Mircea, Mircea Stanciu possessed a rare gift: a discerning taste for spiritual things. He knew how to discover beauty that doesn't shout, but allows itself to be found in silence. At his home, I saw a wooden tetrapod, simple and humble, yet it seemed to gather within its fibers many prayers and many vigils. It was adorned with a fabric featuring traditional Romanian motifs.
As I looked at it, I felt a quiet desire awaken in my soul. I gathered some wood and set about making one for myself too. I wasn't a craftsman, but every hammer blow and every chip that fell to the ground carried something of the joy of a small beginning. It was as if I wasn't just working the wood, but also a part of my heart's impatience.
When it was finished, I placed it in my prayer corner. Since then, on quiet evenings, I would rest my hands on it and raise my thoughts to God. Its wood carried the warmth of my palms, and its silence reminds me that the deepest words are not uttered, but transform into prayer.
This is how this tetrapod remained for me: a piece of wood that, through prayer, became a vestibule of the heart. And when I remember it, I remember Mircea and the way truly spiritual people leave behind them not just words, but also seeds of light in the souls of others.
Fr. Daniel Anghel