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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Cup on the Fence Post, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew, chapter ten, verses thirty seven to forty two. Tonight's gospel holds something very small and also something very big. Jesus tells us that even the tiniest act of kindness, even just a cup of cold water given to someone who is thirsty, is never ever forgotten by God. He sees it, he treasures it, and he says that when we welcome a tired, lonely, or struggling person in his name, we are actually welcoming him. That is the wonderful secret inside tonight's story, and back on Shepherd's Hill, Biscuit is about to discover it in the most ordinary way. It was the hottest afternoon Shepherd's Hill had ever known. The sun was a deep, pressing gold, and the air tasted of dry grass and warm stone. The lambs had been playing meadow races all morning, and now everyone had flopped down in whatever patch of shade they could find. Clover lay under the old apple tree, her blue scarf tied loosely around her ears to keep the heat off. Matt sat very still by the gate, back against the stone wall. Old Woolley had settled in the deep shadow of the Hawthorne hedge, almost invisible except for the soft silver of his wool. And Biscuit! Biscuit had claimed the best spot of all. It was a little dip in the hillside, perfectly round, lined with thick cool moss, shaded by two tall rushes, and a fold in the earth. The kind of place that feels ten degrees cooler than everywhere else. Biskit had found it weeks ago, and she had been keeping it secret. She had her favorite book, a small jar of blackberry jam she'd been saving, and a cup of cold water from the stream that was still blessedly, gloriously cool. She sighed a very satisfied sigh. This was perfect. Then she heard it. A small sound, the kind you almost miss, coming from just past the fence post at the edge of the meadow. A sniff, then quiet, then another sniff. Biscuit sat up. On the far side of the fence, just barely visible through the long grass, was a lamb she had never seen before, very small with dusty brown wool that stuck out in six different directions, and ears that drooped like a folded piece of paper. The lamb was sitting on a stone, staring at nothing, with a look on her face that Biskit recognized immediately. It was the look of I don't know anyone here, and I'm very hot, and I'm not sure anyone would notice if I got up and walked away. Biskit looked at her perfect cool spot. She looked at her cold water. She looked back at the lamb. It was a very cold cup of water. She had been looking forward to it since breakfast. For a moment Biskit's golden tuft drooped slightly. But then she picked up the cup, wriggled through the fence, and walked over. Hallo, she said cheerfully. I'm Bisket. You look like you could use this. The small lamb blinked, her dusty ears lifted just barely. I'm Waddle, she said in a voice like a dry leaf. I don't I didn't know if I could come in. I'm new. Oh you absolutely can, said Biskit firmly. She held out the cup. Waddle looked at it as though she wasn't sure it was really meant for her. Then, very carefully, she took a sip, then another. Her ears lifted a little more. Come on, said Bisket, I know the best spot. She led Waddle back through the fence, through the long grass, and down into the little mossy dip. It was still cool, it was still perfect, and somehow this was the part Biskit couldn't quite explain later. It was better with two of them in it. She didn't notice Jesus until he sat down beside them. He was there quietly, the way he always was on Shepherd's Hill, as if he'd been there all along and simply hadn't been seen yet. His eyes were warm and unhurried. That was a fine thing you did, Biskit, he said. Biskit shrugged a little embarrassed. It was just a cup of water. Yes, said Jesus. It was he smiled. And do you know what I was thinking when you walked across that field toward her? Biskit shook her head. I was thinking that's for me. He said it gently and with something in his voice that made Biskot go very still. Every time one of my lambs sees someone left out and walks toward them instead of away, every time you share something small or say hello to someone who's not sure they belong, you are doing it to me. I am an every tired, lonely, thirsty lamb you will ever meet, and I will never, ever forget it. Waddle was very quiet. She was looking at Jesus with her dusty ears all the way up now. Not even a cup of water, she said softly. Not even a cup of water, said Jesus. Not one drop of it. Bisket looked at her empty cup, and then at Wattle's small, hopeful face, and then at Jesus. She felt something she hadn't expected, not the satisfaction of the perfect cool spot, not the pleasure of her saved blackberry jam, but something warmer and quieter than all of it. Later, when the sun had moved and the meadow had cooled, and old Woolley had called everyone in for the evening, Biskit walked back with Waddle beside her. Clover fell into step with them, her clover sprig perked up with curiosity, and Matt drifted alongside without anyone having to ask. Is she staying? Clover asked quietly. I think so, said Bisket. At least for tonight. Waddle's dusty ears flicked up just once. She didn't say anything, but the droop in her shoulders was gone. And Jesus watched them go from the top of the hill, and he smiled. And so tonight we learned something extraordinary about the very smallest things. When we share what we have with someone lonely or left out, even something as ordinary as a cup of cold water, God sees it. He calls it a gift to him. No act of welcome is too small. No kindness is too ordinary. He notices every single one. Dear Jesus, thank you that you see every kindness, even the smallest ones. Help me to notice the people who are thirsty or lonely or not sure they belong. And help me to walk toward them just like you always walk toward me. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.