Discovering the Love of God for the First Time
INTRODUCTION
People have been wondering where I’ve been.
I started this blog after a series of vivid dreams about a war between the United States and Russia, dreams that I can still recall in perfect clarity almost five years later. That set me on a path of learning about Russia, first from the perspective that Russia was the eternal enemy and then slowly to the realization that that was not the case. That was not unfamiliar to me.
In the mid 2000’s for some reason I became possessed of the idea that I wanted to go on a cruise and a Caribbean cruise is what I was eyeing. I ended up finding a dirt cheap cruise to Alaska on a ship that was being decommissioned so I took it for fear that I would never find an Alaskan cruise that cheap again. I went by myself, which some people would call crazy, and it may have been crazy but I also knew, inexplicably, that it was what I needed to do.
I fell in love with Alaska on that trip and I went back there to work seasonally for a few years. While there I read a book about bear attacks and it terrified me. I look back now and I recognize that that book was full of tall tales and propaganda that influenced me and I often wondered why we didn’t just hunt these animals down and eradicate them but there was something in there about the intelligence and emotional lives of bears that hooked me and sucked me in. I kept reading and reading and eventually learned that many of those horror stories were exaggerated or were politically motivated (believe it or not, it’s true) and I started writing about bears online with the intention of telling the truth about them and cutting through the demonization of them. The strength of that writing landed me a job as a keeper and trainer for captive 1,500 pound coastal brown bears at an orphaned cub sanctuary in Alaska, with no previous exotic animal experience.
Eventually I published my writings as a book and a few articles but I reached the point where I could no longer stand asking captive bears to perform tricks for tourists in exchange for treats and that ended that adventure. Not long thereafter I started having dreams about a war between Russia and the United States. This was right in the midst of all the “Russia hacked the election” hype and so I approached this newfound interest in Russia with the same mentality I initially did about bears: evil and murderous and we should stamp them out.
Just like with bears I began devouring dozens and dozens of books about Russia, Russian politics and Russian history and, just like with my bear studies, I began to realize how much of what I read and heard were deliberate lies and propaganda. Growing up in the Mormon church I was raised with the idea that America was Zion, the beacon of Christianity in the world, yet after seeing the devastation caused in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, etc. all for the purpose of globalization, along with the embrace by America and American churches of transgenderism versus Russia’s embrace of traditional, Christian values a line was drawn in the sand for me and I began to see America as Babylon the Great.
ANGELS ON EARTH
In learning about Russian history, I learned about the last Romanovs, Tsar Nicholas II and his family who were murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918. The photo below sums them up pretty well:
I immediately felt a strong, inexplicable connection to Olga, the oldest daughter of the family. Something about her eyes sucked me in, like she could see to the depths of my soul and there was no judgment. It was almost love at first sight, like finally finding the puzzle piece that’s been missing from my heart and spirit for all my days. In learning more about her, I’ve come to realize that there are maybe one and a half differences between me and her. I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t articulate it, but it was just the tip of the iceberg of my journey.
Olga was born in 1895 and was said by her teachers to have a soul as pure as crystal. She was raised in a wealthy, royal family but she never had a sense of entitlement. She and her siblings were raised sparsely, sleeping on hard beds and getting cold baths so that they would never feel they were above anyone else and it worked in their favor. Olga, when she was 12 years old, felt so much sympathy for a young, disabled girl who lived on their property at the Alexander Palace in St. Petersburg that she volunteered to sponsor the girl and pay for the surgery she needed out of her own money. Visiting a toy store in St. Petersburg, she chose the most modest toy she could find and when enticed with a fancier, shinier toy she rejected it saying “That belongs to some other little girl. How sad she would be if she came here and found someone else had taken it.”
Olga had a natural talent for music and was a brilliant piano player. She could play an entire composition from beginning to end by ear and could transpose a piece from one key to another without hesitation. Some remarked that had she been born under different circumstances she could have been world famous. But that was not her destiny. She was precisely where she needed to be.
Her second oldest sister, Tatiana, was born in 1897 and was the natural-born leader of the siblings. Called “the governess” by her sisters, she was sent by the children as an envoy to their parents whenever they had a request and she oversaw the discipline of the younger children.
Tatiana followed the most closely in her mother’s — the Empress Alexandra’s — footsteps and was heavily interested in religious and theological readings. She was by far the rock of all five of the Romanov children.
