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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The River That Never Stops. It's inspired by the Gospel of Matthew eight twenty eight thirty four. There is a river in tonight's reading that does something remarkable. It never ever stops. God spoke through a shepherd named Amos a long time ago, and he said this Let goodness flow like a river, always moving, always giving, never running dry. Tonight, back on Shepherd's Hill, Clover and her friends are sitting beside a little stream, and they are about to discover what that means. It had been a perfectly ordinary afternoon until Clover found the jam. Old Woolly had made a big jar of blackberry jam that morning, the thick, dark purple kind that smelled like the very best part of summer. And he had set it out on the stone wall with a plate of bread for everyone to share. There was just enough for each lamb to have one good piece. Biscuit got there first, of course. She bounced up to the wall, golden tuffed bobbing, and spread a thick helping over her bread. Matt was next, quiet and careful, lifting a small piece with his dark hooves. Then Fig, a little shy still, taking the thinnest slice he could find. Clover was last. She looked at the plate. There was exactly one piece of bread left, and the jam jar was nearly empty, just a thin scrape at the bottom. Not quite enough for a proper piece, not quite nothing either. She looked at it for a moment, then she heard a small sound behind her. It was Pebble, the newest little lamb on Shepherd's Hill, small and round eared, with pale grey wool and enormous dark eyes that were currently staring at the bread plate with a great deal of hope and a great deal of uncertainty. Pebble had only been on the hill a few days. She still wasn't sure where she was allowed to stand. Clover picked up the last piece of bread. She scraped every last drop of jam out of the jar. She got her hoof in at the very end to make sure, and she spread it all on the bread and held it out to Pebble. Here, she said simply, there's just enough. Pebble's eyes went very wide. But that was yours. It's all right, said Clover, and she found, to her surprise, that it truly was. Later, when the shadows were getting long and the air had turned golden and cool, Jesus came and sat beside them at the little stream that ran along the bottom of the hill. He sat the way he always did, like he had nowhere else to be, and nowhere else he'd rather be. And for a while they all just watched the water move. Clover, he said, without turning his head, you gave your bread away. I know, said Clover. There was enough, I thought. There was, Jesus said, and I saw it. She hadn't known he was watching, but now, thinking about it, she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Biscuit flopped down beside them and dangled her hooves in the water. What is this stream anyway? It goes all day and all night. Where does it keep coming from? From higher up, said Jesus. There's a spring far up the hill that never empties. The water just keeps flowing. He smiled at the stream for a moment. God once told a shepherd, a real shepherd, even smaller and more ordinary than any of you, that he wants goodness to be like that stream, not a puddle, not a pond that dries up in summer, an ever flowing river, always moving, always giving, never running out. Old Wooly, who had come to sit on the bank a little way along, nodded slowly. His silver wool caught the last of the light. Seek good and not evil, he said softly, as if he were remembering something very old. That's what God said. Yes, said Jesus, exactly that. Don't just think good thoughts. Don't just say good words at the right times. Do good, let it flow the way this stream flows, even when no one is looking. Fig, who had been very quiet, turned a blade of grass over in his hooves. What if you don't always know what the good thing is? Jesus looked at him kindly. You usually do, he said. Most of the time, the good thing is the one that's a little bit harder, the one that costs you something small. Clover thought about the jam. She thought about Pebble's enormous eyes. Like a piece of bread, she said. Like a piece of bread, Jesus agreed. The stream went on talking over the stones. Pebble had fallen asleep curled beside the bank, one small ear twitching at a moth. The sky above Shepherd's Hill turned from gold to rose to the soft, deep blue that comes just before the first star. Will you be here tomorrow? Biskot asked. She was looking at the stream, but she was really asking about Jesus. I'll be here, he said, and he said it the way the stream sounded, steady, unhurried, as if it had always been true and always would be. Tonight we learned that God loves seeing our good choices, not just the big, important ones, but the small, everyday ones too. A piece of bread, a kind word, a moment when we could have kept something for ourselves and chose to give it instead. When we let goodness flow like that, little by little, again and again, we are doing exactly what God hoped for when He made us. Dear Jesus, help me choose good today and tomorrow and the day after. Help me be kind when it's hard, and share when I want to keep things for myself. Let goodness flow through me like a river, never stopping, always giving. Thank you for being with me tonight. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.