Three Angels Broadcasting Network Devotional.
The Little Girl at the Station
By Julia Sinitsyna
May 16th, 2026
“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?” Psalm 139:7
My relatives and I often went to our dacha—our small house in the Russian countryside—when I was young. I loved the apple trees, strawberries, currants, and raspberries we grew there. We grew beets and carrots, too. But the house was not suitable for spending the night, so every evening we returned back to the city. Fortunately, it only took 15 minutes by train, but that seemed like an eternity to me as a seven-year-old!
As I looked out the window, I admired the neighboring country houses and watched the people and dogs running around. On the other side of the tracks, the cows grazed in the meadows. Trees and villages flashed by, until finally, in the distance, I saw a high-rise building of my city. This meant we would be arriving soon, and we’d walk a few kilometers back home on foot, loaded down with buckets of berries and apples.
My cousin Lena was my age and would often travel with us. Then we’d play together as we waited for the train in the nearby village. One evening, after running around plenty, we stopped and began to talk. I am not sure exactly what we were talking about, but suddenly, Lena asked me, “Do you believe in God?”
I immediately felt embarrassed, and wanted to hide. Her question disturbed the peace in my little heart. Did I believe in God? My grandfather was a Communist party worker, and my grandmother was a teacher. Mom was a teacher at the Institute, and those were Soviet times! Nobody had forbidden me to believe in God, and there was no atheist propaganda in our family; but somehow, I felt that to believe in God was a shame and that talking about Him was inconvenient. I never had the urge to think about spiritual things. Ever. Then suddenly, the question, “Do you believe in God?”
“I don’t think there is a God!” I blurted out, and for some reason, I lifted my head. I saw the sky—a pale, undefined color—and I heard an inner voice telling me, Yes, there is... Here I was, a little girl, standing at this little train station and looking up at the sky—and the sky told me, I am here. Quiet, patient, affectionate. I felt ashamed already because of what I’d said out loud, and I felt a little scared, as if I had abandoned something important, betrayed a friend. I’m sorry, flashed through my head. I’m not even sure what exactly I thought, but I was sorry that I’d said there was no God.
The train came up, chirping merrily, and we jumped into the carriage and rushed along the dachas and woods, along the meadows pungent with the evening smells of herbs. The mind of a child who lives a happy childhood cannot carry feelings of guilt for long, and I forgot about this incident. But ten years later, I found God. And so did Lena.
Now I recall that moment with warmth. I know that God sees each of us from above and from within—and He still looks at that little girl who stood at that little station with her head up, who couldn’t understand what was in the heavens. I know He is calling and waiting. One cannot hide from His sight, one cannot escape from His face.
And there is no need, because He does not condemn. He loves.
The Little Girl at the Station
By Julia Sinitsyna
May 16th, 2026
“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?” Psalm 139:7
My relatives and I often went to our dacha—our small house in the Russian countryside—when I was young. I loved the apple trees, strawberries, currants, and raspberries we grew there. We grew beets and carrots, too. But the house was not suitable for spending the night, so every evening we returned back to the city. Fortunately, it only took 15 minutes by train, but that seemed like an eternity to me as a seven-year-old!
As I looked out the window, I admired the neighboring country houses and watched the people and dogs running around. On the other side of the tracks, the cows grazed in the meadows. Trees and villages flashed by, until finally, in the distance, I saw a high-rise building of my city. This meant we would be arriving soon, and we’d walk a few kilometers back home on foot, loaded down with buckets of berries and apples.
My cousin Lena was my age and would often travel with us. Then we’d play together as we waited for the train in the nearby village. One evening, after running around plenty, we stopped and began to talk. I am not sure exactly what we were talking about, but suddenly, Lena asked me, “Do you believe in God?”
I immediately felt embarrassed, and wanted to hide. Her question disturbed the peace in my little heart. Did I believe in God? My grandfather was a Communist party worker, and my grandmother was a teacher. Mom was a teacher at the Institute, and those were Soviet times! Nobody had forbidden me to believe in God, and there was no atheist propaganda in our family; but somehow, I felt that to believe in God was a shame and that talking about Him was inconvenient. I never had the urge to think about spiritual things. Ever. Then suddenly, the question, “Do you believe in God?”