The third sister, Maria, was born in 1899 and was the picture of humility and meekness. She often wrote to her mother that “I just want to be good. Please tell me I’m good.” When her baby sister Anastasia was afflicted with whooping cough, Maria was told to stay away from her, otherwise if the younger girl coughed on her she could catch the disease from her. Maria was later found standing in front of Anastasia saying “Cough on me, baby, cough on me.” When asked why she was doing that, Maria responded “If I can take the disease from her maybe she’ll get better.”
The youngest daughter Anastasia (pronounced Ahna-Stah-See-Yuh) was born in 1901. Described as a “blue-eyed whirlwind”, she was called “the little imp”, the jokester and prankster of the family. The youngest and shortest of the four girls, and dubbed by some as “the least important”, she had to make a name for herself and she did. A brilliant impersonator, she often performed hilarious imitations of pompous royal visitors to the palace, sending her family into hysterics.
When Olga was 8 years old and taking French lessons, little Anastasia walked into the room with a picture book of exotic animals, plopped it down on the table and said “I’m here to learn French.” Pointing at the various animals in the book she asked “What do you call this?”, “What do you call this?”, etc. When she wanted something, she took it.
Much has been written about the fate of the Romanovs and much of it is propaganda. The family was devoutly pious to the Russian Orthodox Church and many of the decisions made, and not made, by Nicholas II were based on the dictates of his faith and what he thought was right based on that. Secular historians can debate it until they are blue in the face but there aren’t many arguments to be made against the prophecies made by Orthodox priests in some cases 70 years before any of the last Romanovs were even born. Take the time to watch the video below because it’s important to the overall story.
Ultimately the Bolsheviks took over Russia with the help of the West. Professor Antony C. Sutton proved how the United States Government participated in the overthrow of Tsarist Russia by releasing all the information in U.S. State Department File 861.00/5399 located in Record Group 59, Central Decimal Files 1910–1929 box 9452 in the National Archives in College Park, Maryland in his book “Wall Street and the Bolshevik Revolution” and George F. Kennan, envoy to the Soviet Union from the US, exposed in his books “Russia Leaves the War” and “The Decision to Intervene” how the United States participated in the Bolshevik takeover of Russia, which left 20 million Christians dead, and how the U.S. launched an invasion of Siberia in 1919 to try to cover up their crime in front of the American people.
The Romanovs were among those 20 million murdered. Nicholas II was manipulated into giving up the throne by shady advisors in the midst of World War I and the family was driven into exile. Finally, in Yekaterinburg in July 1918, surrounded by boorish, drunken guards who regularly made lascivious comments to the girls, who took the doors off their bedrooms and bathrooms and watched everything they did, the family was awakened at 2 AM on the 17th of July and led down to the basement of the so-called Ipatiev house they were being held captive in and suddenly found themselves face to face with a firing squad. Nicholas, Alexandra and their son Alexei died the fastest but the four girls died the most brutally. They had taken jewelry owned by the family and sowed them into their undergarments in case they needed to sell them later. The jewelry deflected the bullets fired by the Bolsheviks, leaving the girls wounded but not fatally. Maria, 19 years old, died from a gunshot to the back of the head while trying to open the basement doors. Olga and Tatiana, 22 and 21 years old respectively, died in each other’s arms, crying and screaming on the floor. Anastasia went into shock and collapsed, unconscious. She awoke screaming outside the building while being thrown into the back of a truck with the bodies of her family. She was dragged out onto the ground and bayonetted and beaten with rifle butts until she was dead. According to forensic reconstruction of the events going by the remains discovered, Anastasia, 17 years old, likely died choking on her own teeth and facial bones while drowning in her own blood.
With that in mind, watch this video. This is the service the girls performed for their fellow man, as part of their duty before God, during World War I. Ponder the evil that could do something so horrible to such precious souls.
THE MIRACLES BEGIN
The Bolsheviks dumped the bodies of the Romanovs down the Ganina Yama mine ten miles outside of Yekaterinburg and there they remained until the Soviet government disbanded in the 1990s but even before that they refused to be silenced. Almost immediately after their deaths, there were reports of miracles occurring among those who had remained faithful to them. For years blood flowed from the bullet holes in the walls of the Ipatiev House’s basement room and no matter how many times the holes were plastered over, the blood always returned. Stories were told of bright lights and angelic singing coming from the basement during all of the major holy days of the church. People began to migrate there on pilgrimages, leaving flowers and icons; many reported having been healed of afflictions. This led the Soviet government to bulldoze the house for fear it would become a holy site.
