Long, long ago, in a faraway land called Cappadocia, there lived a little girl named Nina.
Cappadocia was a country of tall golden rocks and wide blue skies. The wind came whistling over the hills, and at night the stars hung so low that Nina thought she could almost reach up and touch them. She was the only daughter in her family, and her mother and father loved her more than all the gold in the world.
Nina's father was a brave and gentle man named Zabulon. He was a soldier, but he loved God even more than he loved his sword. Nina's mother was named Sosana, and she was kind and quiet, with a voice as soft as a dove. Every evening, before the lamp was blown out, Sosana would gather Nina close and tell her a story — and the stories were always, always about Jesus.
"Tell me again, Mama," Nina would say, snuggling under her warm blanket. "Tell me about the Lord Jesus."
And her mother would smile and begin.
"Once," she would say, "the Son of God came down from heaven. He was born as a little baby, just like you once were. He grew up in a small town, and He helped His mother and worked with His hands. And when He was grown, He went everywhere doing good — healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and telling everyone how much God loved them."
Nina's eyes would grow round and shining. "And then what happened, Mama?"
"And then," her mother would say more softly, "wicked men did not understand Him. They put Him on a Cross, and He died. But three days later — oh, Nina! — He rose again from the dead! Death could not hold Him. He is alive forever, and because of Him, we will live forever too."
"He is alive," Nina would whisper, hugging her blanket. "Jesus is alive."
That was Nina's favorite part of every story.
When Nina was still a little girl, something important happened in her family. Her mother and father loved God so much that they wanted to give their whole lives to Him. So they sold their big house and all their riches, and they moved far away to a holy city called Jerusalem — the very city where Jesus had walked, and prayed, and risen from the dead.
In Jerusalem, Nina's father came to his wife and his daughter with tears in his eyes.
"My dear ones," he said, kneeling down so he could look right into Nina's face, "God is calling me to go and pray for the whole world. I must go into the desert, far away, to be alone with Him."
Nina did not fully understand, but she could see her father was not sad — he was full of a deep, quiet joy.
"Will I see you again, Papa?" she asked.
"We will see each other in God's good time," he said, kissing the top of her head. "And every day, no matter how far away I am, I will be praying for you. Be brave, my little Nina. Love God with all your heart, and He will never, ever leave you."
Then her father went away into the wild desert by the River Jordan, to pray for all people everywhere. Nina never forgot his words: Love God with all your heart, and He will never leave you.
Her mother, too, was given a special task in the Church, helping the poor and the sick. And because she would be so busy, she brought Nina to live with a wise and gentle old woman named Sara.
Old Sara had silver hair and a face full of kind wrinkles, like a map of all the years she had lived. She had known many holy people in her long life, and she had a treasure box full of stories — true stories, the very best kind.
Nina loved Sara from the first moment.
Every day, the old woman taught Nina about God. She taught her how to pray. She taught her the songs the angels sing. And best of all, she told Nina the old, true stories that most people had forgotten.
One afternoon, as the sunlight slanted golden through the window, Nina sat at Sara's feet while the old woman spun thread.
"Sara," said Nina, "tell me a story I have never heard before."
Sara's eyes twinkled. "Have I told you," she said, "about the Robe of the Lord?"
Nina shook her head. "What robe?"
"Ah," said Sara, setting down her spinning. "Listen, child, for this is a wonderful thing."
And she told Nina this:
"When our Lord Jesus was on the earth, He wore a robe. It was a special robe, woven all in one piece, with no seams at all. Do you know who made it?"
Nina shook her head again.
"Some say," Sara whispered, "that it was the Most Holy Mother of God herself who wove that robe with her own loving hands, for her beloved Son."
Nina pressed her hands to her cheeks. "The robe that Jesus wore!"
"The very one. And when the Lord was crucified, the soldiers who stood at the Cross did not want to tear such a beautiful robe. So they cast lots for it — they rolled the dice, like a little game — to see who would win it. And a soldier won it. And do you know where that soldier came from?"
"Where?" breathed Nina.
"From a faraway northern country," said Sara, "a green land of mountains and rivers, called Iberia. Today we call it Georgia. The soldier carried the Lord's Robe all the way home to Georgia. And there it remains, hidden and precious, to this very day."
