With my small leather valise in hand, I made my way from my rooms, out the doors, and into the courtyard. All about me was chaos, my sisters running this way and that, Father Mitrofan yelling and even cursing, but somehow I had already begun to detach, to realize how futile was any path but that of acceptance. I had to submit or break down, and I chose the former. It was the only way. And so in a manner I was oblivious to my dear ones. I did as was needed for those in need. I entered my church, weaving amongst my weeping sisters, and stopped at the front, whereupon I looked over all as they knelt on the floor and bowed their heads over and over, pressing their worried brows to the stones. I led them in prayer, and concluded by making a large sign of the cross over all.

And I ended by saying, “Please, my dear ones, do not cry. I have confidence we shall see one another in a higher world.”

There was not time for individual farewells, not a moment to bless this sister or that or kiss this novice or that orphan goodbye. It took all my strength to dam my tears, to remain as I wished all of these dear ones to remember me: strong and con fident in the love of the Lord.

As I passed back through the candlelight of the church and through the doors, the sisters swarmed frantically after me, bowing and clutching at my robes and pressing the cloth of my garb tightly to their lips. I stepped through the gardens, and the sisters, all ninety-seven of them, gathered around, their wails shrieking to the heavens as one hideous choir.

“Matushka, you cannot leave us?”

“Matushka, what will become of us all?”

“Matushka!”

“Gospodi pomilui!” God have mercy!

Only one person did I cling to, and that was Father Mitrofan, whose big cheeks and white beard were soaked with tears. I reached out for his black robes, clutching his arm.

“Please, I beg you,” I said, my voice stony with shock, “do not abandon this place.”

“Never!” he said, choking on his words.

“Watch over these children and our patients.”

“Always!”

“And continue with services for as long as you are able.”

“Until death!”

As I approached the gates, I saw not only the komissar and his soldiers standing there but two of my cell attendants, my forever-faithful Nun Varvara as well as Nun Yekaterina. Each of them held a small valise.

“We have received permission to accompany you,” said Nun Varvara.

“But no, you mustn’t, you can’t-”

“We will not abandon you, Matushka. We are coming,” replied Nun Varvara as forcefully as a princess herself.

I did not want them to come, to bear any unnecessary tribulations, but, truth be told, it was a relief, a cushion. So be it.

Just steps from the gates, I turned and looked out over my beloveds. All at once, in a great wail, every last one of them fell to their knees, their sobs piercing my heart like divine swords. I could not speak, could not find words. I felt light of head, that I might topple. All that I could manage was to raise my trembling hand and once again make over them a large sign of the cross.

Adieu, I cried inside. Adieu, adieu… adieu…

I turned then, and the komissar took me brusquely by the arm, leading me to the first motorcar. I asked, “Can you tell me, are we being taken far?”

But he did not reply, merely pressed me into the rear of the vehicle. Without a word he led my Nuns Varvara and Yekaterina to the second motorcar, whereupon he pushed them into the back.

In a daze we motored off, passing down the Bolshaya Ordinka and quickly leaving the white walls of my beloved obitel behind me. I could not bear to glance back. As we crossed the great river, I did look across the waters at the mighty Kremlin. The double-headed eagles of the Romanovs had been ripped away from the wondrous towers of the ancient fortress, and there instead, flapping in the early night sky, were the crimson banners of the Reds.

And, as I had suspected, we-that is, I and my good Nuns Varvara and Yekaterina-were driven directly to one of the main stations, where we were placed on a train heading east. The four Red Guards accompanied us, making sure no one came to our need. Soon the engine, belching smoke, made a slow lurch forward, and we were off, lumbering through the night. But I could not rest, could not sleep. Rather, I stayed up the entire night composing a letter, which by the grace of God I was able to post the following day.

To all my beloveds at the Marfo-Marinski Obitel, I wrote:

God Bless You,

Let the Resurrection of our Lord give you strength and solace. Let Saint Sergei, Holy Dmitri, and Saint Evfrosinia of Polotsk guard us all, my dears. All is well on our journey. Snow everywhere.

I cannot forget this day, all those dear, kind faces. Lord, what suffering was marked on them, how it hurt my heart. You have become dearer to me with every minute. How can I leave you, my children? How can I give you strength?

Remember, my dears, everything I have told you. Also be not only my children but also my obedient pupils. Be closer to each other, be as one single soul, wholly devoted to our Lord, and say, as did Saint John Chrysostom: “Glory to God for everything.”

I will be living in the hope of soon being with you again and I should like to find you all together. Read together the Acts of the Apostles, besides the Gospels. You older sisters, do your best to keep all the young ones united. Ask Patriarch Tikhon to take the “spring chickens” among you under his protective wing. Make him at home in my middle room. Use my cell for confession and the big room for visitors.

For God’s sake, don’t lose heart. The Mother of God knows why her Heavenly Son has sent upon us these tribulations on the day of her Feast.

Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbelief. God’s designs are inscrutable.

I cannot express how deeply moved I am by your farewell. Over these years you have made me so happy. And I know that all of you without exception are trying to live in the way I have so often spoken to you about.

Oh! What progress you will now make toward salvation! I can already see a good beginning. Only don’t lose heart and don’t weaken your lofty intentions, and the Lord, Who has temporarily separated us, will strengthen you spiritually. Pray for me, a sinner, that I be worthy to return to my children and that I perfect myself for your sake, and that we all think of how to prepare ourselves for eternal life.

You remember how afraid I have been that you relied too much on my help to find strength to live, and how I used to tell you: You must get closer to God. The Lord says, My son, give me thine heart and let thy eyes observe My ways. If you accomplish this, then you can be sure that you’ve given everything to God because you have given Him your heart, and that means your very self.

The peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you, and my love to all of you in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Your loving Mother in Christ, who prays for you all,

– Matushka