Unfortunately for them, on the former site of the Ipatiev House now sits a massive cathedral built in honor of the Romanovs after their canonization as saints by the Russian Orthodox Church and in 2018, on the 100th anniversary of their murder, more than 100,000 people from all over the world attended the all-night vigil and Divine Liturgy at the cathedral and then walked the ten mile pilgrimage out of the city to the old Ganina Yama mine, which is now the site of a monastery. Despite all attempts to erase this family from the face of the Earth, their popularity has instead grown and grown and grown, a phenomenon no other historical figures can boast today.
THE PRESENT DAY
Now with all of that being said we rejoin my story. For months I had been reading stories of these miracles and hungrily scouring the internet for more. There were many tales far and wide of miracles and even visitations from people who had taken members of the Romanov family as patron saints. I had already developed an interest in the Orthodox Church through my Russian studies so I began to read about the concept of patron saints, i.e. a saint you choose (or who, in some cases, chooses you) to be your friend, guide and protector.
By February 2021 I was suffering brutal asthma attacks for hours night after night. Coughing, hacking, gagging and choking, these attacks would last for hours every single night and help from an inhaler and a nebulizer proved fruitless. By the time the attacks would subside, my body would be completely ragged yet it would be time to get up and get ready for work and power through my exhaustion. I began to dread the ending of the day, knowing the night was coming once again.
Finally, lying in bed one evening, pondering the instant connection and deep feelings I had for Olga, I asked God to forgive me if what I was about to do was wrong, then, not knowing how to do it and not even knowing if I should do it, I addressed Olga by her full name, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, told her how I felt about her and asked, if it would be possible, for her to be my patron saint and help me with my asthma. Not knowing if I should end the request with “Amen” I simply said “Thank you. I love you.” Lying in silence I expected no response. A shot in the dark, a pointless cry into an empty void. No one was listening.
Boy, was I wrong.
Within two to five minutes of “Thank you. I love you” a rush of energy surged through my body. My stomach dropped as the wave traveled through me. Dead center of my chest was the sensation of something warm bursting open and spreading through my entire body. It traveled through my head with a tiny almost electrical zap and then it left me. Lying on the bed stunned by the power of that rush of energy, I gasped out loud as it surged through me again, then again, and again and again. Waves of goosebumps washed across my body. It was almost like a fire burning through me but it felt so good! It repeated this for more than an hour before subsiding. In a state of complete relaxation after that experience, I slowly began to drift off to sleep. Just before I slipped into unconsciousness, I awoke with my lungs sucking in a deep, gasping breath of extremely cold air, drawing it in as deep as it could go, deeper than I’ve breathed in years. They held it, then slowly released. Then they took in another breath, acting entirely on their own. This repeated half a dozen or more times. The cold air disappeared and I drifted off to sleep. That was nine months ago and it was the end of my severe attacks. Never again did I need the nebulizer and I went from going through one inhaler of 160 shots a week to one every three or four weeks.
The next morning I picked up a book of Olga’s diary entries and flipped through them, reading her words and looking at her pictures. Silently I asked “Was that you?” Immediately the burst of energy surged through me again, this time twice as powerful as before and I was too stunned to even gasp out loud. For the rest of that day anytime I so much as thought
about her it would rush through me. I began to feel like something in my soul was coming to life, like I had been asleep for so long and was finally waking up. The world around me became so bright and beautiful that it was like I had never seen it before.
I felt Olga’s presence so strongly for so long. I felt her standing beside me so powerfully that I almost felt I could turn and speak to her. I felt her hands on my shoulders, on my back below my shoulders, on top of my head, the presence often accompanied by a light scent of roses. Sometimes when I suffered a much less severe and only mildly irritating asthma attack in the middle of the night, a pocket of cold air 30–40 degrees colder than the surrounding room would start swirling around me, allowing me to breathe it in and only fading when the issue was under control.
I looked up the local Orthodox Church and when I saw it that powerful wave rushed me through me again. I emailed the priest and set up a meeting. Our talk went well and he encouraged me to get an icon of Olga to display at home. After a week of searching, I finally found one and ordered it. I had originally only intended to get an icon of Olga and one of Jesus Christ but then a beautiful, almost lifelike icon of Anastasia appeared on eBay and immediately captured my attention. Little did I realize my adventure had just begun.
