In August 1988 my wife and I went for vacation to Hawaii, to the island of Kuai. We had been there many times, and there where we stayed was a good beach for swimming.
My wife and I are both good swimmers and therefore we don't worry about one another when we go swimming in the ocean. This time, on the night of our arrival, a hurricane had swept the island. Nevertheless, we went for a swim that day as usual.
My wife stayed close to shore while I struck out into deeper waters for a proper swim, Suddenly, out of nowhere, a big wave lashed at me and I was dragged under by the current, away from shore. (I later learned that after a hurricane there is a strong undertow.) Knowing that it is futile to struggle against an undertow, I gradually swam to the surface and made my way towards the shore.
I swam in until, when I stood up, the water was at shoulder level, and I began walking towards shore. Suddenly another great wave caught me and again I was pulled under. Although I had little strength left after the first wave, I managed somehow to swim to the surface. This time I had been carried even farther from shore, and I realized that in spite of all my efforts I would not be able to reach shore against the current. I tried to attract my wife's attention, but she was on the beach standing with her back to the water.
Sensing that I was perishing, I cried, "Vladika John, help me!" Instantly my wife turned around and saw my perilous state. She ran towards a group of Hawaiians there on the beach, asking for help. Grabbing their surfboards and ropes, they paddled out to me, secured me to one of the boards and brought me to shore.
I firmly believe that without the help of Vladika John I would have drowned — and no one would have noticed.
Alexis Cattell, San Francisco
On January 29, 1979, we flew from Los Angeles to San Francisco. On February 4, Archimandrite Mitrofan suggested we go to a memorial service at the tomb of the ever-memorable Archbishop John.
I submitted a commemoration slip for the health of the sick slave of God, Nicholas, whom we had left in the hospital in Los Angeles. When we arrived home in Vermont, I called Los Angeles to inquire about Nicholas' health. His wife answered that he was already home and I could talk to him. When I asked him when he had gotten better, he thought a moment and replied: "It was on Sunday at four o'clock." That was the very day and hour I had given his name for commemoration at the tomb of Vladika John.
Nadezhda Paganuzzi, Florida