Nina sat very still. Something inside her heart had begun to glow, like a tiny ember catching fire.
"Sara," she said slowly, "do the people in Georgia love Jesus?"
The old woman's face grew sad. She shook her head. "No, my child. That is the saddest part of the story. The people of Georgia have the Robe of the Lord in their very own land — and yet they do not know Him. They bow down to idols made of metal and stone. They have never heard that Jesus loves them. They have never heard that He rose from the dead."
"They have never heard?" Nina could hardly believe it. "Nobody has told them?"
"Nobody," said Sara softly.
That night, Nina could not sleep.
She lay on her little bed and looked up into the dark, and she thought about the green land of Georgia, far away over the mountains. She thought about the people there who had never heard about Jesus — who did not know that He loved them, who did not know that He had risen from the dead and opened the gates of heaven.
Nina thought of how her mother had told her the story of Jesus every single night. She thought of how warm and safe and loved that had made her feel.
And those people have no one to tell them, she thought. No mother to tell them at bedtime. No old Sara with her stories. Nobody at all.
Two tears rolled down Nina's cheeks and dropped onto her pillow.
"Lord Jesus," she whispered into the darkness, "the people of Georgia don't know You. Somebody should go and tell them. Somebody should go all that way and say, 'Jesus loves you! Jesus is alive!'"
And then, very quietly, a small and trembling thought crept into her heart.
Maybe... maybe I could be the one to go.
It was such a big thought that it frightened her a little. She was only a young girl. Georgia was so far away — across deserts and rivers and tall, tall mountains. How could a girl like her ever travel so far? How could she ever speak to a whole nation of strangers?
But the thought would not go away. It grew, and grew, like that little ember catching fire.
So Nina did the thing she always did when her heart was full. She prayed.
But she did not pray only to Jesus. Nina had a special love in her heart for the Mother of God — the kind and gentle Lady who had woven the Lord's Robe with her own hands, the Mother who loved every child in all the world. So Nina prayed to her.
"Most Holy Mother of God," she whispered, "you love the people of Georgia. You wove the Robe that is hidden in their land. Oh, please — please let me go to them! Let me be the one to tell them about your Son. Let me see the holy Robe you made. I am only a girl, and I am not strong, and I do not know the way. But if you will help me, I will go anywhere — I will go to the ends of the earth!"
She prayed this prayer night after night, week after week. And the Mother of God heard her.
One night, Nina fell asleep with the prayer still on her lips. And as she slept, she had a dream.
But it was not an ordinary dream. It was bright and real, brighter than the noonday sun, and Nina remembered every moment of it for the rest of her life.
In her dream, Nina saw a Lady.
The Lady was more beautiful than anyone Nina had ever seen — but it was not the beauty of fine clothes or sparkling jewels. It was the beauty of pure, deep love. Light seemed to shine softly all around her, like the glow of a candle in a dark room. And when the Lady looked at Nina, her eyes were so full of tenderness that Nina was not afraid at all.
Nina knew, the way you sometimes know things in dreams, exactly who this was.
It was the Mother of God herself.
The Lady smiled, and when she spoke, her voice was like music — gentle, and warm, and full of love.
"Nina," she said.
"Yes," Nina whispered. "I am here."
"Go," said the Mother of God, "to the land of Georgia — the country that has been given to me. Go and preach the Good News of my Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. Tell the people there that He loves them. Tell them that He died and rose again. Do not be afraid. The Lord Himself will give you His grace and power. And I — I will be your protector. I will watch over you, all the way."
Nina's heart leaped with joy. This was everything she had ever wanted!
But then she looked at her own two small hands, and a wave of worry washed over her.
"Oh, my Lady," she said, "how can it be? I am only a young woman, and I am not strong. Georgia is so far away. The journey is full of dangers. The people there worship idols — what if they will not listen to me? How can someone like me do such a great and important thing? And how can I even be sure that this dream is real, and not just a dream after all?"
The Mother of God did not scold Nina for her worries. She understood. Mothers always understand.
Instead, she reached out her hands. And Nina saw that she was holding something.
It was a cross.
But it was not a cross of gold or of silver or of carved wood. It was made of the branches of a grapevine — two pieces of vine, bound together to make the holy shape of the Cross. The vine still had the soft, living look of something that grows in a garden, something that gives sweet fruit.