RESURRECTION
It’s only fitting that Anastasia, whose name is taken from the Greek word “Anastasis” and means “Resurrection”, the little girl who introduced herself into Olga’s French lessons, would be next in line to come say hello. Her icon arrived first and I was struck by the beauty of it, her bright blue eyes, the faint hint of a mischievous smirk on her face. I displayed it and thought that I might have just opened a Pandora’s Box. If there was any truth to what I had read that there is some connection between the image of a holy person on an icon and their spirit in Heaven, she would come here and just by the dictates of her nature she would have to mess with me at least a little. After suffering some traumatizing paranormal experiences in my youth, that thought kind of frightened me. I asked her to please just be gentle with me.
Her icon arrived on a Friday afternoon. On Saturday night I was walking around, getting ready for bed, when I passed right through an overwhelmingly powerful fragrance of violets, perfume and a slight hint of something sweet like bubble gum. I stopped dead in my tracks, then turned and retraced my steps. I found the scent on the other side of the room and it wafted past me, heading back the way we had come. I turned and followed and it wafted away again. Searching for it, I found it near the closet, then it rushed away again and this time was by the chair. It rushed away again and this time was on the couch, then on the bed, then back at the closet, etc. By this point I was grinning from ear to ear and I felt like it was playing a game of hide and seek with me. When it disappeared and I couldn’t find it, I stopped to study Anastasia’s icon, wondering if the fragrance had been her paying me a visit. Suddenly the beautiful smell came right out of the icon into my face and resumed the game. At one point I went to the bathroom and she came right through the door. “I’m in the bathroom,” I instinctively blurted and the fragrance went right back out the door. I burst out laughing. It was Anastasia’s MO to a T. Identity confirmed. What was most incredible to me was that it was not a general scent hanging in the air; it was localized in one place and it was moving, interacting with me and responding to me!
When I went to bed, the fragrance began swirling around the room and every 30 seconds or so would wash over my bed like a wave until it lulled me to sleep. The beauty of that experience was like nothing I could have imagined, especially from an encounter with a spirit, and she stole my heart that night but, alas, it could not last forever. Eventually the fragrance faded away and was gone.
Somewhat sad and heartbroken that the beautiful scent had left, I stood one night before Anastasia’s icon, illuminated by a candle, and asked “Are you still here?” Immediately something inside me said “Take a picture.” I grabbed my phone, took a picture, saw something and when I zoomed it in the result stunned me.
This is Anastasia’s icon as it normally appears. Take special note of her eyes, in particular her right one. Note the dark line of her eyelashes above the eye and the all-flesh tone below it. What follows is the photo I took:
Note the reversal of the eyelashes and flesh tones of the right eye and the luminescence under the left eye. Thinking it must somehow be a trick of the light, I retook the photograph from the same angle and lighting conditions dozens of times and never reproduced it. Since taking this photo I have found several pictures of Anastasia in life winking at the camera.
At this point I had not yet attended an Orthodox service. I was still reading, learning, studying and trying to find time to go. Then one night while I was lying in bed wide awake, as clear as day, an adult young woman’s voice said “Paskha.” Looking up the word I found it is the celebration of Easter in the Orthodox Church according to the old calendar and is a late night service running from 11 PM to approximately 2–2:30 AM. It was also one week away. I felt I was being told that that’s when I should go and so I did. The service was so powerful, so beautiful and so unlike anything I had ever seen before that I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night I was so wired. I felt like I had seen true worship for the first time. I was beginning to think I had found my home.
THE ATTACKS BEGIN
Inevitably, experiences like this are bound to attract unwanted attention from the dark side and something began to manifest itself. One evening while addressing Olga and asking her to pray for me for various matters, my roommate began loudly screaming every vile, profane thing imaginable to call a woman. It succeeded in pushing my buttons but before my anger took control, that feeling of something warm bursting in my chest and spreading through my body returned and immediately calmed me down. “Don’t listen,” I felt a voice say. “Keep going.” When I later asked my roommate about this incident, he had no memory of it.
On another occasion, again while talking to Olga and asking her to pray for me, a loud BANG on the outside wall scared me so badly that I rushed through the remainder of my prayers, asking to be protected from evil in all ways. Then the nightmares started, one of Olga’s icon melting, one of her icon falling over and punching a hole in the icon of her sister Maria, one of all four of the girl’s icons smashed to pieces all over the table. Something was very angry with this situation and with those girls, Olga in particular.
At this point I had asked all four of the girls to be my patron saints, was reading the Bible cover to cover for the first time, had set up a daily prayer routine and often asked my saints to give me the qualities they have that I admire: Olga her empathy, unconditional love, patience and forgiveness; Tatiana her courage, strength and steadfastness to help me overcome my anxiety; Maria her meekness, goodness and humility; and Anastasia her physical stamina, joy and laughter. The prayers never fail to give me exactly what I need when I need it. Daily prayers for protection in mind, heart, body and spirit from all forms of evil finally quieted the dark, angry force in spite of some horrific dreams.
