The school I attended as a teenager rented an old farmhouse high in the hills of North Wales. The farm was rough and ready, with no mains gas or electricity, and the only running water was that which flowed as a stream down the hill and into a large iron cauldron that acted as our ‘bathroom’.

When I was 14 years old I went with a group for my first stay, and early in our visit a group of us went off with one of our teachers to walk to a reservoir high in the hills above us. We left after the evening meal and enjoyed the company and the exploration of the ruined farms and chapels that we passed on our way.

The walk to the reservoir took longer than expected, and it was rapidly getting dark. None of us had torches, and we knew that the way back would be difficult…if we could actually find our way back through relatively unmarked terrain to the tiny habitation that was our temporary home.

As we debated what to do, someone noticed a small, bright light flickering somewhere below us. Led by our teacher we made our way towards the light. Many of us slipped and fell, bruised our shins on unseen rocks, stumbled into small streams as we headed homewards through the gathering gloom…we quickly realised that even though we could see our objective, getting there unscathed was an entirely different matter.

We eventually arrived safely back, thankful to the person who had had the forethought to place a lighted lamp in the window to guide us home; it could have been much worse.

‘Certainty’ about ones destination is never any guarantee of a safe and easy journey! I’m thankful for the ones who have gone that bit further ahead along the path and continue to throw light on my next steps. Hopefully my small light will also be helpful to someone, too.