The Mother of God placed the cross of vines into Nina's hands.
"Take this cross," she said. "Let it be your shield. Carry it with you, and no enemy — whether you can see it or not — will ever be able to harm you. The Lord is with you. Now go, my child, and do not be afraid."
And then the dream began to fade, the way dreams do, like mist melting in the morning sun.
Nina opened her eyes.
It was morning. Soft gray light was creeping in through the window, and somewhere outside a bird was singing its first song of the day.
For a moment, Nina lay very still, blinking. What a wonderful dream, she thought. The Mother of God came to me. She gave me a cross made of vines and told me to go to Georgia. She smiled a sleepy smile. If only it had been real.
Then she started to sit up — and she felt something in her hands.
She looked down.
There, resting in her two open palms, was a cross.
A cross made of grapevines.
The very same cross from her dream.
Nina caught her breath. Her heart pounded. She turned the little cross over and over, hardly able to believe her own eyes. The vine was real. She could feel its smooth bark beneath her fingers. She could see the place where the two branches were bound together in the holy shape.
It had not been only a dream.
The Mother of God had truly come. And she had left the cross behind — so that Nina would know, beyond all doubt, that it was real.
Tears filled Nina's eyes — but this time they were tears of joy, the happy kind that spill over when your heart is too full to hold any more. They rolled down her cheeks and fell, glistening, onto the little cross of vines.
"Thank you," Nina whispered. "Oh, thank you, Most Holy Mother of God. I will go. I will go anywhere. I am not afraid anymore."
She held the cross close to her heart. And then she did a wonderful thing.
She lifted her hands and gently undid her long hair. She took a few strands of her own hair, soft and dark, and she carefully, lovingly, wound them around the cross — binding the two branches of vine together even more tightly, so that the cross would be strong and would never come apart on the long journey ahead.
That little cross, bound with Saint Nina's own hair, was real. It was kept safe and treasured for hundreds and hundreds of years. And do you know — it still exists to this very day, far away in the land of Georgia. People go to see it, and to pray, and to remember the brave girl who carried it so far.
Nina did not keep her wonderful secret to herself. She ran to find her uncle — for she had a very special uncle in Jerusalem. He was the leader of all the Christians in the holy city, a wise and holy man named Juvenal.
"Uncle! Uncle!" Nina cried, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. "I must tell you what has happened!"
And she told him everything — about Sara's story of the Lord's Robe, about the people of Georgia who did not know Jesus, about her prayers, and about the dream. Then she opened her hands and showed him the cross of grapevines, bound with her own hair.
Her uncle looked at the little cross for a long, long time. And when he lifted his eyes, Nina saw that they were full of tears.
"My child," he said softly, "this is the work of God. Who am I to stand in the way of the Mother of God herself?"
He took Nina by the hand and led her into the church, all the way to the front, before the holy doors. There he laid his hands gently upon her head, and he prayed a beautiful prayer over her — that God would go before her like a light, that God would be her shelter and her guide and her father on the long road ahead, and that God would give her the right words to tell the people of Georgia all about His love.
"Go now, Nina," he said. "Go with God's blessing. And remember — you do not go alone. The Lord goes with you, and His Holy Mother watches over you, and the prayers of all of us go with you too."
And so the day came when Nina set out.
She did not have a big company of soldiers. She did not have wagons of gold or fine horses or servants. She had only her cloak, and a little bread for the journey, and her prayers — and, held close against her heart, the small cross of vines that the Mother of God had given her.
She turned and took one last look at Jerusalem, the holy city. She thought of her mother, and of brave old Sara, and of her good uncle. She thought of her father far away in the desert, praying for her even now, just as he had promised. Be brave, my little Nina. Love God with all your heart, and He will never leave you.
Then Nina turned her face toward the north — toward the faraway green land of Georgia, where a whole nation of people were waiting, though they did not know it yet, to hear the most wonderful news in all the world.
She took a deep breath. She held her cross of vines a little tighter.
And the brave girl Nina took her first step on the long, long journey that would change a whole country forever.
But that is the next story.
Saint Nina is honored by the Church as "Equal to the Apostles," because — like the very first followers of Jesus — she carried the Good News to a people who had never heard it. We remember her every year on January 14th. Her cross of grapevines is still the special sign of the Church in Georgia to this day.