9/15/2021
Svetlana Sidorova
The pilgrim travel agency voiced their condolences to us: “Do you know how many V.I.P. guests are going with you? Someone on your list will stay home but the VIPs will fly for sure!”
The line extended as far as the solea, and an extraordinary-looking old man was seated there. People would come one by one to this wondrous elder, drop on their knees, and tell him something.
It is such a pity that fleeting, blessed time is long gone—the time when daily miracles happened every minute of our lives, when we saw the world with the innocent eyes of a child, free of sarcasm and doubt or nerve-wracking attempts to find the meaning of life that I had become so accustomed to by then.
I was also fortunate to meet Nikolai Trubin. Back in the day, he used to live near the Pskov Caves Monastery. Many people remember him well. He was already called blessed, and anyone who had ever visited Pechory could tell their own story about him.
“Lord, show me the best part of Orthodoxy, the most genuine part, for I desire no fakeness. You know how I loathe hypocrisy!”