“I don’t think there is a God!” I blurted out, and for some reason, I lifted my head. I saw the sky—a pale, undefined color—and I heard an inner voice telling me, Yes, there is... Here I was, a little girl, standing at this little train station and looking up at the sky—and the sky told me, I am here. Quiet, patient, affectionate. I felt ashamed already because of what I’d said out loud, and I felt a little scared, as if I had abandoned something important, betrayed a friend. I’m sorry, flashed through my head. I’m not even sure what exactly I thought, but I was sorry that I’d said there was no God.
The train came up, chirping merrily, and we jumped into the carriage and rushed along the dachas and woods, along the meadows pungent with the evening smells of herbs. The mind of a child who lives a happy childhood cannot carry feelings of guilt for long, and I forgot about this incident. But ten years later, I found God. And so did Lena.
Now I recall that moment with warmth. I know that God sees each of us from above and from within—and He still looks at that little girl who stood at that little station with her head up, who couldn’t understand what was in the heavens. I know He is calling and waiting. One cannot hide from His sight, one cannot escape from His face.
And there is no need, because He does not condemn. He loves.
Three Angels Broadcasting Network Devotional.
The Little Girl at the Station
By Julia Sinitsyna
May 16th, 2026
“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?” Psalm 139:7
My relatives and I often went to our dacha—our small house in the Russian countryside—when I was young. I loved the apple trees, strawberries, currants, and raspberries we grew there. We grew beets and carrots, too. But the house was not suitable for spending the night, so every evening we returned back to the city. Fortunately, it only took 15 minutes by train, but that seemed like an eternity to me as a seven-year-old!
As I looked out the window, I admired the neighboring country houses and watched the people and dogs running around. On the other side of the tracks, the cows grazed in the meadows. Trees and villages flashed by, until finally, in the distance, I saw a high-rise building of my city. This meant we would be arriving soon, and we’d walk a few kilometers back home on foot, loaded down with buckets of berries and apples.
My cousin Lena was my age and would often travel with us. Then we’d play together as we waited for the train in the nearby village. One evening, after running around plenty, we stopped and began to talk. I am not sure exactly what we were talking about, but suddenly, Lena asked me, “Do you believe in God?”
I immediately felt embarrassed, and wanted to hide. Her question disturbed the peace in my little heart. Did I believe in God? My grandfather was a Communist party worker, and my grandmother was a teacher. Mom was a teacher at the Institute, and those were Soviet times! Nobody had forbidden me to believe in God, and there was no atheist propaganda in our family; but somehow, I felt that to believe in God was a shame and that talking about Him was inconvenient. I never had the urge to think about spiritual things. Ever. Then suddenly, the question, “Do you believe in God?”
“I don’t think there is a God!” I blurted out, and for some reason, I lifted my head. I saw the sky—a pale, undefined color—and I heard an inner voice telling me, Yes, there is... Here I was, a little girl, standing at this little train station and looking up at the sky—and the sky told me, I am here. Quiet, patient, affectionate. I felt ashamed already because of what I’d said out loud, and I felt a little scared, as if I had abandoned something important, betrayed a friend. I’m sorry, flashed through my head. I’m not even sure what exactly I thought, but I was sorry that I’d said there was no God.
The train came up, chirping merrily, and we jumped into the carriage and rushed along the dachas and woods, along the meadows pungent with the evening smells of herbs. The mind of a child who lives a happy childhood cannot carry feelings of guilt for long, and I forgot about this incident. But ten years later, I found God. And so did Lena.
Now I recall that moment with warmth. I know that God sees each of us from above and from within—and He still looks at that little girl who stood at that little station with her head up, who couldn’t understand what was in the heavens. I know He is calling and waiting. One cannot hide from His sight, one cannot escape from His face.
And there is no need, because He does not condemn. He loves.
0 Yorumlar
0 hisse senetleri
16 Views
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek
हिन्दी