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I never loved the Mother of God.

Like all believers, he honored, made obeisances and, when Her name was mentioned, during worship and in the morning and evening prayers, he uttered words, glorifications, requests …

But all this was completely formal and even with some effort. Because the Virgin Mary was a woman. And in my past life I treated women very well – I romanticized, fell in love, protected, helped, married, raised children, but I always considered myself responsible for everything and thought it completely shameful to ask women for something. Respect was caused only by those representatives of the weaker sex who performed male functions – they worked, raised children, supported a family …

And indeed, in the Gospel the Mother of God did not remember anything for me, except that she was visited by an angel and told her the Good News. Jesus refused to communicate with her at all when she came to him. Pointing to the disciples, he said: "Here is my mother and my brothers" …

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<p id=Virgin and sv. Iosif Obruchnik is registered to participate in the Quirinia census. Byzantine mosaic in the church of Chora, Constantinople, 1315-20.

My daughter Sonya somewhat changed my attitude to the Mother of God, when I saw her, being about five years old, ran up to the icon in the temple and whispered something for a long time and gaily, constantly looking at Her image. "Communicates as with his own mother," – I thought. And he smiled, even a little bit jealous of such children's faith.

I myself did not dare to talk to anyone. There is a prayer book. There are prayers set as a daily exercise. You can give fifteen minutes a day to God, after all. Well, and in passing to the woman who gave birth to Him. Since it should be so.

Leading a rather turbulent and erratic life, I violated the rule, but I also did not consider this to be a special sin. First, it is a tedious thing – to keep the mind in the text already read hundreds of times, and secondly …

There was a second, and thirdly …

But the same Sonya sometimes refuted my arguments with her strange ability not to pray, but to talk with God and the Theotokos.

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<p>Once she wanted to watch a cartoon, it seems that it was a cute cartoon about a girl and a dog called “Volt”. But the drive looked terrifying. All dirty and scratched. Such that it is terrible to shove it in the player. I remembered how my youngest daughter, Tanya, played this hockey disc, driving it across the dusty floor. </p>
<p>“Son,” I said. – This disk is non-working. But we will definitely go to The Matrix, and I will buy you this film. </p>
<p>“Nothing,” Sonya said in reply, “I will pray now and he will earn.” </p>
<p>My wife and I looked at each other. Pray don't pray, dead discs don't work. I was scared. After all, Sonkina's faith was in danger … </p>
<p>I always considered myself able to quickly find the right words. I quietly improvised many hours of lectures, in the end … </p>
<p>I had a couple of moments to get together, while Sonya walks around the icon with the disc in her hands destroyed and whispers something. I even made out the words: “please”, “really want” … </p>
<p>And so she finally turned around and headed with the disc to the TV. </p><div class='code-block code-block-5' style='margin: 8px 0; clear: both;'>
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I blocked her way and, squatting, said:

– You see, God and the Virgin always hear our prayers, but they do not always fulfill. Maybe it is not useful for you to watch a cartoon right now. But in the evening we go …

“Let's put it,” said Sonya.

And I gave up. Well. Once a child has to face the fact that God does not always fulfill all our wishes upon request …

I took the disc from Sony and put it.

"Volt" started. Sonia, not surprised at all, sat on the sofa and began to look. Apparently, really missed this cartoon.

My wife and I remained standing.

“If only with a mustard seed,” said the wife.

And I just nodded and went to my office …

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<p>But this story did not teach me much. Now I justify myself by saying that even the apostles, seeing the miracles performed over the loaves, did not understand. </p>
<p>And then Sonya died, and I went to Feodosia. </p>
<p>Before her death, on that terrible day when we were waiting for an ambulance, Sonya asked that the akathist be given her the Virgin Mary. I turned it on on the iPhone, and she listened. </p>
<p>And when my wife came in and started to say something to me, and I told her, Sonya suddenly said:</p>
<p>– Wait, let listen …</p>
<p>Here, in Feodosia, I lived six months after the funeral. Life has narrowed and thinned. I had to support my wife and daughters, and, if possible, not to quarrel with the mother-in-law. </p>
<p>When the opportunity arose, I hid in an office on the second floor and made sluggish attempts to write and stubborn and hours-long attempts to pray by the prayer book …</p>
<p>But it’s impossible to really write something when you close your eyes and see only Sonya. It is impossible to know that she is not with you. It is impossible not to have anything from her, the present … </p>
<p>And in the hardest hour, I remembered Sonya, listening to prayers. And still on the same iPhone (the damned gadget outlasted my daughter), turned on that same Akathist. </p>
<p>Everything somehow came together in one. Mother of God, a woman I honored, but did not like, Sonya in the temple and at home with a disc in her hands, talking to Her as with a long-time friend and lover, and I. Frustrated, crushed, destroyed. </p>
<p>To the sound of an akathist, I reached out to the icons hanging over my desk in the office and prayed. It was exactly that. I did not pray, did not prayer, did not speak. </p>
<p>I cried and asked.</p>
<p>“You, in whom Sonya believed so much, you are the Mother of God, you can understand me, and although I have never loved You, help me, I really want to have at least some sign that Sonya is fine, that she’s You, at least some sign that will let me understand "…</p>
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