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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Night the Lake Went Quiet, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew 8 23 27. Every one of us has felt it, that sudden moment when the world gets loud and frightening all at once, and your heart goes small and tight inside your chest. Maybe it was a rumble of thunder or a bad dream or a feeling you couldn't quite name. In tonight's gospel, Jesus teaches us something wonderful for those moments. He is already in the boat with you. He is never far away, and when you call to him, he always, always comes. Tonight, just beyond Shepherd's Hill, on the shore of a wide silver lake, Clover and her friends are about to find this out for themselves. It had been the most beautiful afternoon. Jesus had said, just after lunch, Come on, I know a lake, and that was all the invitation anyone needed. Clover looped her blue scarf against the breeze. Biscuit bounced so enthusiastically that her golden tuft stood completely upright all the way down the hill. Old Woolly ambled at the back, smiling softly. Matt walked a little to one side, as he always did, his dark fleece catching the light. And Pebble came too. Pebble was broad-shouled and steady, his wool the soft brownish gray of river stones. Being near the water still made something twist quietly in his chest, an old memory he carried without talking about. But Jesus was here, so he climbed into the little wooden boat and sat at the bow. They rowed out toward the middle as the sun turned everything amber and warm. Jesus settled himself at the back, folded his cloak beneath his head, and was asleep before long, breathing slowly and peacefully, as though the whole wide world were perfectly still. Then the wind came. It came all at once, a great, cold, roaring rush of air that hit the lake flat. The boat tipped, waves crashed over the side, and cold water rushed across the floor and soaked straight through everyone's wool. Biscuit's golden tuft went completely flat. Clover's clover sprig drooped low. Matt gripped the bench with white knuckles, old woolly silver fur plastered against his face, and Pebble felt the old twist in his chest become something much bigger and much worse. I'm scared, he said, and he hadn't meant to say it out loud. So am I, said Clover, honestly. They both looked to the back of the boat. Jesus was still asleep. Pebble didn't wait. He stumbled across the wet, rocking boards and put his hoof on Jesus' shoulder. Jesus, please, we need you. We're going under. The others crowded close behind him, their voices tumbling over each other. Jesus opened his eyes. He looked at them, really looked, the way he always did, as though he could see every frightened corner of every heart at once. Then he stood up in the rocking boat, calm as if the deck were perfectly still, and he faced the wild black water. He spoke to the wind, he spoke to the lake. His voice was not loud. It did not need to be. The wind stopped. All at once, the waves smoothed themselves out as if they had simply decided to lie down. The lake went flat and silver, and perfectly, utterly still. The only sound was water dripping from the edges of the boat. Biscuit breathed. He talked to the wind, and the wind listened. Jesus turned back to them, his expression warm. Why were you so afraid? he said gently. I was here the whole time. Pebble felt something give way inside his chest. Not a bad thing, but something old and tight and heavy, like a knot finally coming loose. I forgot, he said quietly. I was so scared, I forgot you were in the boat. Jesus put a hand on his shoulder. Then remember, he said, whenever the water gets loud, call to me. That is not weakness. That is exactly right. I am always in the boat with you. Clover's clover sprig straightened up, bright and green. Old Wooly sat down at the stern, his voice warm as a fire you could sit beside. What sort of shepherd is this? Even the wind and the waves do as he says. Nobody answered. Nobody needed to. They rowed home in a perfect hush, the lake like a mirror, the stars coming out one by one. And Clover looked back at the still water and felt it all the way through her wool. He had been in the boat the whole time. He is in your boat tonight, too. Whatever feels stormy or loud or too big, he already knows. And when you call to him, he always comes. So lay your head down now and let the water go still. Dear Jesus, thank you for being in the boat with me. Even when the waves feel big and loud. When I am scared, help me remember to call to you. Thank you that you are stronger than any storm, and that you never, ever leave me. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.