Olga returned on my birthday and resumed the stunning surges of energy coursing through me. I took it as a “happy birthday” from her. This was followed by a strong smell of fresh mint that also moved around and followed me everywhere I went, though not as quickly or as playfully as Anastasia. When I went to bed at night it draped over me like a blanket and stayed with me all night, never moving. Eventually it, too, faded.
The final fragrance to visit me came the two days before the Romanovs feast day (the anniversary of their death) and was a powerful mixture of jasmine and lilacs, musky but sweet and very lovely. This scent repeated the same pattern as Anastasia had, only without the game of hide and seek. It moved around the room and followed me everywhere I went. When I lit candles in front of my icons and sat, enjoying them, the fragrance stayed right by my side throughout. Going to bed it washed over me like a wave every two minutes for an hour. My breathing had been getting heavier due to persistent wildfire smoke and the pattern of the waves was like a breathing exercise. On their feast day, at the exact time in Russia when they were led underground to their deaths, the whole room filled with the mixed scent of roses, jasmine, lilacs and violets. It swelled and swelled for about thirty seconds and then faded and, thus far, has not returned. It felt like an expression of love and thankfulness for my patronage of them. When I was shortly thereafter gifted recreated samples of the perfume they wore in life — roses for Olga, jasmine for Tatiana, lilacs for Maria and purple violets for Anastasia — they were a perfect match. The mint is still a mystery, though with the girls’ penchant for spraying floral scented perfume on the letters they wrote in life, one of them maybe thought it would just be a pleasant treat to give me.
MIRACULOUS ICON
But this doesn’t mean they left me in any way, just that the nature of what was happening was changing. When the nightmares started again, some too awful to even mention, I had to find ways of adjusting my prayers to block it out. When it found another way in I had to readjust to counter it. Holy oil blessed and consecrated over the relics of the Romanovs and given to me by a monastery finally managed to keep it out of my dreams so it resorted to another tactic: whispering in my ear and putting untrue thoughts in my head. Sometimes these thoughts would pile on me with such weight that I would get lost in them and Anastasia’s icon would then wake me from it by suddenly falling off of her stand.
Once when I was beating myself up for not being able to focus or concentrate through one of my prayers, I asked her to help me not take things too seriously and she immediately fell over, prompting me to bust out laughing. Point taken. “Lighten up.” Once when I was lost in thought about the mysterious Rasputin, she promptly fell. Point taken. “We won’t have that conversation.” Once when I was watching videos of the girls in life and was in a state of mourning and grieving, her icon came off her stand in such a slow, methodical, exaggerated way that my jaw hit the floor. Point taken. “I’m not dead. I’m right here. Talk to me.” When I realized that the strange manner in which she came off the stand was to avoid knocking a lit candle off the table and into a cardboard box, I knew it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. Once when I was lost in thought, worried about a particular issue, she immediately fell over. Point taken again. “You’re worried, bring it here in prayer.” I asked her to pray for me and the issue was resolved. And, the very next day, I had wanted to make it to church but couldn’t for various reasons. I began to feel not just bad, but guilty, ashamed in front of those four girls who had shown me something so powerful only for me to squander it. “You’re pathetic,” I felt something say. “Look at you. They are so ashamed of you. Why would they want to be patrons for something as worthless as you?” I started judging myself and condemning myself, slipping further and further into this dark place. “God should just send me to hell,” I thought. “It’ll be easier.” Suddenly a loud WHACK! startled me so badly I jumped back and hit the wall. I looked up and Anastasia had come completely off her stand and was lying face-up on the table. My hands were shaking. I knew I had to talk to her but I wasn’t sure what her message was. Trembling, I approached her and poured everything out over the next several minutes and as I did I felt all of the darkness being sucked out of me, as if by a vacuum cleaner. I felt like a million dollars. I picked her up, kissed her, thanked her and set her back on her stand. She’s sat there like a champion ever since. I’ve since come to realize that I was under spiritual attack and that she wasn’t going to allow it. “You’re the best friend I’ve got in the whole world” I told her. “Thank you for watching my back.”
