This story did not happen to me, but to some women I know well. I’ll call them Lyubov and Olga. Actually, at first there were two (or even three, it depends on how you look at it!) different stories that were destined by Divine Providence to intertwine and once again confirm a long known truth: Those who love St. Spyridon of Tremithus will never be left without a home, a job or means of subsistence.
Photo: Andrei Petrov / St. Petersburg Diocese
The first story
Lyubov’s eldest son Misha graduated from the University of Civil Engineering and served in the army. He did not seek happiness somewhere on the side, but returned home to bind his future to his native village. But it’s not so easy to find a good job in our small village. He appealed to various organizations; they invited him to interviews but did not refuse directly, politely promising to call him back.
One day a parishioner of our Church of the Transfiguration of the Lord advised Lyuba [a diminutive form of the name Lyubov.—Trans.] to pray to St. Spyridon of Tremithus, about whom she had known nothing before that. There was no icon of the saint in the church shop. After a while, the parishioner asked about it again.
“Alas, not yet.”
The advice was gradually forgotten.
And one day, having come to the Liturgy, Lyubov met a parishioner Natalia Stanislavovna, who was shining with happiness. It appeared that she had recently returned from a pilgrimage trip to Moscow, where the holy right arm of St. Spyridon of Tremithus had been brought from Corfu.
“This is for you, dear Lyuba,” she said with a smile and handed her a small icon of St. Spyridon that had been placed on his relics.
“How did Natalia Stanislavovna know that I needed this icon? I had never said anything to her.” Lyuba thought on her way home.
And just a few days later Misha got a phone call and was offered a good job. That’s how St. Spyridon himself came to Lyuba’s home to help good people.
The second story
St. Spiridon helped Olga at least twice. This happened even before Lyuba’s story.
At the time, young Olga’s marriage was breaking up. The couple was in divorce proceedings. Olga’s husband Sergei was from a family that was not poor by local standards. And now a nice two-story house in which the couple had lived was being sold. Olga was promised a part of the total sales, with which she could buy a house for herself and her children.
Buyers were found, but they were slow to pay for the house. Her husband suggested that Olga get involved in the process by running around to various offices with the documents.
Everything seemed to be ready, but there was no promised money. Sergei was angry with the buyers who (supposedly) kept putting off the payment. And one day Olya met the people who were buying their house. She asked them when they were going to pay for the purchase.
“We paid everything to Sergei long ago,” came the completely unexpected answer.
The world seemed to collapse around her. First her husband’s betrayal, and now this deception... “How will I live?” she desperately asked herself the same question over and over again. She was left alone with two children—her son Anton, a schoolboy, and her little daughter Alina. Where should she go? She couldn’t go back to her parents in the country because her father had died long ago. Of course, her mother was ready to shelter her daughter and grandchildren, but she lived with her alcoholic son and his family and not alone. Olga worked as a hairdresser and her salary was low. But she was a good hairdresser, and if she had a house, she could earn additional money there. But now?...
Once when she went to a neighboring town on business, her feet themselves brought her to the Church of Holy Prince Alexander Nevsky, which is next to the bus station. Once she entered she burst into tears, which flowed without stopping.
“My daughter, what’s wrong with you?” She heard the voice of an elderly woman.
And Olga openly shared her trouble with the stranger. Perhaps she told her even more than she told her own mother, whom she pitied. The woman listened attentively, without interrupting her, and then took the unfortunate woman to a large icon:
“This is Father Spyridon—St. Spyridon of Tremithus. Tell him everything you’ve told me, my child.”
And Olga, surprised at herself, poured out her troubles to old man depicted on the icon as if he were alive.
And in the evening, while cooking dinner, for the first time she caught herself thinking about a loan with which she could buy a small apartment for herself and the children. She even wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Without much hope, she still sent an application to the bank. And, amazingly, it was approved!
Time went by. It was time for her to vacate the house, but she still had no suitable place to move to. She didn’t want to change the school her son was used to, and her daughter liked her kindergarten too.
And then she got a call from the bank:
“Why are you delaying? Your loan has been approved, despite a number of conditions that are not very favorable for the bank, including your low salary. We are surprised; our employee was recently refused, but they agreed to give you such an amount! Hurry up, otherwise you will lose this opportunity.”
On the same day, her son’s teacher came to have her hair done and told Olga that a small two-room apartment was up for sale in their apartment block. It was inexpensive, but needed repairs. So the pieces of a puzzle began to come together in a picture, as it were. The bank loan was just enough to both buy an apartment and make the repairs! It was as if someone had calculated everything in advance…
The third story
Time flew by. Olga’s son Anton grew up. His graduation from school coincided with the outbreak of the pandemic. Everyone was quarantined from the end of March—students began to study online. Government employees still received salaries while working from home, but the private sector was having a hard time. Olga had to look for a part-time job on the side, but somehow they held on.
But her heart ached when she thought about how her son would study and how she would pay the mortgage. Again the solution came after asking for help from St. Spyridon: She would sell the apartment, and use the money to buy a private house and pay off the mortgage.1
“And, believe me,” Olga related with tears in her eyes, “the money for the apartment was just enough to buy a house and pay off the remaining part of the loan.”
Moreover, her apartment was bought by that very Misha whom St. Spyridon had once helped find a job. Mikhail moved in with his young wife and their young son.
In truth, wondrous is God in His saints! Holy Father Spyridon, pray to God for us!
