I have a friend—an elderly nun. She works at the candle counter in the monastery where I often go, and we sometimes chat when the church is quiet, and she's not deep in prayer. Mother Olympia tells me about her sandalwood prayer beads brought from far-off lands, preparations for the next holiday, icon restorations, new books... But she never talks about herself or her health, though she is quite advanced in years. Her blue eyes always shine, and you'd never think to call her elderly.

One day, I came to the church and saw another sister at the counter. It turned out that Mother Olympia wasn’t feeling well. Thunderstorms and heavy rains had unsettled her blood pressure, sapping her strength. I prayed for her health, and when I saw her the next day, I asked how she was. The usually warm nun just waved it off: "Nothing to talk about, really, not worth mentioning. Yes, I was ill. Yes, I got up. It’s not interesting.”

Just then, I remembered how, while feeding the birds in the yard the other day, I overheard two elderly ladies bidding farewell. “Well, take care of your health!” one said. The other replied, “Yes, health is so necessary now; we’re still very much needed here!” And they each shuffled toward their entrances.

You might say there’s a contrast here, but I think not. In both cases, there’s service, a calling, where health is not the ultimate value. Free from worldly obligations, Mother Olympia accepts her age-related physical troubles as a given, ready to meet God at any moment, not clinging to earthly life.

Meanwhile, the women living in the world, surrounded by children and grandchildren, see health as a necessary tool for serving those close to them. And they, too, are not looking out for earthly joys.

I have a small book that I keep on hand—advice from the Optina Elder Ambrose to laypeople. It’s titled Live Without Worry! It’s a true remedy against despondency. St. Ambrose himself was known for his remarkable joyfulness, even humor, though he had been seriously ill since young adulthood and bore his sickness all his life. Yet, he never sought full physical healing, recognizing how valuable patience in suffering was for his soul.

Remember the words of the Gospel: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also”? It means we shouldn’t hold onto anything earthly if we desire to be with Christ in eternity. His Kingdom is not of this world. In this light, health and illness can be seen as tools for serving God and our neighbors, equally accepted with gratitude. This, of course, doesn’t preclude prayers for health and joy at healing. The main thing is not to turn health into an idol, not to worship our own bodies. After all, what joy will it be to live long and healthy lives if we remain without God, without His love?

And one more thing: in illness, the closeness of God is often felt in a special way. Those who have experienced it may not wish to part with that feeling. For me, it’s like a childhood memory: there I was, being taken by ambulance to the hospital, feeling terribly ill, yet somehow deeply comforted. My father sat beside me, his hand large and warm. I didn’t know if I was crying from pain or from a sense of happiness. He was there, my dearest, loving father, and he loved me so much! He was beside me, so I knew everything would be all right.

From the radio program "Private Opinion" on Radio Vera: radiovera.ru/o-zdorove-natalja-razuvakina.html