SERVANT OF GOD V. TOOK HIS FIRST STEP ON THE PATH TO RECOVERY!
GLORY TO GOD!
Dear fathers, brothers and sisters! We ask for your holy prayers!
In America, when the subject of drug and alcohol addiction comes up, we so often hear the phrase "the war on drugs" that it has become almost habitual and depersonalized. But for people suffering from alcoholism or another addiction, it truly is a war — at times a struggle not for life, but for death.
The House of Diligence in the name of St. Righteous John of Kronstadt (St. John Give Hope) is an organization that not only feeds the homeless but also tries to help those who have ended up on the street because of addiction. We try to give a person the opportunity to undergo detoxification, rehabilitation, and then, with God's help, the support of loved ones, to go through a transitional housing program and return to a full life.
Just yesterday we were feeding the homeless on the Brighton Beach boardwalk. The founder of the organization saw a familiar face — a man who had recently begun coming to us regularly.
At one time he had been a Soviet commander and had been through many wars. But now he had to fight a war that turned out to be perhaps the hardest of his life.
He had already tried to defeat it before. He could not. And he had nearly lost hope that he was even capable of winning this battle.
But last night something changed in him.
Even from a distance it was noticeable. He headed straight for the director, like a man who had finally made the decision to go out to meet his most terrible enemy and engage him in battle.
As he came closer, one could see this change. One could imagine him on a battlefield many years ago: without loud words, without theatricality, without tears — just a calm resolve to do what was necessary.
There is a huge difference between war on a battlefield and war with addiction. An ordinary war ends at some point. A person suffering from alcoholism understands: the struggle for sobriety can continue for the rest of his life — day after day.
That is why V.'s decision required real courage.
But courage does not exist alone.
And here other, often unseen heroes appear — people who have families, jobs, and many cares of their own, but who are ready to support a person who was a complete stranger to them yesterday, because today he has become their brother.
People who take seriously the Gospel words: "and whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two"
One of those people is Peter Nemirovsky, our close helper and the link between St. John Give Hope and the large and compassionate family of South Brooklyn Hospital, where people labor day and night to save those who need help.
It was Peter who first embraced V. when he came out of the emergency department.
Unfortunately, V. does not have the necessary immigration documents. The American dream too often remains just a dream.
But, glory to Almighty God, in New York there is St. Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx, where he can be admitted for detoxification. It is a safe place, a hospital, and the beginning of the path to change — the first serious battle in this long war.
Now our main task is to find a way, immediately after detoxification, to send V. to a 28-day rehabilitation program, so that a dangerous gap does not arise between these two stages.
But we have hope. There is love. There are your prayers.
There is Peter's dedication, as again and again he helps direct patients to treatment and organize their transportation.
There are wonderful medical institutions and people ready to help.
There is the House of Diligence in the name of St. John of Kronstadt.
And most importantly — there is the courage of a man who once said to himself: "Enough."
Today V. took his first step toward recovery.
And perhaps for the first time in a long while, he is not going into battle alone.
Behind him now is the strongest army of his life: people who are ready to pray for him, support him, and walk beside him.
Lord, help our brother Vladimir! You died on the Cross for him!
GLORY TO GOD!
Dear fathers, brothers and sisters! We ask for your holy prayers!
In America, when the subject of drug and alcohol addiction comes up, we so often hear the phrase "the war on drugs" that it has become almost habitual and depersonalized. But for people suffering from alcoholism or another addiction, it truly is a war — at times a struggle not for life, but for death.
The House of Diligence in the name of St. Righteous John of Kronstadt (St. John Give Hope) is an organization that not only feeds the homeless but also tries to help those who have ended up on the street because of addiction. We try to give a person the opportunity to undergo detoxification, rehabilitation, and then, with God's help, the support of loved ones, to go through a transitional housing program and return to a full life.
Just yesterday we were feeding the homeless on the Brighton Beach boardwalk. The founder of the organization saw a familiar face — a man who had recently begun coming to us regularly.
