after a quick pumping, I climb out to the surface and “have fun” in the sun.

Three explosions thundered at the top of the lava, and broken coal fell vertically onto the conveyor road towards us. Slava turned on the conveyor, and in order not to overload the conveyor, I began to slowly lower the coal onto the conveyor grates. Three “holes” were blown up and we pumped a total of twenty wagons of coal. That's it, our work is over. Slavka again confuses me with a proposal to go “to the mountain.” An inner voice prompted: “We can’t go, people are working on us. They don't know that we climb vertically, like in a well, and can throw anything down. The result will be unpredictable. You can die in no time." In addition, this is a violation of safety regulations. Why take such a risk?! And yet he agreed.

In many holy teachings I came across that it is good for the person who hears the inner voice, the voice of conscience, the voice of God, incorruptible, quickly and correctly solving any situation in life - he knew, and yet he was tempted by the company. “Mother Dunyushka, I’m doing something wrong, pray,” and he climbed up the lava after him.

It’s the same in spiritual life: we know, we feel that there is a great temptation to sin, and, drowning out the voice of conscience, the voice of God, we decide to commit sin.

Slavka climbed up first. While I was hiding my bag with the tool, I fell twenty meters behind him. We climb up the racks, as if in a well. Between racks 1.2 meters. There is complete silence in the lava. It was hard to believe that the brigade, having slightly set the chest of the face on fire, could have gone home. But the captivating dead silence was very confusing. I thought, “Have they really climbed out into the sun too?” I climbed thirty meters, Slavka is taller than me. Suddenly, in the silence, we hear the piercing warning whistle of the bomber! It instantly flashed through my head: “My fathers! Blasting! What to do? There is absolutely nowhere to hide. Explosions are about to thunder overhead! A sea of ​​broken coal will fly through us! What will happen to us? Well, why did I agree?!”

Slavka shouts: “Climb to me quickly, there are shelves here!” those. a few boards well sprinkled with coal, and it's a good roof. There is a decisive thought in my head: “No! Only down. How long can I have before the first explosion? It’s good if it’s still scuffed, but what if it’s completely scuffed up? Then there will be a disorderly clearing of the face with shovels, even worse. In addition, the ventilation passage will close and I’m trapped! I'll be bombarded with hundreds of tons of coal! No! Only down!”

I don’t know, in a hurry, how many meters I descended, suddenly: boom! Boom! Boom! The first three holes have been blown up. Overhead there is a terrible howling noise of coal flying down. He pressed himself, or better yet, rooted his body to the roof of the lava. Increasing ringing thunderous howl a few meters away! In my head instantly: “Lord! Mommy! Dunyushka! Angela! - that’s all. A terrible wind almost blew me off the racks! Then terribly huge “suitcases” of broken coal flew past, then a sea of ​​coal! Some pieces hit my head on the miner’s helmet, which slid off my head each time after the blow, and I had to lift my head so that it would remain at least on my forehead. If it completely falls off, that’s it.

An amazing phenomenon was noticed in the mine: the slightest, accidental blow of coal on the hand or anywhere - unbearable pain. On the surface, in everyday life, I wouldn’t even pay attention to such a blow.

I was very afraid of such a blow to the head without a helmet, or now to the protruding nose, even with a small pebble. I was afraid of getting hit on one hand or the other while holding the racks. Still, I was not standing completely vertically, but leaning slightly along the angle of the formation, so I could immediately, lowering my hand from the stand in pain, fall down the lava. I was afraid that suddenly a good piece of coal would knock the stand out from under my arm or leg. If he knocks me out, I’ll fly after the post and die on the fly from the blows.

Only now I realized what a terrible violation of safety regulations our esteemed bombers committed. To produce an explosion they had a special explosive machine. Having connected the wire, twisted it, causing an explosion. And so in turn nine times. They, on the sly, carried with them a battery from a flashlight, and quickly connected three main wires at a time, causing explosions. To change the next three wires, I only had time to adjust the helmet on my head. And if they had worked as a machine, I would have had time to get lower between explosions.

So, again three explosions in a row, and again an incredible, for some reason ringing and howling noise flew past me. "God! – I shouted in my mind, – I’m still alive! There are still three holes left!” And again, for the third time I experienced real Armageddon!

“That’s it,” I think, “nine holes have been fired. The brigade is located about twenty meters above the chest of the face. Now they will go down and start shoveling coal. I have to go down as hard as I can, God forbid the ventilation drift will be filled with coal, then I will have nowhere to hide, I will be at the bottom of the well and will suffer an insulting death at the hands of my beloved miners, from the randomly flying coal from the stripping operation.”