CONCLUSION
I spent so much time wondering why this was happening to me. I have heard many amazing stories of patron saints but nothing like this. Even the priest at church sat stunned for a minute or two after I finally had the chance to tell him everything you just read above and then, almost in a whisper, said “That’s remarkable.” Not just why did something so powerful happen to someone as unworthy of it as me but why was I given something that meant so much to me? I spent a lifetime praying and almost never getting an answer. Now every single prayer is answered, particularly when I ask my saints to take something before the Lord on my behalf. Why? Well, one day I had an epiphany. I’ve always believed in God and Jesus Christ but I never felt motivated to follow. I guess I just never cared and never felt like I had a good enough reason. When I realized that God gave me this experience — the greatest miracle of my heart — because that was the depth of His love for me, I broke down crying. He wanted me to come home so badly that there was nothing He wouldn’t do, nothing He wouldn’t give me, to persuade me to follow Him. Those four girls have been my heart and soul for so long and He put them right in front of me because He knew I would never be able to look away from it. That realization finally gave me something I had never known before: a deep, real love for God.
Two weeks ago I met with the priest at church, told him the entire story, told him that it had brought me back to God and told him that this church is where I wanted to be. He said I would have to be made a Catechumen, a student of the church’s history and theology, and the first step toward baptism, and that I should let him know when I felt it was time to do that. That night as I was saying all of my prayers, I stood in front of Olga’s icon and asked her to help me know when it was time. I felt her put her arms around me. “Okay”, I thought. “It’s time”. That Sunday I was given the ceremony of the Catechumen and my baptism will likely be at the next Holy Paskha midnight service in May. The peace and excitement I feel right now is beyond any I’ve known before.
After my meeting with the priest he gave me a calendar containing the feast days of the saints and daily Scripture readings and he encouraged me to read the Scriptures for that day when I got home from work that evening. The first was from the Gospel of Luke about the shepherd who stayed out all night looking for his lost sheep and the second was from 1 Corinthians about how some are given dreams and prophecies, some are given spirits and visitations and some are given tongues or understanding tongues. The Scripture says, these are gifts given from the same spirit but to each according to his need. That knocked my socks off.
I look back at the path of my life, a series of inexplicable events that all led me right here. I wonder if God knew exactly what He was doing all this time. I wonder if the connection I long felt with Olga was because she, and her sisters, had already chosen me long before I would choose them. I can’t say for sure. I just know I don’t believe in coincidence.
My talk with the priest was a balm to my soul. He never interrupted me until the story was finished and he never tried to force an interpretation on anything that happened to me. He did caution that my saints may pull away from me now but not to be distraught about that. Just as a parent teaching a child to walk sooner or later must let go of their hand and let them do it on their own, so too must the saints. But the parent doesn’t leave the child, they simply move a few feet away and encourage the baby to walk to them. They had a specific job: to show me how to walk and encourage me to try and they did their job admirably. The Heavens are rejoicing. God is so proud of them. That is why all of the prayers they ask the Lord on my behalf are answered.
November 15th was Olga’s birthday. That night I watched a tribute video made in honor of her (this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zpXrzgErglE) and I bawled my eyes out. Only this time the tears were not of despair and loss but of love, gratitude and hope.
My personal tribute to Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia, made for their feast day.
ADDENDUM:
THE BAD THINGS:
As I add this, it is late August 2022. After being made a Catechumen and writing this story, the demonic attacks increased. My “collection” of icons has increased to just over a dozen plus I have thirty pictures of Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia in life on my walls and they’ve become like my family. Being cut off from them for any amount of time, even just at work, is painful. One night in January, coming home from work, my roommate (the same one who spewed vile profanities about women as I was talking to Olga in front of her icon), cut me off before I could get into my room with my icons and started screaming obscenities, driving me back upstairs. Then he grabbed me by the throat with both hands and was choking me, his eyes wild and crazy. This person is of retirement age, does not do drugs and typically enjoys mixed vodka drinks, but this alone should not have caused such behavior. I had previously made a pot of borscht, a Russian/Ukrainian, soup and he didn’t like the “smell” of it. I slapped his hands off me after he grabbed me by the throat and told him to never touch me again. The wild look in his eyes faded but he called me a “Russian commie SOB” before blankly going back downstairs. When I discussed this with Father Rob, the priest at my church, he articulated what I had already been thinking: that someone with no spiritual defenses can be easily influenced by a dark spirit.