At one time he had been a Soviet commander and had been through many wars. But now he had to fight a war that turned out to be perhaps the hardest of his life.
He had already tried to defeat it before. He could not. And he had nearly lost hope that he was even capable of winning this battle.
But last night something changed in him.
Even from a distance it was noticeable. He headed straight for the director, like a man who had finally made the decision to go out to meet his most terrible enemy and engage him in battle.
As he came closer, one could see this change. One could imagine him on a battlefield many years ago: without loud words, without theatricality, without tears — just a calm resolve to do what was necessary.
There is a huge difference between war on a battlefield and war with addiction. An ordinary war ends at some point. A person suffering from alcoholism understands: the struggle for sobriety can continue for the rest of his life — day after day.
That is why V.'s decision required real courage.
But courage does not exist alone.
And here other, often unseen heroes appear — people who have families, jobs, and many cares of their own, but who are ready to support a person who was a complete stranger to them yesterday, because today he has become their brother.
People who take seriously the Gospel words: "and whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two"
One of those people is Peter Nemirovsky, our close helper and the link between St. John Give Hope and the large and compassionate family of South Brooklyn Hospital, where people labor day and night to save those who need help.
It was Peter who first embraced V. when he came out of the emergency department.
Unfortunately, V. does not have the necessary immigration documents. The American dream too often remains just a dream.
But, glory to Almighty God, in New York there is St. Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx, where he can be admitted for detoxification. It is a safe place, a hospital, and the beginning of the path to change — the first serious battle in this long war.
Now our main task is to find a way, immediately after detoxification, to send V. to a 28-day rehabilitation program, so that a dangerous gap does not arise between these two stages.
But we have hope. There is love. There are your prayers.
There is Peter's dedication, as again and again he helps direct patients to treatment and organize their transportation.
There are wonderful medical institutions and people ready to help.
There is the House of Diligence in the name of St. John of Kronstadt.
And most importantly — there is the courage of a man who once said to himself: "Enough."
Today V. took his first step toward recovery.
And perhaps for the first time in a long while, he is not going into battle alone.
Behind him now is the strongest army of his life: people who are ready to pray for him, support him, and walk beside him.
Lord, help our brother Vladimir! You died on the Cross for him!
❤1
Forwarded from Dina Rocket
❤1
THREE MONTHS THAT MAY SAVE A LIFE
A few thoughts from Jeni and Vadim — St. John Give Hope
Brother E. had already done something incredibly difficult.
He came in from the street.
He completed detox.
He completed 28 days of inpatient rehabilitation.
And then he came to St. John Give Hope, where recovery can continue for up to a year in a supportive, open-door environment.
But there is one important rule at the beginning:
For the first three months, don't rush back to work.
Don't rush to rebuild your career.
Don't rush to prove that you are strong.
Don't rush to show everyone that your life is already back under control.
For three months, your job is recovery.
Brother E. became frustrated with that rule. He wanted to leave, start working immediately, and live according to his own rules.
And that made us think about something much bigger than one man.
Sometimes "tough love" comes from every direction at once.
The doctor tells you that your body is in danger.
The weather outside becomes colder.
Relationships begin falling apart.
The streets become dangerous.
People who love you tell you things you don't want to hear.
And sometimes even life itself seems to be saying:
Stop. You are not ready yet.
The First Step of AA begins with admitting that we are powerless over alcohol and that our lives have become unmanageable.
That word powerless matters.
Addiction isn't simply a bad habit that disappears because we make a strong decision one morning. It is a disease. And one of its cruelest features is that the person suffering from it may believe, once again:
"I've got this. I'm in control."
But recovery begins when we stop trying to control everything ourselves.
God gives us free will. No recovery house, friend, priest, doctor, counselor, or family member can force another human being to recover.
We can love someone.
We can feed him.
We can give him a bed.
We can take him to detox.
We can drive him to treatment.
We can pray for him.
We can walk beside him.
But eventually he has to choose the road himself.
Jeni expressed another beautiful thought: perhaps recovery is not only about constantly staring at the disease and fighting it.
