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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Tangle by the Creek, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew 9:1-8. Tonight's Gospel shows us something wonderful about Jesus. When someone he loves is hurting, he doesn't just look at the outside, he looks straight at the heart, and he heals what's heavy inside and what hurts outside, both at once, with more love than anyone even thought to ask for. It also shows us that when friends work hard to bring someone they love to Jesus, he never turns them away. And so tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where one small lamb has gone missing from the evening games, and his friends are about to find out just how far love can carry someone. The evening games on Shepherd's Hill were Clover's favorite part of the day, the light turning gold, the grass cool under everyone's hooves, biscuits tufted bouncing as she chased the ball nearly every time. But tonight something felt wrong before anyone said a word. Where's Bramble? Clover asked, her clover sprig tilting with worry. Nobody had seen him since lunchtime, not since he'd been chasing a fat, buzzing bumblebee much too close to old Wooly's shelf, and everyone remembered the crash that followed, the honey jar shattered on the stones, and then quiet. Clover, biscuit, mat, and pebble went looking. They found him down by the creek, deep in a tangle of brambles, one back leg caught fast between two thorny branches, his wool snagged in a dozen places. He'd been there for hours. His eyes were red from crying, but he hadn't called out once. Bramble, Biscuit gasped, why didn't you shout for us? Because, Bramble whispered, I broke old woolly's jar, and I ran, and now I'm stuck, and it's my fault, and I don't want anybody to look at me. Matt, without a word, held the thorny branches steady with both hooves so they wouldn't snap back. Biscuit carefully worked loose, the wool caught on the thorns, one gentle tug at a time. Clover sat close, so Bramble wouldn't feel alone in the middle of it. It was Pebble who remembered. When I was scared in the boat, he said quietly, Jesus told me, call to him. He always comes. Let's not carry this by ourselves, Bramble. Let's bring you to him. So they did. Slowly, carefully, taking turns, letting Bramble lean his sore leg against their shoulders, they helped him up the hill toward the fire, where Jesus sat beside old Woolley under the first stars. Jesus didn't wait for Bramble to explain. He looked at the four tired, determined faces first, really looked, the way he always did, and said, You worked hard to bring him to me tonight. Then he turned to Bramble, whose head hung low. That heavy thing you've been carrying since the jar broke, Jesus said gently, you can set it down now. It's already forgiven, all of it. Bramble's breath caught. But I haven't even said sorry yet. I know your heart, said Jesus. I knew it before you did. Cedar, sitting nearby, tilted his head the way he did when something didn't add up. But how can it just be all right? He hasn't fixed anything. Jesus smiled and reached down to gently steady Bramble's tangled leg. Watch, he said, and as he helped Bramble find his footing, the little lamb stood, tested his leg, and took one wobbling step. Then another, then he was hopping in a small, disbelieving circle. It's not sore anymore, Bramble cried. Old Wooly rose slowly, silver wool catching the firelight, and opened his arms. Come here, little one. The jar was only honey. You are what matters. And Bramble ran to him, really ran on two strong legs, and the whole hillside burst into the kind of laughter that comes after a very long held breath. Jesus watched them all with warmth in his eyes. This is what I want you to remember, he said. I care about everything that's wrong, the parts you can see and the parts hidden deep in your heart. I can mend both, and when you help carry someone who's stuck to me, you are doing the most loving thing there is. What in your heart might feel tangled or heavy tonight, the way Bramble's leg was caught among the thorns? Jesus already knows about it, and he is never too busy to untangle it gently all the way through. And so tonight we learn that Jesus doesn't choose between mending our hearts and our hurts. He cares about both together all at once. And when we help a friend who is stuck find their way to him, we are doing exactly what love looks like. Dear Jesus, thank you for seeing every part of me, the parts that hurt, and the parts that feel heavy inside. Help me bring my friends to you when they are stuck, and help me remember that you always, always want to help. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much, sweet dreams.