Aunt Lena, a gentle voice called me.
I turned around. Some girl was after me.
— Don’t you recognize me?
I took a good look.
— Dashka?
Yeah. It was Dashka. Oh, come on! How old is she now? Fifteen, probably…
I really hardly recognized in this red-haired long-legged beauty that ridiculous, angular girl, which she was two years ago. The last time I saw her. I remember she complained about being teased by Toad in class.
— How long have you been here, Aunt Len?
— The day before yesterday…
All this happened in the small Ukrainian town where my mother-in-law lives and where I come every summer.
— Will you come over with the girls? Parents will be very happy.
— Of course I will. Say hello to your mom and dad.
The girl happily waved her hand and ran on. And I looked after her, so happy, sunny and beautiful, and remembered that long history.
Dashka
Her parents, Vika and Dima, married at the institute.
Lived well, friendly. Wanted kids. But God didn’t. Actually, they didn’t ask him. They both didn’t believe in God then.
They bypassed all possible doctors: everywhere they were told that their health was fine and what the problem was unknown.
With God, Vika later tried to “get along.” On the advice of a friend of the Baptist began to go to the local prayer house. My husband laughed, but he just laughed.
That’s how they lived. Years passed. They were over thirty.
Once, having gone on his business in Kiev, Dmitry went to the Kiev-Pechersk Lavra. Not even out of curiosity (he did not see anything interesting there for himself) — for company with a colleague.
— “Pray, ask the elders for children,” he insisted.
Dima only waved his hand incredulously.
— The doctors couldn’t do anything — do you think these bones will help?
But he ordered a prayer and put a candle — so, for decency.
A month later, I was pregnant.
Vika was sure that all this was due to her visits to the house of prayer. She didn’t even want to hear about the Pechersk elders. My husband didn’t argue much. He was surprised at this “coincidence.”
Dasha was born. Beautiful, healthy girl. Her parents did not baptize her daughter: Vik – because Baptists baptize in adulthood, and Dima – because he considered it “popular fictions”. He was unbaptized himself.
But loved her without memory, the dust was blown away. They couldn’t get away with it, as if they were afraid to lose it. And they often argue who will rock their unlovable happiness.
And then there was trouble. Dashka was three years old.
He and his father drove up to the store. The girl suddenly opened the door, jumped out onto the road, and she was hit at full speed by a passing car.
— I don’t remember anything – I was in shock, said Dima. People later said that I held her in my arms, all bloody, dying, and howled like a wolf. And when the ambulance arrived, threw her to the doctor in his arms, fell in front of him on his knees and said everything.
The girl was unconscious, but still alive. She was connected to some devices, hung with tubes and droppers. But the doctors gave Dasha no chance. They said it would only artificially delay the inevitable end. The injuries were too serious.
Dima was allowed to be in intensive care, and he did not leave the bed of his dying daughter. Didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. I cried, facing her lifeless hand.
Vika was in the hospital at the time. My heart couldn’t stand it.
There, in the hospital, Dima met Father Anatoly, a local priest who had come to take communion.
— I grabbed his hand and shouted out, “Where is your God?” Why does every bastard live and my daughter die?!? He began to ask me patiently what had happened. I tried to comfort myself…
Upon learning that the girl was unbaptized, Father Anatoly offered to baptize her right there in the intensive care unit.
— I, although I did not believe in God, but I seized it as a last chance. Father said something, I didn’t understand. But when he splashed water on Dashka, I saw her finger move. I thought, I thought. As soon as Father Anatoly finished, she opened her eyes, looked at me and whispered, “Dad….” Still getting goosebumps… The doctors ran away, my father Anatoly and I were pushed out. And then the main one called me and said, «Miracle!» We were sure that she would not come to herself.”
About a week later, Father Anatoly baptized Dmitry with Victoria in his church. My wife was doing something different, she was a Baptist. Upon learning that her daughter had recovered, she immediately got back on her feet and escaped from the hospital.
I just came to order notes, and my father introduced me to them.
I remember Dima, a two-meter boogie, rejoiced like a child and kept repeating: “And God is, there is!” I’m a fool! What a fool!
And Vika, a former Baptist who did not recognize icons, was kneeling before the image of the Savior and whispering something to Him. For a long time, crying and smiling. What, I didn’t hear…
But Dasha was still in intensive care. Therefore, Father Anatoly, together with his parents and all parishioners, prayed every day for the recovery of the girl.
She was discharged a month later. In a wheelchair. The doctors said a miracle had already happened. Whether she will walk is unknown.
Then Dima and Vika took the blessing from Father Anatoly and went to Kiev. To those very Reverend Pechersk, whom Dmitry once called «bones.» A week spent in the capital, went to services, prayed. Confess and commune with the whole family.
Then they returned to their town, and a month later Dashka got up.
I remember Dima rushed to the courtyard with a girl in his arms. The evening was about to begin. And he cried, rubbing happy tears on his face: “People! Father Anatoly! Dasha! God, thank you! Daughter, show me!
And the girl, swaying, insecurely took a few small steps. And we all almost cried then…
Yes, they did a lot with Dasha, but Dima and Vika are sure that without the help of God and the reverend Kiev-Pechersk elders this would not have happened.
… And so Dashka grew up. Became beautiful, smart.
That day she ran easily somewhere, smiled at the wind, life, me. Her golden hair sparkled in the sun. And I looked at her and thought about the miracle that I once witnessed. How merciful and omnipotent God is.
The author of the story: Elena Kucherenko.
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