Sometimes we need to turn toward something instead.
In the Christian tradition, metanoia means a profound turning — a change of mind and heart.
Instead of spending every ounce of strength shouting, "I will defeat the darkness," turn toward the Light.
Turn toward Christ.
Turn toward prayer.
Turn toward your brothers.
Turn toward service.
Turn toward the people who still need you.
Turn toward the person God created you to become.
The disease may still be behind you.
Keep walking forward anyway.
That is why three months matter.
Three months without chasing money or work is not wasted time.
It may be the most important work you ever do.
Learn how to wake up sober.
Learn how to pray sober.
Learn how to be angry sober.
Learn how to be disappointed sober.
Learn how to serve another human being sober.
Learn how to live an ordinary Tuesday sober.
And slowly, become moored — like a ship secured in a storm — to recovery, to community, to your brothers, and to God.
There will be plenty of time to find a job.
There will be time to make money.
There will be time to rebuild everything that was lost.
But first, brother:
Stay alive.
Stay sober.
Stay with us.
Give yourself three months.
You have the rest of your life to work.
— Jeni & Vadim
St. John Give Hope
A few thoughts from Jeni and Vadim — St. John Give Hope
Brother E. had already done something incredibly difficult.
He came in from the street.
He completed detox.
He completed 28 days of inpatient rehabilitation.
And then he came to St. John Give Hope, where recovery can continue for up to a year in a supportive, open-door environment.
But there is one important rule at the beginning:
For the first three months, don't rush back to work.
Don't rush to rebuild your career.
Don't rush to prove that you are strong.
Don't rush to show everyone that your life is already back under control.
For three months, your job is recovery.
Brother E. became frustrated with that rule. He wanted to leave, start working immediately, and live according to his own rules.
And that made us think about something much bigger than one man.
Sometimes "tough love" comes from every direction at once.
The doctor tells you that your body is in danger.
The weather outside becomes colder.
Relationships begin falling apart.
The streets become dangerous.
People who love you tell you things you don't want to hear.
And sometimes even life itself seems to be saying:
Stop. You are not ready yet.
The First Step of AA begins with admitting that we are powerless over alcohol and that our lives have become unmanageable.
That word powerless matters.
Addiction isn't simply a bad habit that disappears because we make a strong decision one morning. It is a disease. And one of its cruelest features is that the person suffering from it may believe, once again:
"I've got this. I'm in control."
But recovery begins when we stop trying to control everything ourselves.
God gives us free will. No recovery house, friend, priest, doctor, counselor, or family member can force another human being to recover.
We can love someone.
We can feed him.
We can give him a bed.
We can take him to detox.
We can drive him to treatment.
We can pray for him.
We can walk beside him.
But eventually he has to choose the road himself.
Jeni expressed another beautiful thought: perhaps recovery is not only about constantly staring at the disease and fighting it.
Sometimes we need to turn toward something instead.
In the Christian tradition, metanoia means a profound turning — a change of mind and heart.
Instead of spending every ounce of strength shouting, "I will defeat the darkness," turn toward the Light.
Turn toward Christ.
Turn toward prayer.
Turn toward your brothers.
Turn toward service.
Turn toward the people who still need you.
Turn toward the person God created you to become.
The disease may still be behind you.
Keep walking forward anyway.
That is why three months matter.
Three months without chasing money or work is not wasted time.
It may be the most important work you ever do.
Learn how to wake up sober.
Learn how to pray sober.
Learn how to be angry sober.
Learn how to be disappointed sober.
Learn how to serve another human being sober.
Learn how to live an ordinary Tuesday sober.
And slowly, become moored — like a ship secured in a storm — to recovery, to community, to your brothers, and to God.
There will be plenty of time to find a job.
There will be time to make money.
There will be time to rebuild everything that was lost.
But first, brother:
Stay alive.
Stay sober.
Stay with us.
Give yourself three months.
You have the rest of your life to work.
— Jeni & Vadim
St. John Give Hope
❤1