On my helmet there was a homemade, strong flashlight shining like a spotlight. Now the muttering conversations of the slaughterers, who had descended to the chest of the face, began to be heard at the top. They are examining the result of the explosion, I think, now I’ll shovel coal. I hurry down as much as I can. Still quite high. But then, I heard the first very large pieces of coal fly, which are usually pushed upside down. There's a howl above me again! There is nothing left, you need to jump onto the broken coal below and come what may. For a moment, coal was highlighted below, about 8 meters away and a half-unfilled ventilation drift. There was no limit to the joy. Without hesitation, he jumped down, fell on the coal and instantly rolled down the hill of coal, rushing into the side hole of the ventilation drift. Immediately a huge portion of coal flew from above and sealed the ventilation drift. "God! Glory to You! Saved! Dunyushka, thank you!”

Now alone, without Slavka, he ran to the haulage and to the flow of coal from the longwall, trying to free the ventilation drift from coal in order to give the team air.

Here is the mercy of God on me, a sinner! Why did the Lord leave me alive? - for repentance! I don’t want, He says, the death of a sinner!

More about God’s ineffable mercy towards me, a sinner

...When I was young, I used to tell my mother that it was not very good that I worked in a mine, there was no grace of God there, and I couldn’t see where to find a better job, and mine work was far from being for the glory of God. And my mother very gently and humbly corrected me: “No, son, in every place of God’s dominion there is grace, and especially with those who are His, who are God’s. Wherever a believer is, the Lord and His saving grace are present with him. The Savior said to His disciples: “You are the salt of the earth,” and where the salt is, everything around it becomes salty. Therefore, do not bother yourself with the thought of whether the grace of God is in the mine or not, you yourself work for His glory and the Lord will accept your labors and count them as pleasing to Him. Whatever your superiors tell you to do, do it as God Himself does.”

That’s how I tried to behave, according to my mother. My successes were noticeable, but most of all I rejoiced at the true friendship among the ordinary workers around me. The bosses discriminated against me in everything, even in small rewards. What surprised me was that during a personal meeting, each of the bosses behaved with me quite respectfully, but in public I was humiliated, and this was openly seen in my disadvantage; I was always treated, for example, with certificates of commendation on miners’ holidays and other other incentive awards . All this was very noticeable to everyone. Many internally pitied me, but remained silent (people revealed this to me many years later, when I was already a priest), everyone watched how I would behave. But I worked, fulfilling my duty, as if not noticing anything, and internally I pitied them, because infected with militant atheism, they could not behave differently; we had a different spirit. I knew that if I worked to please my superiors, I would be visible and in honor, but since I work, according to my mother, for the glory of God, I am in the shadows and not noticed.

And here's an interesting case. The country of Soviets was intensively preparing to celebrate the centenary of Lenin's birth with honor. For this purpose, an anniversary medal was established. Worthy and ideological people were carefully selected for the award. Then it became noticeable that the lists of people being awarded were increasing sharply, and increasing without number. Finally, the long-awaited memorable day arrived, and jubilee medals with a bust of the leader were solemnly presented on all working orders, in production assignments. The lists of the worthy were supplemented by the most unworthy. Apparently they released too many medals, there is nowhere to put them. We decided to give it to everyone.

So what's interesting here? – a patient reader of my notes will ask me. The interesting thing is that despite all this, only me was bypassed. Out of the entire mine, I turned out to be the most unworthy!

The old respected miners were indignant about this and expressed their friendly sympathy to me. I laughed it off and said that I was really unworthy of such a high honor, but internally I was neutral to everything. The thought was drilling: they bypassed him, didn’t let him, he’s unworthy, apparently he didn’t have enough “points”, that he stayed underground for days without sleep or food. There have been cases when mining and geological conditions do not allow the mechanisms to work normally, and especially water is the scourge of all miners, then the coal mining complex (such a mechanism) is idle, there is no production, everyone gets angry, swears, etc. I never went home on time. My time as a site mechanic was not rationed, but physiologically, fundamentally, I still needed to rest, but I couldn’t leave. What if the miners manually correct the mining process, straighten, for example, the conveyor of the complex or unstack it, and then, having started work, suddenly there is some kind of minor mechanical breakdown, then there will be a lot of swearing. At such moments I tried to be still, and sometimes a day or more passed. Mining and mining obstacles are removed with great difficulty and a lot of time.

