I fervently wish you a generous coexistence, good edification, prosperity and salvation!

Your Scripture to me, the meanest, I received in due time, and I heeded its content according to the strength of my weak understanding. I am just about to write now, and this is not only for you, but for many too. You write that, expecting a promise from my unworthiness, and not waiting, having lost hope, you have hardly forced yourself to explain something. But, although you are overwhelmed, you repel it, you are conquered, but you are victorious: in your cruel character, you bring your last health to exhaustion, and the disease increases, and so on, which you could not even describe.

That you intend to begin to drink decoction, I do not intend to hinder you in this part, if you have consulted someone skillful there, and especially with Mother Anthia, that for their holy prayers, which can heal you, and to foresee your fate of death to me, the useless, is not revealed, and therefore I do not dare to write about it, not only but even to think. I dare to remind you of your love, that the Saviour Himself handed down to us in the Holy Gospel that death overtakes us like a thief (cf. 2 Pet. III, 10). And St. St. John of the Ladder writes: "Let the memory of death lie down and rise from the bed."

And since you and I have damaged our health through self-will and voluptuous actions, rage and irascibility, and especially have acquired a certain fit, such damaged people rarely live to old age with venerable age, but in their blooming years death steals them. This is surprising to me that you consider yourself a freak, but do not need to put up with it!

And why do you confess your reckless murmuring and insult at my wickedness, that I, through your self-conceitedness, have given you over to the ridicule of all society, and that I did not reveal to you about your brother's characteristic, while Avdotye explained that he would deceive you, and so on. What should I now do against this to respond to your love: to write, even in my old age, some false justification, and you, I am sure, will be satisfied with your vain nature. Of your brother I have told you enough that although he is kind and loves you, I am afraid that the infirmities and expenses he has will compel him to break his promises, etc. And Avdotye also said the same thing during the conversation, only out of pity for you. And that you, in your usual caprice and for your own harm, increased this and were embarrassed, it seems that this action was your complete will, and self-conceit was the cause of this...

You also write that I, being faint-hearted, ordered Avdotya to tell Mother Anfia to endure only until spring. Otherwise, according to my false prophecy, you yourselves will abandon her, as I will bring you a false justification. Truly, in your opinion, I remain like a dumb fish, but for your voluntary consciousness I am obliged to lie something in the old way, and to ask your love in the form of a proverb that old women used to say (that eggs do not teach a chicken). But, O Anna, why do you, to your misfortune and frustration, inquire and test what, who, where spoke about you, and after hearing it, you are offended and confused to the point of excess about the lack of knowledge of your infirmities? To what extent has this soul-destroying curiosity brought us with you? And if, as we have advised you, you had treated Mother Anthia in all your stresses and perplexities, then you would not have suffered so much in these rumors filled with emptiness, and you would not have consoled the demon that deceived you for so long, and you would not have broken your weak head with prejudices, because St. Abba Dorotheus writes in his book: "He has fallen who has followed his reason." Now please listen to my excuse. Avdotya told me on behalf of Mother Anthia that she was very burdened by you to the point of exhaustion from her devoted sisters, and most of all from Anna Ivan., then I ordered her to say in response to these words that she was still forced for holy obedience, even if only until spring, and then, perhaps, she herself would leave you. I ask you whether you should be angry for these words of mine uttered, whether it would not be better for you to reveal all this to Mother Anthia, and at the same time heal these wounds that have burned within you, which are inflamed by the poison of self-conceit. And that you love and respect Mother Anthia only because of our only encouragement, my letters, and Fr. Macarius's letters—this faith of yours is based on sand. And if you yourself believed in the benefit of those who are healed by thought and perplexity, then it would be more edifying for you.

And so, when even to this day, due to their cruelty, they could not feel the slightest benefit for their souls from Mother Anthia, and our confirmations with Father Macarius, instead of reverence and devotion, embittered and irritated you, and because of such actions of yours, for my part, as well as from Mother Anthia, I release you, because I no longer have the strength to lead a vain life with you, but difficult correspondence. And it will be enough, because of your infirmity, to make a relationship with Father Macarius, who is still able to write and answer, and I ask you to forgive me, who am useless.

June 7, 1833.

148. It is miserable, immeasurably sad to grieve over the death of a mother. Choosing an old woman for the revelation of thoughts. Force yourself to be patient

Your writings filled with sorrowful expressions have been received, and compassion for mankind has sufficiently touched my most depraved heart. Feeling in his right mind, he remembered that it is miserable to grieve immensely and to kill oneself untimely, — in every possible way we should thank the Lord for everything, no matter how He punishes us with punishments in this world. And compassion came to me not for the death of my mother, I am sure that she was raptured from us to rest! But for you, who have remained orphans, who have still badly formed your morality by the funeral feast of obedience. But I only firmly remember that the Most Merciful Lord in His Divine Scripture clearly explained that "He does not desire the death of the sinner, but wants all to be saved, and to come to true understanding" (cf. Ezekiel XXXIII, 11).

And therefore we must reason: if the Lord had foreseen that according to our inclinations we could have gained complete benefit from the memorable Mother Barbara, then in every possible way He would have left us alive to live with us. But apparently we can tell you frankly that we turned out to be unworthy of such a Mother and a condescender to our infirmities, and during our life with her we did not know how to appreciate her care for us: but not infrequently, due to the enemy's darkness, we caused murmuring and reproach against her, and often in our thoughts we condemned her for her infirmities during her service and painful illness. And how we, and most of all you, can now fully see in reality what feelings we felt during our life with Mother and what feelings we felt after Mother Christ.

And if the Most Merciful Lord invisibly grants you to cleave in spirit to an old woman, then, being tempted, you will know better the value, and how to revere your teacher, and in the goodness of the Lord you will prosper.

Again, daughter Anna, I, the accursed one, in accordance with your benevolence, boldly ask and pray, as I have heard from the father's letter, that in the last hours of Mother Anna's life, the Lord has vouchsafed you and Mother Anthia to inherit Mother Anthia's cell. Although I love you in spirit, as a daughter, I also remember that you have a tough temper, in which I advise the Lord to try to pacify yourself, and to accustom yourself to patience, and force yourself to respect and prefer Mother Anthia. "May the Most Merciful Lord answer thee in humility, and more than those which I have written; And you know that humility, self-reproach and patience are victory for every temptation. May the Lord help you and preserve you, and protect you from the snares of the enemy, and may He forgive all your sins, and I send my fatherly forgiveness and blessing to the unworthy.

149. Internal warfare is overcome by patience, self-reproach, and humility