The young lawyer Anastasia travels to Germany, grappling with a major life decision. In this unexpected setting, she receives a divine response that guides her on a path to self-discovery. Read Sr. Anastasia’s reflections on her journey towards finding her true self.
My father was the respected general director of Narochansky National Park, and my mother, a dedicated therapist. Tragically, my father passed away on the eve of 2003. At that time, I was 16, my sister Lyuba was just 9, and my brother Vanya, a mere 2 years old. Numerous people who sought my father's help would visit our home daily. However, after his funeral, they vanished from our lives.
In their place, a different presence filled our home: women from our church who came to read psalms. Their presence was subtle yet profound. Through their prayers, there was a palpable sense of not being alone. These women, with their quiet strength, helped my mother, suddenly a single parent to three, find her footing in the depths of despair.
I found myself grappling with feelings of rejection and rebellion. Why was my father, only 41, taken from us, not given the chance to fully imprint his mark on life? His departure, abrupt and untimely, left a series of unanswered questions. Being proud and stubborn, I struggled to accept this loss. Meanwhile, my mother, brother, and sister turned to the church, finding solace in confession and communion. I remained distant, leaving me without that same support. It took me over a decade to come to terms with my father's death.
Narochansky National Park, Belarus
My father was a man of vibrancy and kindness; it seemed as if God had opened every door for him. He was a man of his word — a virtue I deeply admired. I remember a time in my equestrian pursuits when my trainer failed to bring my horse, Biathlon, to a competition. Heartbroken, I wept in the car. My father asked why I was crying and, upon hearing my plea to move Biathlon to another stable, simply replied, "Don't worry." True to his word, he made it happen just days later. I have yet to meet anyone else who honoured their word as faithfully as he did. His integrity left a lasting impression, and there have been times in my life when I've yearned to find someone as reliable as my father.
My journey towards self-realisation began while my father was still with us. We had discussions about my future education, but he never saw the outcome. I chose law school, graduated, and soon realised that while law was my profession, it did not feel like my true calling. This realisation sparked an early quest for self-determination: Who am I? Why am I here? Despite these questions, I worked as a lawyer for seven years, enjoying a good job, a decent salary, and stable living conditions. Yet, amidst this seemingly perfect life, I felt a profound sense of unhappiness.
The turning point came with my last job in a bank. The organisation's principles clashed with my own values and beliefs. It was a critical moment of truth: either leave now or never. As my contract ended, I chose to leave, stepping into the unknown.
The only plan I could muster was to go abroad. To secure a visa, I enrolled in a German language school, even though my knowledge of the language was minimal. I spent a delightful summer in the small German town of Münster, near the Dutch border. During my stay, I marvelled at the well-designed infrastructure, particularly how it catered to people with disabilities. It was a revelation to see such inclusivity in everyday life.
Yet, something felt amiss. As I roamed the streets, conversing with locals in fluent English, a realisation slowly dawned on me: despite their material abundance and high standard of living, there was an underlying current of profound loneliness. It struck me how people, even in seemingly close relationships, lived parallel but separate lives. This observation gave me much to ponder.
The city of Münster, Germany
One grey, rainy day in Münster, as I walked down a street lost in worldly thoughts, I faced an unexpected internal dialogue. What was next for me? Language school, possibly university, but then what? My legal background no longer appealed to me. Maybe something more aligned with my soul, like philosophy or literature? But to what end?
Amidst these swirling thoughts, a sudden clarity emerged. A voice within me said, "You will come to God much sooner than you think." This thought startled me. I had felt distant from God, and yet here was this profound insight. It wasn't my thought. In that moment of stillness, I realised it was God subtly entering my life.
There came a defining moment when I confronted a stark reality: I was almost thirty, without a job, a family, or a clear direction in life. It was then that I remembered the wisdom of my biology tutor, a teacher who seemed to have a divine insight. At the end of each school year, our teachers would write wishes in our homework diaries. While many were standard, her message stayed with me: "It is better to light a single candle than curse the darkness." This saying, which once seemed obscure, suddenly resonated with profound clarity. It's crucial to find your own small place in life and dedicate yourself to it. The task might seem insignificant, but its diligent pursuit can bring peace and meaning.
Upon returning home, jobless and with no money, I stayed with my mother. My sister, also unemployed, was there too. During this time, I didn't engage in prayer, but the thoughts in my head were leading me towards inner peace.