And suddenly there’s a flash in my head - of course I’m not worthy! After all, I am a stranger to them, I am not theirs, I am God’s! God! How glad I am that they didn’t give it to me, I was identified and excluded from the whole society! This fact proved to me that I am not a Leninist! Yes, of course, Lord, I am Yours forever!

Time passed, years passed, work life, by the grace of God, changed dramatically - and here I am a servant of God, a servant of the Church.

With the blessing of the ruling bishop, Bishop Georgy (Gryaznov), now Archbishop of Kaluga, I serve in my hometown of Korkino, in my home church, where I grew up. And then in December 2001, I, father, was suddenly given the “Order of Friendship” award! The explanation for this does not fit in my head. How could it happen that when I had excellent production performance, I was passed over for any awards, even simple certificates. And now, when I am a minister of the Church and do not have any labor indicators, and the time itself after the “stagnation”, “perestroikas” and the obvious destruction of the country’s production potential is far from rewarding, I was suddenly given a serious state award?! And even with Putin’s autograph.

Mom’s parting words came true: “You, son, work as for God, for His glory, and the Lord will accept your labors and consider them pleasing to Him.” And they say miracles don’t happen. With God everything is possible.

The regional governor presented the order, I put it in my pocket, there was no inner delight, the belated truth simply triumphed.

The true joy of the reward was when Metropolitan Job placed the “Cross with Decorations” award on me during my service in the prison church of the “Kazan Mother of God”. This joy is renewed every time I place it on myself before performing divine services.

And again the Lord looked upon me with His mercy: Metropolitan Job interceded for me before His Holiness Patriarch Kirill for my reward. And after his transfer to Moscow, Metropolitan Theophan of Chelyabinsk and Zlatoust, on the bright day of Easter 2012, conferred on me the highest church award - the miter.

This joy has no boundaries. Would the Lord not deprive me, also through the bold prayers of our Ural ascetic of piety Chudinovskaya Dunyushka, of another joy - the Kingdom of Heaven.

Between Tula and Shchekino, in a small village. Temporary, a little away from the road, in a quiet side, on the site of the appearance of the icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, stands the St. Nicholas Church. Its green domes, crowned with golden crosses, above the white stone vaults attract many parishioners and pilgrims from different parts of Russia, as well as from other countries: “We there... already know who the Tula miracle worker is - the Blessed One. girl Evdokia!

Near the temple, a little behind, there is a blessed corner-grave where Evdokia is buried
Ivanovna Kudryavtseva, popularly known as Dunyasha. She greets with warmth and comfort those who come to her with an open heart and sincere, pure thoughts. At Mother Evdokia’s grave there are always fresh flowers, candles burn unquenchably, and a small lamp in a wonderful lantern made by the monks from Mount Athos is lit.

Aunt Tanya, as many called her, looked after Mother’s grave for many years, despite her advanced age (she was already in her eighties at that time), coming daily from Shchekino. Ivan Stepanovich became Aunt Tanya’s “receiver-guardian”. Thanks to him and the parishioners of St. Nicholas Church, it is always clean and orderly.
In the 30 years since Dunyasha’s death, more than half a million people came to her grave.
So who is she, Evdokia Ivanovna Kudryavtseva?
Evdokia Ivanovna was born in the village of Staraya Kolpna, Shchekinsky district, on March 8, 1883. Her father served in the royal gendarmerie. She herself, until she was 18, was the same as everyone else. Except that she was distinguished by her extraordinary beauty, beauty and kindness. She had a fiance named Vyacheslav. But on the eve of the wedding she had a vision: she would remain a married maiden in her family...
From the very beginning of the 20th century, for about 80 years, she carried her Cross - Christ for the sake of the holy fool. She had no stake, no yard, no family, no corner. Her parents, John and Agafya, died when Dunyasha was very young.
In troubled times of unbelief and fight against God, Evdokia was recognized as “mentally unhealthy, hiding her in a “psychiatric hospital.” But the fame of her as an extraordinary seer, prayer worker and healer spread from mouth to mouth. The doctors themselves in the hospital came to her with a bow for help. Mother never refused anyone. Many, after being cured, found Faith.

But Evdokia did not like flattering people, she tried to move away from them. She said: “Be afraid of people who praise you.” Those who scolded and scolded her, on the contrary, she affectionately greeted.

