How good you are! How I love you all.

Sberbank. We stand in line. In front of me is a decrepit old lady. Not like our usual ones. A country handkerchief and a corresponding coat. In the city, even grandmothers do not dress like that anymore.

I breathed in the air, smelled it. No, it does not smell. Villagers, those who live in old wooden houses, usually have the same specific smell of mold. The temple, if it hasn't been heated for a long time, gets that same smell, too. Then all things, both in the house and in the temple, become saturated with it, and it is very, very difficult to weatherize it out.

The grandmother is very old, barely hanging on to the counter. The usual bustle reigns all around, although there aren't many people in the bank. If someone says something, you can hear them everywhere.

While the old lady was silent, no one paid any attention to her, and suddenly she spoke. Loudly, as if the people were old and hard of hearing, she turns to the girl who serves customers:

- Girl, you know what, I love you!

If the old woman began to swear or argue with any of the staff, no one would move a finger. Then swearing and bad emotions all long accustomed. But here were words that no one would expect to hear at a regular Sberbank branch.

"I love you!" That's it. Those who were in the bank suddenly stopped dead in surprise, and the usual movement ceased. People started smiling. Just smiling at each other. Grandma turns to face the room, sees us smiling, and smiles too:

- How good you all are! How I love you all.

She picked up her papers and slowly headed toward the exit.

I noticed that Grandma had left a small black bag on the floor near the counter. I picked it up, caught up with her and gave it to the old lady. She took it, looked at me, and, overflowing with gratitude, repeated it again:

- How good you are! How I love you all.

We declare often and unintentionally, "I have God in my soul." Don't believe it. I have seen the eyes of a woman who has God in her soul.

Priest Alexander Diachenko.