by Angeli Casipe
I grew up in a family of seven, the fourth of five children. Our family was raised with Roman Catholic traditions and beliefs. My grandmother, my mom’s mom, was particularly devoted, and every October, we would gather to sing and pray to a statue. After she decided to follow Jesus and was baptized, she wanted to bury the religious images she used to worship. This alarmed her unbelieving children, who were shaken by her decision. They would say things like, “You are getting lost in your old age,” “That church just wants your money,” or “We should die in the same religion we were born into.”
She remains steadfast despite the persecution and is now reaping the blessings of long life. By God’s grace, my 95-year-old grandma is blessed with good health and good eyesight. She is faithfully reading the Bible and going to church every Sunday, and even commenting on our Facebook posts in her spare time. With her sharp memory, every time I go home, I love listening to her stories about World War II and how they survived.
During my younger years, we lived a chaotic and nerve-racking life, primarily due to my father’s vices. He didn’t have a permanent job, and his drinking was a constant source of fighting and financial struggle. He's known for being a brave, scandalous man with a baseball bat in our barangay, so naturally, no one would dare to break into our house. Thieves trespassed on every house in the neighborhood except ours. My mother was the family's pillar, working tirelessly as a banana vendor to provide for our food, school allowances, and bills.
I remember how terrifying the nights were. It’s hard to imagine how my mother, whom some called a martyr, endured it all. After a long day of selling under the blazing sun or in heavy rain, she would come home with food, only to be met by a drunken man eager to argue. A soft talk would quickly escalate into shouting and crashing. My mother would often walk out and sleep in the small house where we children slept. We would often be disturbed in the middle of the night by loud sounds on the roof, realizing he was throwing stones at us. My little brother and I would cry, consumed with fear. On some occasions, we had to escape through a high window to ask our uncle next door to call the police. The father who you thought would provide, protect, and secure the family, he was not. Crying, I wrote in my diary, “I wish him dead.”
Despite these nightmares, my mother would wake up early the next morning, go to the market to sell as if nothing had happened. She would always tell us that she loves us, and that’s why she wanted to keep the family together. She stressed that we needed to study hard and not hate our father. Her resilience and strength sustain us even now.
When I was in the fifth grade, I joined a musical group in our city called Rondalla. Initially, I was hesitant because I was worried about not being able to help my mother sell. Eventually, she let me join, and my life changed. The group was my escape from reality, a place where I felt safe, happy, and at peace. It was there that I met Christian friends. One of them, Manang Rea, invited me to a church, Grace Bible Church. I started going, at first because it was near a mall and offered a free lunch, but eventually, I came to know about Jesus, though I wasn't sure if I had a true relationship with him yet.
Years later, during college, a pastor came to our home through my uncle and shared the gospel. My mother and I were the first to accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior, and soon, my whole family began attending a weekly Bible study at home. My dad even attended irregularly, and eventually, our entire family started going to church. Little by little, we all began to build a relationship with the Lord.
And so, the enemy was not happy. There was a sudden change of heart in my dad; he stopped us from going to church. To make a long story short, my mom, younger brother, and my nephew stopped coming. But my grandma and I kept returning. Until one Sunday, I secretly asked my brother to come. And the marites (gossipy) neighbors told my dad. In the middle of the service, my dad went to the church property with a gun and wanted to kill the pastor while he was preaching. The whole congregation saw that. Thankfully, before he could step into the building, my brother ran and was able to stop him. It was a traumatic scene for me, and I burst into tears when my dad left the church and I realized what had just happened.
By God’s grace, the pastor forgave my dad.
Before that incident, my father was diagnosed with heart arrhythmia—a condition where the electrical signals that tell the heart to beat don’t work properly. The doctor asked him to stop drinking liquor and smoking, and he did stop. He was also advised not to feel extreme emotions, as he is prone to a heart attack. He spent a week in the ICU to be monitored. I heard that he needed a heart transplant, but he refused. He just said, “If I die, I die.” In our dialect, “Patay kung Patay.” He’s been ready to die—why? He has funeral insurance and a burial ground with a tombstone written with his name and birth date on it. Which is good, right? But that’s not the only thing we should be ready for. He needs Jesus.
During the Asian path, I fully forgave my dad, just as Jesus forgave me. I realized that it was not him, but the spirit in him, the enemy that kept controlling him. I believe that there is a seed planted in him that just needs to be watered. Church, help me to pray for my father’s salvation. That he will fully surrender himself to God. For Acts 16:31 says, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved—you and your household.” I believe with his second life, God is not yet done with him, and that God is giving him multiple chances before it’s too late, just like how gracious he has been to me.
And also, pray for me to be the daughter that God wants me to be—intentional, honoring him, loving him, and doing what Christ would do to him.
Now, by God's grace, my dad has work, and I can see that he is trying his best to be a good leader of the family. One time he told me to take care of our mom, and to respect and obey her, as he hates when you are being disrespectful and when you dishonor your word. I got my humor from him, by the way. He even mentioned that he is proud of what we've become despite his shortcomings, and he regrets them. My brother and nephew are gradually going back to church with my dad's permission, and hopefully my mom too, as my missionary uncle started a mission in our city. It amazes me how God works. Knowing that I am far from them, it doesn’t feel like it because distance is bringing us even closer. I am excited about how God will bring a breakthrough to my family. For His word says: 1 Corinthians 15:57 (NIV): 'But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' And I claim that victory over my family."
"I am Angeli Casipe. Once lived in fear but was rescued by God. Once broken and shattered but was healed and completed by God. Once filled with hatred but was transformed by God.
To God be all the glory!"