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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Bundle Too Big to Carry Alone, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew eleven twenty five thirty. Tonight's reading holds one of the kindest things Jesus ever said. Come to me all you who are weary and carrying heavy things, and I will give you rest. He doesn't ask us to be the smartest or the strongest first. He just asks us to come, tired exactly as we are, and let him walk beside us and carry the load together. And so tonight, we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where Bouncy, always first picked biscuit, is about to learn that some things were never meant to be carried alone. The clouds had been piling up over Shepherd's Hill all afternoon, gray and low and smelling of rain, and old Woolly knew what that meant. Storm's comin' tonight, he said, standing at the edge of the hayfield where the flock had spent the day cutting sweet smelling grass to dry. We need every bundle up in the shelter before the first drop falls, or the whole flock sleeps on damp bedding. Biscuit's golden tuft bounced as she trotted straight to the biggest bundle in the field, nearly as wide as she was tall, tied round with a length of vine. She always got picked first for the meadow games, and tonight she decided she'd carry the biggest load, all by herself, and prove she could do it. I've got this one, she announced, hauling it onto her back before anyone could offer to help. It was heavier than it looked. By the time she'd climbed halfway up the hill, her legs had started to shake. The bundle slid sideways. She hitched it back up, breathing hard, and kept going. Clover trotted alongside her, Clover sprig bobbing with worry. Biscuit, let me carry the other end with you, Clover said. I don't need help, Biskit puffed. I can do it myself. Nearby, Bramble bounded past on two strong, sure legs, running fast and easy the way he had ever since Jesus mended his leg by the creek, and Biskit felt, just for a second, like the slowest, weakest lamb on the hillside. She pushed on harder, determined not to ask for anything. Halfway to the shelter, one hind hoof caught a root. Biscuit stumbled, and the whole bundle tumbled off her back into the grass. She sat down hard beside it, chest heaving, eyes stinging. I can't even carry one bundle right, she whispered. That's when she felt it, a warm, steady presence settling into the grass beside her. You look tired, Biskit, Jesus said gently, not one bit surprised, not one bit disappointed. I wanted to carry it myself. I wanted to be strong enough, Biskit said, staring at the scattered hay. You don't have to be strong enough before I'll help you, Jesus said. You don't have to fix this first or prove anything to me. Just let me take one side. He knelt and gathered up the loose hay, tying it back into its bundle, then lifted one end onto his own shoulder. There, now lift your side and we'll carry it together, you pulling, me pulling, neither of us straining alone. That's how carrying is meant to feel. Biskit lifted her side. It was true, with someone sharing the weight, the bundle that had crushed her a moment ago, now felt almost light. Clover came up on Biskit's other side and took a corner too, and the three of them carried the bundle the rest of the way up the hill, laughing a little at how easy it suddenly was. At the shelter, as the first raindrops began to patter on the roof, old Wooly settled the flock in for the night. You know, he said, worries are a bit like that hay bundle. Carry every one of them alone, and even a small worry can flatten you. But hand them to Jesus one by one, and somehow the load gets light. Jesus smiled at Biscuit across the firelight. I don't love you because you're the strongest or the cleverest lamb in the field. I love you just as you came to me tonight, tired and honest about it. That's all it ever takes to come to me. And so tonight we learn that Jesus never asks us to be strong enough, smart enough, or grown up enough, before he'll help us carry what feels heavy. He simply asks us to come to him, tired just as we are, and let him carry it with you. Is there something heavy in your heart tonight that you've been carrying all by yourself? You can hand it to Jesus just like Biscuit did and let him carry it with you. Dear Jesus, thank you for saying I can come to you just as I am, tired and all. Tonight I hand you the things that feel heavy, and I ask you to carry them with me. Help my heart feel light and rested, like Biscuit's did. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much, sweet dreams.