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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Den on the Rock, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew 7, 21 through 29. There is something Jesus says tonight at the end of his longest sermon. It is not enough just to call his name. What matters is doing what he teaches. When we listen to Jesus all the way, all the way to our hooves, and then act on his words, we are like a wise builder on solid rock, and when the storm comes, that house holds. Tonight on Shepherd's Hill, Biscuit and Clover are about to find this out for themselves. Old Woolley had declared it a den building day, which meant every lamb could use fallen branches, heather bundles, and smooth river stones to build a shelter of their very own. By evening supper would be eaten inside whichever den still stood. Biscuit was already running, her golden brown tuft bounced as she scrambled toward the river. I'm going to build the best den, she announced. A curved roof, a mossy floor, room for four lambs, and a basket of scones. Clover followed more slowly, her blue scarf fluttering. She nearly bumped into Jesus. He was sitting on the old flat rock at the top of the stream bank, the big grey one, broad and steady, that had been there longer than anyone could remember. You look as though you're deciding something, he said. We're to build, said Clover. Biscuits already gone to the sandy bank. It looks easy. Jesus glanced at the sandy bank, then at the flat rock beneath him. There's going to be rain tonight, he said. Sand is easy to build on in sunny weather. But when the rain comes and the river rises, he let the sentence finish itself. Clover looked from the sand to the rock. I'll build here, she said. Jesus smiled. Good, and Clover, not just today. When you hear what I teach you and you actually do it, that is the rock, not just saying my name, doing the thing. She tucked that away somewhere deep, where the important things go. Clover worked slowly and carefully, fitting branches against the rock, wedging them with stones, packing the gaps with thick heather. It was harder than building on flat sand, and her arms ached a little. Matt appeared from the long grass, dark fleece quiet, and without a word, sat down beside her and began handing her branches. He passed her a very good flat stone for the doorway, without being asked. Downstream, Biskot's den had gone up fast, rounded, cheerful, with a heather bundle roof. Biskot was already sitting inside, arms folded, looking very pleased. The storm came just before supper. It did not announce itself politely. One moment the sky was gold. The next rain arrived all at once, cold, heavy, and determined. Clover and Matt scrambled into the rock den. The rain hammered the roof, but the branches held. The rock held. Water ran past, not through. Then from downstream came a sound, a creak, a slump. Then a familiar voice. Oh no. Biscuit was sitting in the wreckage of her den. Heather scattered, her curved roof flat on her head like an unusual hat. The sandy bank had shifted and let everything down. Clover pulled her inside the rock den. Three lambs, very cozy, one of them damp. I didn't listen, Biskit said quietly. Jesus was right there on the rock, and I kept running. I just wanted to start. When the rain eased, Jesus was still on the flat rock, which had not moved at all. He looked at Biskot with warmth, not amusement. My den fell, she said. I know, said Jesus gently, because I didn't stop to listen to you. He nodded. When my words live inside you, not just in your ears, but in your hands and your choices, that is the rock, everything you build on that holds. He looked at all three of them. Not because you are perfect, because you listened, and then did. Old Woolley appeared at the top of the path, carrying a small basket. Supper, he said simply, and I believe there is a rock den still standing. They ate on the big flat rock, all four of them and Jesus, in the rainwashed evening. The rock, as it always does, held them perfectly. Listening to Jesus is wonderful, but tonight he teaches us something deeper, that really doing what he says is what builds something strong inside us. Being kind when it is hard, telling the truth, looking after those who need it, one small, real choice at a time. When the storms of life come, the Lamb who has listened all the way to their heart stays safe and warm. Jesus is the rock, and his words are the foundation that will never be swept away. Dear Jesus, thank you for your words that never break. Help me not just to say I love you, but to do the things you teach, to be kind, to be true, to be brave, to build something strong inside me, one small, real choice at a time. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.