I believe in signs and always pay attention to them, especially when I’m making big decisions. When my daughter Sasha was just two months old, we planned to drive to Crimea. It was risky; a lot of people didn’t understand our choice and tried to dissuade us, but we felt sure it would work out. Like any mother, I was full of doubts: should we go or not? After weighing everyone’s opinions, we decided to go. The night before we left, I prayed, “Lord, send me a sign: should I travel with my child or not? I promise I’ll see it and follow it!”
The next morning Sasha woke up covered head to toe in a rash—even her ears. The decision was made: we weren’t going anywhere. I thanked God for the sign and, finally relieved, stayed home. I had asked a specific question and received a clear answer.
Recently something else remarkable happened. This summer, while on vacation with my family, Sasha—who’s worn a cross since she was ten months old—lost it. Both Sasha and I always wear our crosses; it’s not just a habit for us, but a deep calling that gives me meaning and inner comfort. My first reaction was to take off my own cross and put it on her. I thought, “I’ll buy another one later…” But I felt very uncomfortable; at times I felt so defenseless that I felt exposed.
While I was filling out paperwork for Sasha’s kindergarten and getting a health book for myself, we sat outside the doctor’s office. At first there was a woman ahead of us, but she left and we were alone. The doctor hadn’t arrived yet. Then a man appeared, and just seeing him filled my heart with warmth and joy. He wore simple but perfectly pressed pants, a plain clean shirt, and moved with a calm, steady demeanor. His gray hair and beard reminded me of monks I respect, and his eyes sparkled with love, creasing with laughter like sunbeams. He captivated me with nothing more than his presence.
“Hi! What’s your name?” he asked Sasha with a smile.
“Sasha.”
“That’s not right,” he said. “She’s baptized, isn’t she?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“Then it’s correct to say—Alexandra. Would you like me to teach you how to write your name? It’s such a beautiful name—Alexandra.”
He taught Sasha how to write her full name, shared stories and poems with her (they even learned one together!), and played with her like a loving grandfather or the best teacher in the world.
Then he turned to me and said, “Excuse me, this isn’t really my business, but why aren’t you wearing a cross? It offers protection…” He went back to playing with Sasha, and that very evening I was wearing my cross again.