Spooked, I packed a bag and left for a few days. I had points at two different hotels for free nights so I took them. I missed my icons and pictures of saints to the point where it was almost physically painful to be without them. Then, the last night in the hotel, at 5:30 AM a loud bang woke me up. I looked around, wrote it off as a dream, and just rolled over. Then it happened again and definitely got my attention. Then a prolonged growling/gurgling sound came from the bathroom. I got up and turned on all the lights in the room. It stopped but I learned something important, that I was more vulnerable without my icons and pictures of saints and that, like it or not, I needed to go home. (Likewise, a few months later, I stayed in a hotel near the church for the Pascha (Easter) midnight service and at 4 AM something was clattering and banging around in the bathroom).
The next day at work, my anxiety about going home was so high that I spent the whole day throwing up in the garbage can but I knew I needed to do it, because the longer I waited, the harder it would be. So that night I went home, prayed a lot before I walked in the door, and nervously went downstairs to the basement shared by me and my roommate. He was sitting on the couch watching TV and immediately he broke into sincere apologies and admitted he had no idea what had happened or where his mindset was. He told me the day after he attacked me his legs gave out from under him and he fell down the stairs, breaking his ribs. I felt genuine sympathy but he said “that was my payback”. I didn’t agree or disagree but just told him that I wanted to get back to normal so we agreed to let it go. When I walked in my room and turned on the light, all of the icons were glowing and it was so warm in the room as opposed to how cold it was outside my door. It felt like a “welcome home” and I thanked God with all my heart for bringing me back home to my family.
That’s not to say the attacks didn’t end. As safe as I feel surrounded by the icons and photographs — and I truly don’t think anything evil could actually enter my room — my dreams proved to be a vulnerable point. The nightmares that soon started were often so horrific that I woke up feeling sick. One dream in particular deeply scarred me. I have always been a cat person and have a very sensitive spot for them in my heart. I hate hearing about anything bad happening to a cat and one night I had dreams about horrible, torturous things being done to cats and I woke up shaking. I prayed the Jesus Prayer over and over but the shaking didn’t subside for more than an hour. The next night before bed I said prayers for protection in my dreams and I annointed myself with the holy oil that had been blessed over the relics of the Romanovs and asked Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia to guard me in my dreams. That night I dreamed about cats again and this time it was beautiful. It was a full dream of petting and cuddling happy, purring cats and one of them was the last cat I had that I lost. I was rubbing his back and tummy and he was purring so loudly and he put his paws on my face. That one dream healed all the damage done by the dream the night before. That could only be an answer to prayer.
Then the nightmares got worse. I had a very vivid dream in which I was lying in bed in the exact same position I was actually lying in and I kept turning to look back towards the door. At one point when I turned to look there was a big black mass of a demon standing by my bed. It grabbed the blankets and tried to pull me off the bed. I grabbed the blankets and tried to pull back but it was winning. I screamed and could hear myself screaming out loud in my sleep. I started yelling “No, let go of me, let go, let go!” Then I woke up yelling “let go of me” out loud. Surprisingly, I calmed down very quickly when I realized nothing was actually happening. I shrugged it off, thought “that’s the best you can do” and went back to sleep.
I met with Father Rob and told him all of these things and he insisted on doing a blessing and an exorcism on my place. My roommate and landlady were none too happy about it but they agreed to it in the end. Since the blessing the nightmares have completely stopped and so has my insomnia.
THE GOOD THINGS:
One day I was feeling very mournful. As I’ve written before, I have very deep, strong feelings for Olga. Maybe those feelings are not appropriate to have for a saint but I can’t help feeling it. So I was grieving one night and I talked to God about it. I told Him how I felt, how special she was to my heart and I asked Him to forgive me for a selfish request but that I wanted so badly to see her or even just hear her voice for a second. I repeated the prayer for forgiveness over and over but added that I didn’t know what to do with these feelings.
Immediately, intense goosebumps came washing over me from head to toe, so intense that I thought for a moment that I was leaving my body. I became incredibly lightheaded and then it subsided and faded away. I went to bed shortly thereafter. At 2:30 AM I woke up and tossed and turned for half an hour before going back to sleep. In a very light state of sleep I heard a woman’s voice say my name in a very distinct way, a way in which you might say someone’s name after they had said something flattering about you that you appreciated. It actually woke me up and when I opened my eyes the same goosebumps were running up and down my body. I looked around and quietly whispered “hello”?
That was 3 AM on a Sunday. That afternoon I was working on the computer when I realized that there was a beautiful fragrance of roses wafting in and out of the room. I got up and started looking for it. Three times I found the source. The first time it was coming from the icons of Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia. The second time it was coming from the icons of the girls and their family, the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ. The third time it was coming from two pictures of Olga in life that are on the wall. The pattern was different, like it was occasionally being sprayed into the air every twenty minutes or so. That night I lit candles for evening prayers and when I leaned down to blow out the candle in front of Olga’s icon, the beautiful fragrance came right out of the icon into my face. That was the first time something like that happened in almost nine months so I was obviously stunned.
