This morning I woke up with an old melody stirring in my heart — a song I used to play on repeat as a teenager when sadness tried to swallow me whole:

🎼Fang das Licht von einem Tag voll Sonnenschein

Fang das Licht, scliess es in Deinem Herzen ein

Fang das Licht und wenn du einmal traurig bist dann vergiß nicht das irgendwo noch Sonne ist.

Fang das Licht von einem Tag voll Sonnenschein

Halt es fest, schliess' es in Deinem Herzen ein

Heb' es auf und wenn Du einmal traurig bist

Dann vergiss nicht, dass irgendwo noch Sonne ist.

Fang das Licht von einer Nacht voll Sternenschein

Halt es fest, schliess' es in Deine Träume ein

Heb' es auf und wenn die Dunkelheit beginnt,

Dann vergiss nicht nicht, dass irgendwo noch Sterne sind🎵🎶

I hadn’t heard it or thought of it in decades since all my cassette tapes had been left behind at Mom’s house when I boarded the plane with that one-way ticket to Bredasdorp she purchased for me. Her choice carried its own silent message: she expected I wouldn’t want to return. That wound was sharp. Yet in the ache of leaving, God was already weaving something redemptive. Mams and Paps were waiting with open arms — the first adults who showed me what unconditional love felt like as a 7-year old.

Hearing the song spinning in my mind again today, I realised how it was always more than just a melody. It was light for me. A reminder that somewhere, even when skies were grey, the sun was still shining. And even when night was long, the stars had not ceased to glow. Back then I didn’t have the words for it, but now I see — Holy Spirit was tucking hope into my soul through music.

Sandra’s sharing of the prodigal story last Wednesday comes to mind. She said it was less about the prodigal son, and more about the prodigal father — the extravagant one who never stopped waiting, who kept the light burning for his son to return. That image has stayed with me since the first time I heard that lesson. I am so grateful that the Lord has always left the light on for me. Even when I felt like I was drowning in sadness, even when rejection cut deep, His lamp of love remained steady, guiding me back home to Him.

I think of how many times since then God has caught the light for me — holding it safe when I couldn’t. He has placed it in the hands of others, in the notes of a song, in the brushstrokes of art, in the kindness of friends who came just when I was unraveling. The light has never gone out. It only waited for me to notice it again.

💡 Reflection:

• What light did this memory awaken in me?🤔

• Write down three “lights” that have never gone out, even through seasons of shadow.

🙌 Prayer:

Lord Jesus, thank You for being the Light that never fades. Thank You for carrying hope for me when I could not carry it myself. Thank You for being the Father who leaves the light on, watching and waiting with open arms. Help me to hold onto the sunshine and the starlight of Your love, and to be a bearer of that light for others. May I never forget that somewhere, always, there is light.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

🌿 You are still catching the light, dear heart. Even in shadows, His radiance is yours to hold.