It was in this period of uncertainty that I spoke to God. I implored, "Lord, you see my plight. I am lost, without direction or purpose. I have no idea where to head next, but I need to find a way. Please, in seeing my situation, guide me. Should I pursue my plans in Germany, or is there another path for me?" That very night, I had a dream where the answer was vividly clear. I had asked for a sign I could understand, and in my dream, it was shown to me: I would not go to Germany, I would not receive my visa, and I needed to stay here. Remarkably, just two days later, my visa application was denied.
In the face of this setback, I didn't despair. Being my own "personal psychologist," I knew succumbing to despair could leave me unable to help myself. So, I sat at my computer and, somewhat whimsically, typed in Google: "How to move on when you don't know what to do in life, and you don't like your profession." Google offered some amusing suggestions, but none were truly helpful.
Sr. Anastasia near the ark with the right hand of the Venerable Martyr Grand Duchess Elisabeth, Synodal Cathedral of the Sign in New York City
The idea of joining St Elisabeth Convent and working there dawned on me quite unexpectedly. I had known about the monastery through my sister, who had previously worked there before leaving due to health reasons. One day, I asked her, "What if I applied to St Elisabeth Convent? They have a ceramics workshop. I'm not skilled with my hands, but perhaps they could teach me to at least paint a rim on their cups?" My sister, surprised yet supportive, agreed to inquire on my behalf. She spoke to Mother Anastasia, who suggested that, given my proficiency in a foreign language, I might be better suited for the monastery's external relations department.
Following this advice, I reached out to Nicholas from the human resources department. He asked me to send my CV, including my reasons for wanting to work at the monastery. In my application, I was honest: I didn't take communion, go to confession, or regularly attend church, but I expressed a genuine desire to start and sought guidance. This openness became my entry point to the monastery. Brother Nicholas responded promptly, inviting me for an interview. I arrived at the monastery in a state of humility, disappointment, and readiness to learn.
There's a parable about a disciple seeking wisdom from an elder. The elder, while serving tea, continues pouring even after the cup is full, spilling tea everywhere. He then tells the disciple that he is like the overflowing cup, already full and unable to receive more. In contrast, I arrived empty, eager to see, learn, and embrace new experiences.
At the Сonvent, I entered a world where people addressed each other as "brother," "sister," and "mother." Such terms of endearment naturally fostered a sense of respect and kindness.
My first confession and communion took place at the monastery. I remember attending a weekday Liturgy, arriving early and waiting for others to ask where confessions were held. The thought of not confessing made me feel like fleeing, but I knew I needed to stay and unburden years of thoughts and feelings.
Anastasia in the church of St John of Shanghai, St Elisabeth Convent
The priest who was to hear my confession was the same one my sister had mentioned. Initially, everything seemed to align perfectly, but suddenly, the crowd shifted, and I found myself at the back of the queue. As the Chalice was brought out for Communion, I was still waiting. The priest excused himself to attend the altar, and I was left uncertain of what to do.
As the Liturgy concluded, I realised that the priest wouldn't return, so I joined another queue. When my turn finally came, the church was nearly empty. The priest was initially hesitant: "Sorry, but I have to go serve another Liturgy. You must have been the last one to come to the service today". Thankfully, he listened to my story and heard my confession. I then went to another one of the Convent’s churches, stood for another Liturgy, and received Communion there. And so, I found my place in the church.
My initial months at the Сonvent were filled with humble tasks: fetching holy water, mopping floors, cleaning, ironing vestments, and signing Christmas cards for children in various social institutions. It was the most fulfilling work I had ever done, for it was done in obedience. At that time, I was just beginning to understand what obedience truly meant, but I could certainly feel its impact. I had never experienced a more profound spiritual state than realising my life was in God's hands. Knowing He was guiding me, I felt a deep sense of security and purpose, confident that He would lead me where I needed to be.
Sr. Anastasia singing in the church choir at St Elisabeth Convent, Minsk
One day, a nun leading the Monastery's External Relations Department approached me with a surprising request: she wanted to send me on a mission trip to the USA. Trying to mask my fear and confusion, I inquired about the departure date and destination. "At the end of February," she said, "to San Francisco." The thought of travelling to a distant land where I knew no one filled me with apprehension.
When I told my mother about the trip, she responded with an unexpected insight, "Nastya, you will visit St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco." Discovering St. John was like meeting a living person. Reading about him felt like a personal acquaintance, a spiritual kinship with a saint I had never met.
