A Story of Preservation

On this day in November 1991, fire tried to write a different story over my life.

I was cleaning my room and had a pile of old papers to dispose of. I took them to the backyard to burn them; it wasn’t unusual, even if it wasn’t typically my job. Dad was out playing tennis, his usual Saturday routine. Mum was at Grandma’s. I don’t remember where our nanny was, only that, in a moment that mattered, I was very much on my own.

I picked up the jerry can that usually held kerosene, but it was empty. So I went to the generator house for petrol instead. That was the moment everything shifted. My dress caught fire. Within seconds, I was burning and screaming, and my whole world collapsed into what became both a battle and, strangely, a blessing.

The fire didn’t just leave me with a third-degree burn; it pushed a shy, timid girl into an unwanted spotlight. In secondary school, teachers would stop me to make comments. People stared. I carried the weight of attention I had never asked for. Choosing to live with the scar rather than erase it was a decision I grew into. It took years, but the girl who once hid from the world slowly became a woman who made peace with her reflection, and with everything the scar came to symbolise.

With time, I realised that my scar matters far less than the story God has been writing through it. That detour became a teacher, one that shaped my understanding of identity, courage, compassion, and purpose.

So when I read the words of the prophet Zechariah, I hear my name in them: “The Lord rebuke thee, O Satan; even the Lord that hath chosen Jerusalem rebuke thee: Isn’t this a brand plucked out of the fire?” (Zechariah 3:2, KJV). I am that brand plucked out of the fire. What was meant for shame and destruction, meant to kill me, God has used for preservation, strength, and becoming. And as another promise declares: “When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.” (Isaiah 43:2, KJV).

I walked through literal fire, on this very date, 16.11.91, yet here I am, carried by grace, still becoming who He called me to be. A second chance at life, lived more intentionally, more brilliantly.

Looking back, my heart is full of thankfulness. Full of gratitude.Full of quiet awe at how far God has brought me.

So today, as I share this story of preservation, if you are uncertain about what the grace of God can do, look at me. “I will remember the works of the Lord: surely I will remember thy wonders of old.” (Psalm 77:11, KJV).

My life will continually tell the story of His goodness, unashamedly. 16.11.1991