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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Little Tree and the Quiet Touch, inspired by the gospel of Matthew 9 18-26. Tonight's story from Matthew is full of hope. A worried father knelt right down in front of everyone and begged Jesus to help his daughter. A woman who had been unwell for a very long time didn't say a word out loud at all. She simply reached out and touched the edge of his cloak, believing that would be enough. Jesus welcomed them both exactly as they came. There is no wrong way to bring Jesus what worries us, loud or quiet. He notices every time. And so tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where Fig and Quiet Matt are each carrying something they need Jesus to see. The afternoon had been warm and gold, the kind where bees hum low over the clover. Then, quick as anything, a summer storm rolled through, big fat raindrops, one crack of thunder, and gone again, leaving everything dripping and silver. Fig, a small, quick lamb with russet brown wool, tore down the hill the moment the sky cleared, straight toward the little fig sapling she'd been growing all spring. Old Woolly had given it to her as a tiny twig, and every morning before anyone else woke, Fig carried water to it in a cupped leaf, whispering to it the way you might whisper to a friend. She found it lying sideways in the mud, roots half out of the ground, every leaf curled and brown. No, Fig's cry rang clear across the hillside. She didn't stop to wonder if it was silly to make a fuss over a little tree. She turned and ran straight up to the fire circle, right up to Jesus. Please come quick. My tree is dying. Please come. Jesus was already on his feet. Show me, Fig. As the flock hurried down the hill behind him, Matt walked near the back, same as always, saying nothing. He'd caught a sharp stone in his hoof weeks ago, and though it had scabbed over, it still ached with every step, a small secret pain he'd simply decided to carry quietly, especially not tonight, not with Fig needing Jesus so badly. But as Jesus passed close beside him, Matt, without even planning to, reached out one hoof and rested it lightly against Jesus' leg. He said nothing. He only hoped that being near might be enough. Jesus stopped at once and turned. Matt, I felt that. Matt's ears went flat with surprise. I didn't want to bother you. Fig needs you more. There's room in my heart for both of you at the very same time, Jesus said, kneeling to look at Matt's sore hoof. He rested his warm hands around it, and the old ache eased like sunlight melting frost. You didn't have to shout to be heard, little one. Reaching for me quietly was never too small a thing. I feel it every time. Down at the fallen sapling, Cedar was already shaking his head. Look at it, Jesus. Roots torn loose, leaves gone brown. It's finished. Jesus didn't argue. He knelt in the mud beside the little tree, pressed its roots gently back into the soil, and cupped his hands around the thin trunk, still and warm, the way you'd cup your hands around something sleeping that only needed time to wake. Fig watched, holding her breath. By the time the stars came out and the fire crackled low, a single small green bud had unfurled near the base of the stem. Tiny, but alive. It's not finished, Jesus said softly. It was only resting. Give it tonight and tomorrow sun and watch what it does. Gathered close around the fire, Jesus looked around at all of them: bold Fig, quiet Matt, doubtful cedar, and everyone in between. Some of you shout when you need me, running right up in front of everybody, he said, smiling at Fig. And some of you just reach out quietly, hardly making a sound. He glanced at Matt. I love you exactly the way you come to me. There is no wrong way. I am always listening, and nothing you bring me is ever too far gone for my hands to hold. And so tonight we learned that whether we come to Jesus with a big, loud cry for help or a small, quiet touch nobody else notices, He welcomes us just the same, and He never thinks anything we carry is too hopeless for Him to hold. What is something in your heart tonight, big or small, that you could bring to Jesus, loudly or quietly, whichever feels right. Dear Jesus, thank you for hearing me. Whether I ask loudly or just reach for you quietly in my heart. Nothing I carry is too small or too big for you. Help me trust you tonight, and please watch over the ones I love. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much, sweet dreams.