It was open to my mother that a war would start, she, as eyewitnesses say, put on a bright dress, walked through the streets and said: fire, fire! Although at that time no one thought that there would be a war. The events of the beginning of the Second World War are especially memorable. There is a well-known story that Evdokia Ivanovna assured the leadership of Tula: “The German will not enter, I hid the keys.” Indeed, the Germans were unable to break through the defenses of Tula: Mother prayed on the bridge that runs across the Upa River so that the Nazis would not enter Tula.
Sometimes the meaning of what was said became clear only after some time. During the difficult times of the Second World War, people came to her with their questions and fears to find out about the fate of father and son, brother or husband, from whom there was no news, looking for the last hope in her...
In Zarechye, where Dunyasha lived on Galkina Street, one mother had not received letters from her son, a tank driver, for a long time. “And you stretch out your hand to the icon,” advised the seer. There was an inkwell hidden behind the icon. The mother wrote a letter to the front and soon received a response from the unit commander, who wrote that her son was alive, but wounded and lying in the hospital.
It happened that Evdokia tore up the “funeral” in front of everyone. Then news would come from this person, or he himself would return home.
To this day, Evdokia Ivanovna is remembered in the Spassky Temple, which is located on Gonchary (Puzakova, 1). Near the path leading to the Temple, Agafya, the mother of the blessed maiden Evdokia, is buried. Very often Dunyasha came to the grave, ordered a memorial service, which was served by Father Hilarion, and was very grateful to those who remembered her mother.
Parishioners and Temple employees talked about her... One woman recalls that when she was a girl, Dunyasha gave her diapers: pink and blue. Many years later, the meaning of the gift became clear, she understood what Evdokia Ivanovna had predicted for her. A woman gave birth to twins: a girl and a boy. Another woman who lived in Tula on the street. Komsomolskaya, said that her mother and aunt turned to Dunyasha for advice, and all her predictions came true.
Some were afraid of her, afraid of her predictions...
One day a couple got married. And then the smartly dressed Mother Dunyasha entered the Temple and stood next to the bride. She froze and began to pray fervently to herself. The bride was in vain to fear - she had a long and happy marriage ahead of her.
Very often Dunyasha baptized the children herself (the priests did not refuse her). for many she became a godmother.

Evdokia Ivanovna Kudryavtseva ended her earthly journey in forced confinement in a psychiatric hospital on May 28, 1979 at the age of 96 years.
Today marks the 34th anniversary of Mother’s death.
Until her last day, she supported and helped suffering people who believed in the power of her prayers.
The prophetic words of the Great Prayer Book and Seer came true: “Come to me, from there I will help you even more.”
They say that the house where there is a photo icon of Dunyasha will not be touched by either evil or an evil person.
Miracles at the grave of Blessed Mother Evdokia continue to this day. The glow from her grave was even captured on regular photographic film. On Christmas days, some heard the majestic singing of a church choir, others heard the ringing of bells.
In this Holy place they are healed, find support, answers to many questions, and most importantly, people who believe in her and ask for her intercession and prayer gain Faith. Someone asks for help with everyday needs, someone in organizing their personal life, someone asks for Mother’s prayers for healing. Evdokia does not refuse help to anyone.
...One parishioner, having decided in late autumn to remove fallen leaves from Dunyasha’s grave, knelt down and completely forgot about her sore knee joints, which never bothered her again. Another said that, having completely despaired of finding a job, she tearfully begged Evdokia to help her, because she had small children. Soon she was invited to a well-paid position.
Thanks to her, many found and united their destinies.
Evdokia especially loves children: she instructs, protects them from everything bad, and also helps in raising our children in this difficult time, full of many temptations.
Blessed Mother Evdokia Ivanovna lived a long, difficult life. She did not seek in her earthly life either wealth, or human glory, or honors. Her reward was the grace of the Holy Spirit, the love and veneration of her contemporaries and subsequent generations.
Our intercessor before the Lord, the Blessed Maiden Evdokia, will always help in difficult times. It’s as if she gives an invisible thread, lends a helping hand. And all that remains is for each of us to decide: in which direction to take this important step...
Get from Tula to the grave of Bl. Mother Evdokia can be reached from the Mosina stop on autolines No. 114, No. 117, as well as by a shuttle bus going towards the city of Shchekino to the Pos. Temporary" or up to the sign "St. Nicholas Church".
Mother Dunyasha! Pray to the Lord for us sinners!

Hundreds of pilgrims from different parts of the world come to Dunyasha for peace here, in the small village of Temporary, where the Tula wonderworker is buried near the St. Nicholas Church - Blessed Mother Evdokia. People call her warmly and affectionately Dunyasha. And everyone comes to her with their misfortune and hope.