Sr. Anastasia in San Francisco
San Francisco was an overwhelming city. One evening, we stayed at a priest's house, and his wife cautioned us, "This is Sodom and Gomorrah. Don't be surprised if you see naked people on the streets; it's a daily occurrence here." I was taken aback by her warning, but thankfully, we didn't encounter anything so shocking.
An unforgettable experience was when an elderly Japanese Orthodox priest decided to give us a tour of the city. He seated us in his red convertible, opened the roof, and drove us through the hilly streets of San Francisco. Clutching my suitcase on one side and trying to hold my veil down with the other as it fluttered in the wind, I was both exhilarated and apprehensive. He also showed us the city's rougher neighbourhoods, a poignant reminder of the contrasts within the city. Yet, I couldn't help but feel that this land was still blessed, upheld by the prayers of its patron saint.
When I visited the relics of St John, I initially felt I had no specific request to make. I had learned that one must be cautious in their petitions, as the answers might come in unexpected and challenging forms.
Approaching the saint, I was unsure of what to ask until the very last moment. When I finally stood before him, it felt as though St John greeted me like a loving father, eagerly waiting for me. Impulsively, I exclaimed, "Your Eminence, be my spiritual father!" Remarkably, he granted my wish. That same year, I met a priest with deep reverence for St John, who later became my spiritual father.
Sr. Anastasia at the tomb with the Relics of St John of Shanghai and San Francisco
Living with God brings daily non-random incidents and miracles. One such miracle occurred through me for someone else, in Detroit, Michigan. We were scheduled to visit a Catholic cathedral to talk about our monastery. I often request permission from parish priests to speak to their congregations, believing it essential to share about our monastery and Orthodoxy.
On this occasion, the last person to approach me was a middle-aged African-American man, who seemed to be physically ailing. He asked from a distance, "Sister, what order are you?" I replied, "We are Russian Orthodox." Expecting to explain further, I was astonished when he expressed his deep reverence for St John of Shanghai and San Francisco.
Sr. Anastasia in St John's cell
I was thrilled to meet someone who not only understood Orthodoxy but venerated my favourite saint. In our engaging conversation, I gifted him an icon of St John and some oil consecrated on his relics. His joy was indescribable. He revealed that just days before, he had contacted an Orthodox Cathedral requesting these exact items. This man, Denis, and I felt an immediate spiritual connection.
Abroad, I am often seen as a spiritual figure and an authority on Orthodoxy. Many mistake us for nuns, prompting explanations about the differences between lay and monastic sisters.
Sr. Anastasia on a mission trip to the United States
Sr. Anastasia with American friends, Carlsbad, California, St. Katherine of Alexandria Mission
We frequently encounter people with complex life questions, often challenging even for priests. Responding to these inquiries demands a high level of responsibility. Representing the monastery, I can't merely share personal opinions. I emphasise the importance of consulting a spiritual father and offer my own experiences with God, which I found later in life and which transformed me completely. I have seen my life 'before' and 'after' finding faith, and I would never wish to return to a life without God.
Sr. Anastasia with fellow sisters of St. Elisabeth Convent
The Convent holds a special place in my heart; it's where I feel most at peace. It's not just where I spend the majority of my time; it's also the epicentre of my social world. My friends, my daily interactions, everything that shapes my life now, is intertwined with the Convent. I often think that without it, my life would have taken a vastly different course.
What continually inspires me about the Convent is the beauty we are surrounded by each day. Every blade of grass, every flower, every face of a sister, our beloved priests, and of course, our spiritual father, all contribute to this daily tapestry of beauty. It's a beauty that is not just visual but deeply spiritual, resonating with the sense of peace and purpose that permeates the Convent.
I hold immense gratitude towards Fr Andrey. While he may not be everyone’s personal confessor, he has a unique way of touching the hearts of many. His presence and guidance have left indelible marks on our lives, fostering a sense of spiritual community and individual growth.
On this special day, January 4th, the feast of the Great Martyr Anastasia of Sirmium, we extend our warmest name-day wishes to Sister Anastasia and all who share this beautiful name.
In celebration, we invite you to partake in this joyous occasion with Sister Anastasia. Your generous donations in support of our Convent's charitable works would be the most meaningful gift.
To contribute, kindly follow the link
https://obitel-minsk.org/donate-st-elisabeth-convent.
