It’s been quite a year. 

I got covid badly on the way to Australia and ended up bedridden leading up to Christmas. I really wondered if we would be able to tour in January. We had a big trip around Oz planned, but I was feeling awful. We decided to go for it, but the first few shows were tough to get through. Gradually, it got better, and we played some great shows for the rest of the tour. At the start, I couldn’t see how it was going to work out, but in the end, it did.
The UK tour was interesting. Just as I left Wales, my engine light started flashing — never a good sign! I couldn’t get the car into a shop anywhere, so I continued all over the UK and back to Ireland after being told the turbo was in trouble. It’s always stressful when your car isn’t behaving, and I’m no mechanic.
My six-monthly health check raised the possibility of a dodgy gallbladder. I was in intermittent pain and needed a scan, which I still haven’t had. We headed to Germany for a tour, and all the while, I hoped this problem wouldn’t flare up. Thankfully, it didn’t, but the weight of that uncertainty was always hanging over me. I don’t know about you, but my mind always seems to jump to the worst-case scenario.
Ukraine was the usual mixture of challenges and blessings. Troublesome border guards gave us a hard time, while talking with soldiers and hearing their stories — their fears, bravery, and courage played on my mind….but my friend Igor sang and played at every opportunity.  He makes me smile.
I also had a troubling lump above my left eye. My doctor said, “Yeah, that’s gotta go!” and booked me a hospital appointment in Dublin. It’s a basal cell carcinoma (BCC), not the most dangerous type of cancer, but it definitely has to be removed. The hospital doctor confirmed the diagnosis, explained the surgery, and mentioned the plastic surgery I’d need afterward. I’d hoped to have it done by now, but I’m still waiting.

Then there was India — my first time. It was intense. I’m well-traveled, but I’ve never experienced anything like New Delhi. People, cars, bikes, heat, dust, dirt, and sweat were everywhere. Some of the sights were deeply disturbing. The cruel practice of disabling children to make them more effective beggars filled me with  rage. The constant tapping on my legs and arms as people asked for money made me angry. The closest I’ve come to being in a bar fight in 40 years made me realize I have my limits. When pushed enough, I can become aggressive and slightly out of control. This disturbed me. It seemed like a dark place and  my mind was certainly wallowing in it.
Kylie booked us a tour on the last day called The Salaam Baalak Trust. Two teenagers took us around the city on foot. They showed us a room with a large window above the police station near the railway station. Around 600,000 people arrive there every day. From this window, the team watched for unaccompanied children to rescue or at least help.
We walked through narrow backstreets and saw rooms full of children playing games, making art, eating, reading — just being kids. As we walked and listened, I began to see some light. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The city is overwhelming, and depending on where you stay, your experience can vary greatly. We prefer to stay where people live and work. Usually, I can cope, but this time, I struggled to see the light until those two beautiful teenagers showed us some.

I guess that’s my point. In a world full of sickness, poverty, cruelty, injustice, hatred, disease, and outright evil, it can be hard to see the light. Last year, when I got sick, my wife (a former nurse), her dad (an old surgeon), and my friend (a brilliant diagnostician) helped me see the light. Their care got me through, like the man whose friends lowered him to Jesus on a stretcher. No mention was made of his faith or involvement except that he needed others for a while.
When the doctor says, “Yeah, that needs to go, but it won’t kill you!” I need that last part of the sentence — it shows me the light. When the mechanic diagnoses car trouble but adds, “You’ll be fine until you get back home,” I need that light. Watching my friend Igor sing in trenches and hospitals for the wounded and exhausted, I saw the light there too.
And in a city that had me desperate to leave, two teenagers showed me the light. Just a glimmer, but it was enough to ignite hope and remind me that sometimes you need someone else to show you the light when you can’t see it yourself.
They say the coming of Christ fulfilled a prophecy: 
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light, upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom, a light has shone.” 

Angels? Messengers, cosmic events?  I say whoever or whatever shows you the light when the darkness envelops you is a God send.

My year has been a reminder that sometimes I can only see the light when someone else takes the time to show me.

 

Have a great Christmas and may you see more light in 2025 than ever before!

 

Rev. Sam