My dear friends, I have to tell you why I believe so much in God. Why I write about fathers.
I, an honorary worker of professional education in Russia, head of the highest category, public figure, member of the Unions of Journalists and Writers of Russia, etc., do it consciously, for your benefit. Where is the origin of my faith? Early childhood. Dad used to take us to Grandma’s village in the summer. And Alexander Fedorovna Polezhayeva’s grandmother took us to the Church of the Most Holy Trinity. All men of her kind died fighting for the independence of the Fatherland in the Second World War. 1 left. The youngest. The church gathering was an event. I never went anywhere with such a feeling as my grandmother went to church. Early in the morning we left the house and walked through the village alone to the temple. A little girl in an elegant pink silk dress, in pink shoes, with a scarlet ribbon in a braid could hardly keep up with a beautiful, courageous, purposeful woman. The gates opened, and everyone said to us after: “Look, Alexandra again took her granddaughter to church.” Not afraid. Her son-in-law is a Hero! Deputy! Communist! And she’s a granddaughter to church!
I didn’t understand why they were so angry, why they didn’t go. We walked through the line. But my brave grandmother walked like a flag-bearer in a parade. And I wasn’t afraid of anything with her. Red dawn, golden clouds splashed over the village. And my grandmother against the background of the dawn and the gold of the sky was very beautiful.
We went to the temple, there was a sea of love. Prayer. I saw nothing but lamps, icons, light from the altar. I have not heard a single word except prayers coming from deep within my heart. I loved the temple and the father.
One evening, when my grandmother was praying, my second cousin, a first-grader, said that … the teacher said that … and our grandmother is stupid. She said it so badly that I was scared. I grew up in a friendly atmosphere. And what she said was a thunderbolt in the clear sky. And then there were my grandmother’s tears, her warm prayers. I didn’t sleep last night. It’s like someone said, «Look.» At 4:00 a.m., there was a cry: «Lenika is gone!»
That night, the last man of the family, the father of this girl, died tragically. It was a sign to me. If I repeat my sister’s words, if I insult a believer, my dad will be gone. And I believed, I believe, and I will believe.
Glory to God for the gift of faith. Glory to God for the grandmother, who taught to walk through the strait, showed the road to the temple, taught reverence and charity.
Thank you very much.
With respect, Tatiana Bratkova.
The Holy Land Charitable Foundation
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Orthodox stories from life
