For exactly a year I read the tropar to St. Spyridon of Trimifunt every day. A year later, a telegram came with the news that I had to urgently go to Moscow to get a two-room apartment. I come, and the housing inspector looks at me with a fire-breathing eye and says, choking with rage:
— I know everyone by heart, but I have never seen such a blatant as yours!
I don’t understand anything. What kind? How? I realized that no one was going to give me anything. On the contrary, the authorities ordered to give this apartment to some people. The case was already settled, when suddenly the apartment was given to me in turn. The scandal broke out: why “missed”? And now the inspector complained to me:
— No, it’s also my fault. I fought like a lion against you! I broke my head calculating your connections. I know everyone, but I don’t understand. Well, it’s yours, but let me tell you the secret, who’s behind you?
St. Spyridon, I answer.
— — Who-who? — The inspector didn’t understand.
But I didn’t specify anything.
The Holy Land Charitable Foundation
Soul investment!
Orthodox stories from life
