Light the Match
A testimony of overcoming trauma
⚠️ Trigger Warning / Language Disclaimer:
This story contains strong language and references to verbal abuse. I’ve chosen to keep the original language for authenticity and to honor the emotional truth of the moment. If you’re sensitive to explicit language or traumatic themes, please proceed with care. My intention is never to shock, but to bring light into the dark corners where healing is most needed.
Irving, TX - Fall 2018
I was standing in a run-down apartment that hadn’t seen a caring owner in over a decade. The walls were stained yellow. Roaches darted across the floor. And the air—thick with the musty stench of mildew and the unmistakable, alarming scent of gas—felt almost unbreathable.
The owner of this property?
My dad.
I had him on speakerphone while the property manager waited outside. Given the risk of a gas leak, I insisted no one else enter.
“Dad, I need you to understand—we smell gas, and we can’t find the source. We’ve got no choice but to call the city.”
His voice exploded through the speaker.
“GODDAMMIT, SEAN, DO NOT CALL THE CITY. IT’LL COST TOO MUCH. ALL YOU DO IS WASTE MONEY. DID YOU TEST IT?”
By “test,” he meant squirting a soap solution on the pipes to see if it bubbled—a DIY method for detecting leaks.
“Yes, Dad. We tested every line. There’s nothing visible. That means it could be underground. That puts the entire building at risk, not just this unit.”
“YOU DIDN’T TEST IT! DON’T CALL THE CITY!”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m calling. And I’m asking everyone to evacuate until we know it’s safe.”
“GODDAMMIT SEAN, F*CK YOU. IF YOU TESTED IT AND THERE WERE NO BUBBLES, THEN THERE’S NO LEAK. YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT GAS SMELLS LIKE! DON’T WASTE MY MONEY!”
“Dad. I promise you I smell gas. Strong. I have to do the right thing.”
His final demand stunned me.
“THEN PROVE IT. GO IN THERE AND LIGHT A MATCH.”
“What?” I said, stunned. “You’re joking.”
“NO. I’M DEAD SERIOUS. GO LIGHT THE MATCH. DON’T BE A PUSSY.”
“You’re insane.”
I hung up.
And I wept.
A grown man—27 years old—standing in the middle of a crumbling apartment, sobbing.
Not because I was afraid of the gas, but because I finally saw the truth.
I called the city. Evacuated the building.
There was a major gas leak.
And I did the right thing.
“Whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”
— James 4:17
🙏 Why do I tell you this story?
Because not long ago, I asked God a hard question:
“Why did You allow so much trauma to be packed into the first 30 years of my life?”
And God responded—softly, but powerfully—through the stories I’ve seen unfold around me:
💔 Marriages healed
🛑 Addictions broken
🧬 Generational curses reversed into generational blessings
“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good, to accomplish what is now being done—the saving of many lives.”
— Genesis 50:20
And then He said something to me I’ll never forget:
“I equipped you with every trauma so you could go heal the nations.
People will listen to you because you’ve lived it.
You didn’t just survive, you became more than a conqueror.
And I saved this mission for one of my best. I saved it for you.”
How to Heal
I used to think healing meant forgetting. Moving on. Shutting it out.
But I’ve come to learn that real healing begins when you stop running from the pain and start reclaiming the purpose inside of it.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
— Psalm 147:3
Healing doesn’t erase the past — it redeems it.
If you’ve ever felt broken, discarded, or disqualified because of what you’ve been through, let me tell you something:
Your story isn’t over.
Your scars are not shameful — they’re sacred.
They’re the proof that you’ve walked through fire and lived to tell the tale.
“Do not be afraid… When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”
— Isaiah 43:1–2
God doesn’t waste wounds.
He uses them — to shape you, to soften you, and to send you out as a vessel of healing in a hurting world.
So if you’re standing in your own version of a gas-filled apartment — trying to do the right thing while others rage and blame — hold fast.
You’re not alone.
You’re not crazy.
You’re being called.
You’re being prepared.
You’re being healed — so others can be.
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me… He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted… to proclaim freedom for the captives… to comfort all who mourn… and to bestow a crown of beauty instead of ashes.”
— Isaiah 61:1–3
💥 Join the Movement: Misfit Ministries
If this story spoke to something deep inside you—if you’ve ever felt like a misfit who didn’t belong in the world’s system but always knew you were meant for more—then you’re not alone.
I invite you to join Misfit Ministries:
A Kingdom movement for the called, the crushed, and the chosen.
This is your invitation to reclaim your identity, rise in your authority, and bring healing to a world that desperately needs it.
👉 Sign up for the soft launch list today:
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What a powerful story of courageously standing up for what is right, even when it means facing persecution from your own family. I deeply resonate with your experience. It’s so important to name these things clearly—not only to validate survivors by showing them it wasn’t normal, even if it felt that way growing up, but also to help others truly understand what it’s like to endure harm from those who should have nurtured and protected us. I’m genuinely sorry for everything you’ve been through and admire your bravery in sharing your journey.