My history

I found out about her by accident. Once, in a conversation, a friend complained that she couldn’t find a solution to one of her family problems, she was tormented by misfortunes that happened literally out of nowhere. My son broke his leg, checks were frequent at work, his health began to fail, and to top it all off, my relationship with my husband began to crack.

- We need to go to Dunyasha. She will help. And he will certainly give an answer to the doubts that torment me, in some unknown way he will improve my shaky, stable life,” the woman sighed.

We went to Dunyasha together. Together it’s more fun, and you can support a person if it becomes really difficult. At the same time, we decided that I should also ask Evdokia for advice on a personal issue.

I've never been here before. Turning from the noisy road onto a country road, a few minutes later we found ourselves at an ancient temple. There are small private houses around. The silence is such that it hurts the ears. And only occasionally it was interrupted by the barking of dogs or the noise of an approaching car. The first thing you feel in these places is a blissful, quiet calm, inner peace. They cover and absorb. It’s as if your problems are no longer there, as if they never happened.

We found the grave of Dunyasha, Evdokia Ivanovna Kudryavtseva, right away - it stands out against the general background. Neat, fenced with a fence, under a high canopy... In Mother Evdokia’s graveyard there are fresh flowers, they are always here. Candles burn unquenchably, a small lamp is lit in a marvelous lantern, they say, made by monks from Mount Athos.

...And pigeons and other birds frolic over the grave, chirping and bringing us back to this life, to our problems.

Dunyasha looked at us from the photo with her kind, insightful gaze. We went into the local temple, prayed, bought candles and left them lit in a special place on Evdokia’s grave.

At first, the friend quietly whispered prayers, then suddenly loudly and excitedly burst into tears, as if all her sorrows and troubles were coming out. Then she completely fell to the ground, hugging the grave mound, like something living, breathing, intelligent. We were here for a long time, sitting on a bench near the temple, looking at its domes, crowned with golden crosses, above the white stone vaults. They talked, discussed, thought. Several hours passed completely unnoticed.

And only then, in the car, in some way unknown to me, I clearly realized: now everything will be fine with my friend! But I need to return here to conduct my sincere spiritual dialogue, so complex and so impossible in some other place. Return alone.

I did so. The question that has been tormenting me for the last six months was personal: a relationship with a man was both pleasing and tormenting. He was married, and, as usual, there was a child growing up in the family. The lover promised to make an important decision soon, but I was tormented by a feeling of guilt and at the same time reveled in love. It couldn’t go on like this anymore – it was difficult for me. A choice had to be made. I came to Dunyasha to ask for guidance.

…I left with a feeling of lightness and peace that was already familiar to me. There was no decision yet whether to maintain or break off the relationship. But I knew: it would happen!

The next day, returning from work, I habitually fluttered onto the familiar bus, habitually sank down into the seat - sitting opposite me... was the family of my lover and himself. Dear wife, charming little daughter. Out of confusion, I didn’t know where to put my eyes; it seemed that my awkwardness and embarrassment were visible not only to the man, but also to his loved ones. I tried to look out the window. The lover did not dull his gaze, sometimes, when our gazes met, he even winked at me playfully. We drove like this for several stops - just a few minutes. And this was enough for a difficult decision to come. “Dunyasha, it’s her,” it flashed through my head, “thank you, dear, for the hint!”

Coming out of the bus, my lover quietly patted me on the shoulder, and I shuddered from cold and disgust. I saw him again the next day when I told him about my decision to end our relationship. He didn't want this. He said that I was in a hurry, that this was emotional, feminine. But I clearly knew: what should be secret must be finished and left in the past.

Last year, he sent me an email... He asked for forgiveness for that scene on the bus. I hope that he has matured, has begun to feel life better and more subtly, and that everything is fine with him...

BY THE WAY

You can get to the grave of Mother Evdokia by minibus No. 114, No. 117, as well as by bus to the stop “Vremenny Village” or to the sign “St. Nicholas Temple”.

Zigzags of fate

It's amazing how sometimes life takes us in zigzags. It is rare whose fate is absolutely serene and happy. And everyone had their ups and downs, had their own “strange story” or had their own skeleton in the closet.

And sometimes she hits backhand. It hits so hard that it seems you will never recover, you will never get up. At such moments, people usually come here, to Dunyasha’s grave. Each with their own despair, with their own misfortune and hope.

She greets with warmth and comfort everyone who turns to her with an open heart and sincere, pure thoughts.

