My grandfather is a believer in miracles. He’s not your typical religious nut — he doesn’t even get to go church every single Sunday. He even talks about his colleagues in church in vain when they try to bring the church to him when they start missing his presence — that can be attributed to his age and concerns with the weather. But he’s a prayer warrior, and a devout follower of the Word of God. The biggest reason being that my late grandmother was a recipient of such miracles. She had tumors in her ovaries; however she had a strong aversion for hospitals and wasn’t about to let anybody touch her vital organs. She chose right. And both her and my grandfather became witnesses.
And that story will be told to you by her. This is a testimony she wrote about her survival of cancer. Written by her, and proofread by her husband, my grandfather. I am publishing this with his permission and instructions.
I am a grandmother; a retired schoolteacher. I was born in Tondo, Manila, went to school in Zaragoza Elementary School and Torres High School, and finished college at the University of the Philippines. My husband is from Visayas. He is a retired engineer educated in the Visayas, moving to Manila in search of the proverbial but non-existent “greener pastures”. We have five children and six grandchildren.
My Husband’s Experience
Please allow me to digress a little and talk about my husband’s experience about this same time I was in distress. This was late 1972. It will show you a little about God’s timing.
My husband needed to have his gun licenses renewed. My half-brother, who lives in Aurora Avenue in Santa Cruz district, was in the gun licensing business. My husband went there to engage his services. After winding up the business, my half-brother invited my husband to attend a worship service just around the corner in Sulu St. The worship was to be held in the apartment owned by Mrs. Magat. This fellowship was an outstation of the Bethel Temple at the corner of General Luna St. and Taft Ave (it is now known as The Cathedral of Praise).
The congregation consisted of squatters, sidewalk vendors, taxi drivers, a public works engineer, a buy-and-sell merchant, and a few “tambays”. The speaker that night was Brod Alano, the station master at the Culi-Culi railroad station in Pasay. He carried a well-worn and grimy Bible. They started by singing a few hymns (without accompaniment). But there was a difference. They sang from the heart. The members of the congregation were ex-somethings — Ex drug addicts, ex cancer patients, ex heart patients, ex convicts, ex deserted wives, ex unemployed etc. They sang at the top of their voices slightly off-key, hands raised, eyes closed, faces turned upwards as if in a trance, tears rolling down their cheeks. They sang “How great Thou art”, “Amazing Grace”, “This is the day that the Lord had made”, “Not by might nor by power”; sometimes in Tagalog, sometimes in English. It was the women in the congregation who would lead to the next hymn, so the singing was continuous and uninterrupted. The fervency steadily increased until it reached feverish proportions and when they ran out of hymns, the shouting began. “Praise the Lord” in Tagalog and English was shouted all over the place. Some were jumping up and down, some were clapping, some were bawling like babies. It was just like they were watching a basketball game. They were simply cheering God.
Courtesy of santorini-culture.com
One day I noticed that the tablecloth was soiled and dusty. I decided to launder it. When I removed it, I was surprised to realize that I had no more feelings for my idols. They did not enthrall me as they did before. My sister Elen was in the house that day. I decided to give her all my idols. She was utterly delighted.
“Suwerte, suwerte, suwerte,” she chirped.
“Malas, malas, malas,” I countered.
That afternoon, I started to bleed again. It was profuse, but I was still able to go to school. I was scared. I must have blasphemed God by the shabby treatment I gave my idols, I thought. And now God was on the avenging trail against me, I thought. That night, I could not sleep. I was frightened to no end. I even considered going to the hospital after all. I would have gone if we had money in the house. No matter how merciful God is, as I have been taught, I must have insulted Him so much He lost His temper, I thought.