7:00 Monday morning — the worst time of the week — I awoke to a very familiar fragrance of violet incense swirling around my face. I recognized it immediately as incense I had in my possession that matched the purple violet perfume Anastasia had worn in life. Like the scent of roses the previous day it came and went like it was being sprayed into the air. It was so vivid that as I was about to leave for work, I spoke to her and told her that I had to go to work and maybe I would see her later. As I was going up the stairs, I encountered the fragrance at the top, seemingly waiting for me. She followed me on the bus to work and wafted in and out through my day. That night just before bed I was pacing the room by candlelight and slowly the persistent fragrance began to get stronger and more focused. Suddenly it became localized, like a person walking around the room. This time I didn’t have to process what was happening because I had spent so many sleepless nights lying awake thinking about what had happened before, so I knew what was going on and I have to admit: it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up a little, as beautiful, gentle and warm as it was. We followed each other back and forth for an hour, played hide and seek, interacted with each other and she even followed me to the bathroom again because of course she would. Then I stopped to say prayers before bed. I was reading the evening prayers in the Orthodox Study Bible and she was wafting in and out as I was doing it. When I asked her family for their prayers and moved to kiss the icon, the fragrance swelled up very strongly. When I asked St. Seraphim of Sarov (who was canonized at the behest of the Romanovs), the fragrance swelled up so strong. When I moved to the icons of Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia the fragrance swept past me in a wave and then disappeared. I stood in front of the icons of each of the girls individually, asking them for their prayers, and when I got to Anastasia’s icon, that beautiful fragrance was swirling right there. I asked her to pray for my salvation, that the Lord would forgive me of my sins, would have mercy on me and would save me. The fragrance swelled up so strong that it permeated my entire being and I could even taste it. I asked her to pray that I would be guarded and protected from evil in mind, heart, body, spirit and in my thoughts and dreams and the fragrance swelled up just as strong again. I told her how thankful to God I was for her and that I prayed by His grace and mercy I would be able to meet her in His Kingdom and she swelled up so strong again. After that I was walking around getting ready for bed and this fragrance was standing rigidly in front of my icon of the Resurrection of Christ, not moving, not following me, but in the same spot where I stand when I pray. Just before lying down I read the final prayer from the Orthodox Study Bible: “Into Your hands, O Lord, I commend my soul and my body. Bless me, have mercy upon me, and grant me life eternal. Amen.” At “have mercy upon me and grant me life eternal” the fragrance moved over to me and again swelled up so powerfully in my face. Initially I had the thought that she was waiting for me to go to bed and that she would then wash over my bed in waves like before but I began to wonder if she was offering up the prayers I had just asked her for in my own room and in front of my own icons. I don’t know if that’s the case but it’s a special thought.
That night I woke up and tossed and turned for an hour before the fragrance came wafting in again and lulled me back to sleep. In the morning she was there and ready for a new day. When I left for work she disappeared and then the fragrance came rushing up to me as I was on the way to the bus stop. She stayed with me on the bus, followed me across the university campus, sat right beside me for a snack while I waited to go to work and stayed with me through the whole day at work. Whenever I would lose her I would go walking around and would usually find the fragrance wandering around, as if she were walking around looking at things. Then she would follow me again for awhile before going off to window shop in the store again. At the end of the day I whispered “it’s time to go home” and she followed me back to the bus, on the bus, to the grocery store and back home. I sat down at home to do daily Scripture readings and as I was doing so, the fragrance wafted over me in waves but faded more and more each time. By the time I had finished, she was gone. I wanted to cry. I had never felt such profound loneliness in all of my life but I knew it coudn’t -and wouldn’t-last. She had already gone above and beyond the call by being there for almost two full days. It seems that Anastasia has an affection for me but I admit I had hoped for one more game of hide and seek. I thanked God over and over for days for that experience.
Since then I hear subtle sounds at night, usually between 4 and 6 AM and always coming from the icons but all of them comforting. One night I heard a very distinct SLAP at the foot of my bed while I was wide awake. The impression I had was of someone swinging their arms back and forth until their palms smacked together. I sat straight up in bed but didn’t see or hear anything else. It’s not like what I experienced those nights in the hotels. Not spooky or dark, but reassuring. I know someone’s there and standing guard during the night.