As I later found out, a certain Aunt Tanya from Shchekino looked after my mother’s grave for many years. She was already over 80, but despite her advanced age, the woman came to Temporary almost every day, overcoming a difficult journey to visit the grave, talk with Dunya, and clean up the graveyard.

Then she stopped appearing here. Aunt Tanya's successor was Ivan Stepanovich.

He gives everyone who comes to Duna’s grave a special prayer, printed on a standard A4 sheet. Modern technologies are at the service of miracles, it happens!

He gave me the same prayer. I took it out of gratitude and respect, but I prayed in my own way, in my own words, but from my very soul. I know that my words, spoken from the heart, were heard.

Ivan Stepanovich said that probably more than half a million people visited Mother Evdokia’s grave. They come from different countries, many on purpose, having learned about the miracle worker, for example, from the Internet.

They say that the glow from her grave was somehow captured on film. Some people heard here on Christmas days the majestic singing of a church choir, others - the ringing of bells.

In this holy place, many are healed, find support, answers to questions, and most importantly, gain faith.

"Be afraid of people who praise you"

What is known about her? Evdokia Ivanovna comes from the village of Staraya Kolpna in our region, and was born on March 8, 1883. Her father served in the gendarmerie. But Dunya’s parents, John and Agafya, died when the girl was very young.

There is information that until the age of 18, Dunyasha was no different, she was an ordinary girl, perhaps very beautiful. According to legend, she also had a fiancé. But just on the eve of the wedding, a vision came to her that she did not need to get married. And from the very beginning of the 20th century, for about 80 years in a row, she bore her cross - Christ for the sake of the holy fool.

Evdokia acquired neither a home, nor families, nor wealth. In troubled times of unbelief and fight against God, Evdokia was declared mentally ill and locked in a psychiatric hospital. But her fame as an extraordinary seer, prayer worker and healer spread from mouth to mouth. The doctors themselves came to her with a bow for help. Mother never refused anyone. Many people found faith after being cured. Evdokia could predict the gender of the unborn child - whether it would be a boy or a girl. She told the newlyweds whether their marriage would be happy or not. Many were afraid of her for such directness - they did not want to know or hear the truth. Evdokia did not like flattering people and tried to move away from them. She said: “Be afraid of people who praise you.” On the contrary, she affectionately greeted those who scolded and scolded her.

As the people's memory has preserved: it was revealed to mother that war would begin. Not long before, she put on a bright dress, walked through the streets and shouted: “Fire, fire”!

The events of the beginning of the Great Patriotic War are especially memorable.

There is a well-known story that Evdokia Ivanovna assured the leadership of Tula: “The German will not enter, I hid the keys.” Indeed, the Nazis were unable to break through the city’s defenses - mother prayed while standing on the bridge over the Upa River.

Sometimes the meaning of what the seer said became clear only after some time.

During the war years, people went to her to find out about the fate of their relatives, if there had been no news from the front for a long time, whether a husband, brother, father, son, daughter was alive... Sometimes she gave hope, sometimes, alas, not. It happened that Evdokia would tear up the funeral in front of everyone, and then news would come from this person, or he himself would return home.

So, in Zarechye, where Dunyasha lived, one mother had not received letters from her tank driver son for a long time. “And you stretch out your hand to the icon,” the seer advised. There was an inkwell hidden behind the icon. The mother wrote a letter to the front and soon received a response from the unit commander, who wrote that her son was alive, but wounded and lying in the hospital.

Evdokia Ivanovna is remembered and known in Tula, in the Spassky Temple, on Puzakov Street. Here, near the path leading to the temple, Agafya, the mother of Blessed Evdokia, is buried. Very often Dunyasha came to the grave and ordered a memorial service in the church.

It happened that Dunya baptized the children herself, the priests did not refuse her, for many she became a godmother.

...Evdokia Ivanovna Kudryavtseva ended her earthly journey in a psychiatric hospital on May 28, 1979 at the age of 96. Until her last day, Mother supported those in need and helped those suffering who believed in the power of her prayers.

The main prophecy of blessed Dunya also came true: “Come to me, from there I will help you even more.” They say that the house where there is a photo icon of Dunyasha will not be touched by either evil or an unkind person. Blessed Evdokia will always help in difficult times. It’s as if she gives us an invisible thread of hope, extends a helping hand. And all that remains is for each of us to decide: in which direction to take this most important step in life...

Elena BORISOVA
Photo by Andrey TETERIN