Nikita Polenov: Life as a Miracle. A Love Story.

At a church in Manhattan, on 153rd Street, a woman once approached me. Her face bore the marks of a difficult life —years of struggle, addiction, and loss. At that time, I was still a deacon, recalls Vadim Arefiev, now the head of the St. John Give Hope Foundation in New York.

She said quietly:

“I have a friend… He’s in an immigration detention center right now. His name is Nikita Polenov. He really wants to start corresponding with you.”

Nikita’s story was almost unbelievable. They couldn’t deport him—he had left the USSR, a country that no longer existed. He was caught between worlds: without documents, without the right to work, without medical insurance. A man without status. Without support. He ended up on the street, embracing a bottle.

When he was released, he was taken in by the House of Diligence—a place where the Foundation helps people get back on their feet. Here, they don’t just provide shelter and food. They restore human dignity, faith in oneself, and a sense of purpose. Those who have lost everything are taught how to live again.

That’s where I truly came to know Nikita.

I was struck by the depth of his knowledge. His self-taught theology, his immersion in literature—he was not just a poet. He was a poet-theologian. A man of the finest soul and a powerful inner world.

But what was most surprising was something else: in prison, he had lost his Orthodox faith. He tried to receive Communion when things became especially тяжело, but his soul was broken. And one day he asked:

“Help me come back.”

That was the beginning of his return. Sincere. Painful. Real. Confession. Communion. A gradual return to the Light.

And then one day, a young woman literally ran into the church—simple, in shorts, lively, real. From an интеллигентная Jewish family. At first—just a coincidence. But very quickly it became clear: before me stood a deep, searching soul.

She had written an essay about Jesus Christ and asked me to evaluate it. Within minutes, I understood—the text was weak, even flawed. I asked Nikita to step in. I myself was rushing to work and left them together.

Sometimes fate decides for us.

A week later, they came back—together. With a request to baptize her.

Her name was Regina. And she prepared for it for two months.

And then they made another decision—to be married in the Church.

That is how love was born.

Strong. Pure. Not of this world.

She admired him, almost revered him—his thoughts, his poetry, his depth.

And he… he carried her in his arms. Literally, and spiritually.

It was a love without accident. Only meaning.

In 2013, Nikita passed away. Cancer.

He left with a prayer on his lips, having received Communion.

Soon after, Regina passed as well. The same illness.

They could not live long without each other.

But their story is not about death.

It is about the fact that even after the darkest falls, a person can rise again.

That love comes where it is no longer expected.

That faith can return even to a broken heart.

And that life…

is, in truth, a miracle.

***

To some she is a wife, to some - a mistress,  

This life: a forest full of branched-out fates

Through crooked paths I’m rushing to and from her, 

My destiny drawn on the clouds by the wind.

My memory, you’re lying! Did this happen?

And why on Earth is Earth laid out in patches?

I recognize this pattern - gleaming white 

of bones reflecting light out of the darkness.

I am a catcher once again, in clouded waters

A herd of clouds is passing through my net

to sing new songs, and splash the light around

Where would I be without my float and lead weight?

I’m opening my wallet, it’s half empty 

And see that everything around me is a gift.

Who names the price for consolations, blows, hangovers,

For joy and drunkenness in earthly disarray?

Find love, cherish and weep, stare at the ceiling   

without cursing, humble pleas exhausted. 

Let me stay young, I don’t need more adornments

Even if summer leaves its secret lair…

Nikita Polenov.