My mother had a headache for as long as she could remember. The only difference was that sometimes she was sicker, sometimes weaker — then the pain was almost not noticeable. So I was not surprised when my sister greeted me on my way home with the words:
— My mom has a headache and can’t even get up to you.
— Now I will treat her! – with some unknown confidence I said.
I really had a special medicine with me.
Shortly before that, in July-August 2000, the head of the holy Great Martyr and healer Panteleimon from the Holy Mount Athos was brought to Moscow. The queue at the Cathedral of Christ the Savior was huge, since the shrine in Russia remained a few days before returning to Athos. People stood for 10-12 hours, including at night.
I arrived at the temple after work, about seven in the evening. Found the tail of the queue somewhere on the embankment, got the akathist to the holy martyr and healer Panteleimon, began to read.
I was pleasantly amazed by the Orthodox people who stood in line ceremoniously, prayerfully, focusing on their thoughts. There was hardly any talk. One woman honestly admitted:
— I’ve been standing for the third time.
— “Didn’t you do it twice?” asked the neighbor.
— It worked. Except I didn’t stand both times. The first time managed to pass without a queue, and the second time friends missed. And then in a dream I dreamed Panteleimon the Healer and said: “And you have never been to me before!” I woke up, I took off my dream, dressed here. Here I am. Do you think Saint Panteleimon will forgive me?
We were only able to reach the shrine in the morning. At the exit from the temple, everyone was distributed in a tiny bottle of oil, consecrated on the relics of the great martyr and healer Panteleimon. It was very little, no more than two or three millimeters.
— Oh, how do you use it so little? And it is impossible to share with others! – I asked the monk who distributed the bubbles with surprise.
— And you dilute it with another oil. Best of all, from the fixture. There must be houses.
«There is,» I thought.
At home, I poured olive oil into a bottle, and then divided it in two, pouring half into another bubble.
I brought this jewel to Shchors.
Leaving my suitcase on the veranda, I took with me only a bottle of oil from the head of the healer Panteleimon and went to the bedroom where my mother lay.
— Oh, son, my head hurts so much that I don’t see the white light!
— Now I will cure you! – I confidently declared and thought: “Not me, of course, but the healer Panteleimon…”
I opened the bottle. He lowered the clean end of the match in oil (nothing else was on hand), read “Our Father…” and brought a cross on his mother’s forehead.
The consequences are still surprising to me, even though almost twenty years have passed.
Unexpectedly for my mother, and even more so for me, her nose was flooding with absolutely black blood! Black as tar! Mom got up, and I just had time to put my hands up so that the blood wouldn’t fill the bed, and shout to my sister:
— Bring me a bowl!
The sister brought a bowl, helped her mother sit on the edge of the bed, and black blood kept flowing and poured, filling the bottom with a rather capacious vessel.
And suddenly, as suddenly as it began, the bleeding stopped. And on the black liquid mass on top fell three bright scarlet drops of blood, not mixing with it.
We looked at them with amazement.
Mom turned her head to one side, the other and smiled:
— It doesn’t hurt!
I thought it surprised her even more than the black blood in the bowl.
— Oh, son, you cured me!
— Not me, Mother, but the holy healer Panteleimon! – finally I kissed my mother. — He sent you oil specifically for healing. After all, as a child, as we ourselves were told, you loved to decorate his icon in the temple with flowers for holidays! So hello to you from your childhood.
Surprisingly, my mother’s head never hurt again.
Author: Alexander Uzhankov
The Holy Land Charitable Foundation
Soul investment!
Orthodox stories from life
