Once upon a time, about 40 years ago, my grandmother prayed to the healer Panteleimon for my salvation. For several months, I, then a three-year-old, was balancing over a chasm in the surgical department of the Rusakov Moscow Children’s Hospital. The chances of survival, according to doctors, almost no. My mother was already thinking about how to bury such a baby, and my grandmother did not give up. I was sure this saint would hear it. Days and nights she tried to reach out to him. The saint heard. I survived.
Much later she whispered to me that it was the healer Panteleimon who took me under his wing and begged the Lord when there was no hope left.
Grandma died long ago. For many years I lived an absolutely worldly life, in which the words “temple”, “saints”, “prayer” popped up only on Easter, when at home the dizzying smell of kulichs and the little-understood “Christ is Risen” was pronounced. Yes, by virtue of my profession, I have seen many miraculous healings, but attributed them more to some inexplicable coincidences — «wow, wow!» — than to the mercy of God.
Everyone has their own way to the temple, although it seems to me it is like a million other roads: a loved one fell ill. I was seriously ill, one might say fatal. At times like this, you start looking for the One that will help, support and guide you. “God help me!” came out of my mouth. And I went to the temple.
Days, weeks, months passed. I already understood what an akathist, a liturgy, a forty-oust is. I believed and prayed, but it didn’t get any easier. Not in my heart, not in my heart. But I didn’t give up.
The way to work from day to day passed by a small icon shop. Once I flew by, once stopped, looking at the goods in her window. Perhaps nothing would have happened that morning, had I not, reading the morning rule at home, howled out of impotence: “I believe, Lord!” Help my disbelief!
From the window, the eyes of the young man looked at me. Maybe they didn’t just watch me, they stopped me. «I’m with you,» as they would say. I stopped. I looked at the icon, looked at the rest of the product, then again at the icon. It was she who pulled me. I pulled hard, I felt it. “I am with you!” said the young man depicted on it.
I’m out. Back. Stayed still. He asked the woman in the window:
What kind of icon is this? What saint?
— This is the healer Panteleimon.
Panteleimon! It echoed a forgotten name in every cell in my life. I remember my childhood, the pain, my grandmother, and her words about the wing.
«I’m with you!» I already thought that everyone heard this voice, and the saleswoman herself, so clear it was.
— It’s a brand new icon. Yesterday we just arrived from the Kiev Lavra.
I picked her up, shoved her around my sinus in a quick move and ran to work. It was like my heart let go. It was calm for the first time in months. «I’m with you!» warmed me from the inside.
So I got a healer icon at home. There were still a lot of problems ahead, but I felt like I was being hugged by someone’s good hands, I felt support and help. When it was difficult, the eye stumbled upon the icon and the tension subsided.
A miracle with the health of my loved one did not happen. There was no chance and as a doctor, I knew it. But we were given a little more time to enjoy each other’s company in this world. And I’m very grateful for that.
There were many miracles in this story. Only they happened to me. Maybe I didn’t realize it at the time, but I learned a lot.
Having come to the temple to pray for the health of the sick, I began to learn to take my own steps there. First confession, first communion. Yes, the Lord, from whom nothing is hidden, knew that my main desire would not be fulfilled. And now I realize that He was trying in every way to protect me, caress me, help me, ensure that I continued to walk to Him, to the light. I hope they ask me for such bold reflections, but this is how I feel.
I always felt my hand from above. It manifested itself in everything: in the people who appeared out of nowhere in my life, in the books I came across and got answers, in signs. I didn’t feel alone and alone with my trouble. I was led and led skillfully to accept the inevitable with dignity and not turn away from faith with the death of a native person.
If it had not been for this incredible support, then, most likely, at the finish line, I would have just been carried out of the temple, as many people endure, shouting “I believed in you, Lord!” I asked — and what’s the result??! I haven’t had that happen. I did not throw the icon off the shelves, I was not disappointed.
One can laugh a thousand times at “painted woods”, as some people who have not yet come to the temple call icons, one can not believe in saints, in God. This is personal. I know that there is help from the saints. And they do not wait for our appeal to them, come themselves, hug behind them and quietly pray for us to the Lord. And God hears those prayers.
One of the strongest helpers in health problems is the healer Panteleimon (all-merciful). He is not in vain considered the patron saint of doctors and soldiers.
Holy Great Martyr and curator Panteleimon! Pray for us!
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