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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Basket with Room for One More, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew nine thirty two thirty eight. Tonight's gospel tells us that Jesus once saw a great crowd of people who felt tired and lost, like sheep with no shepherd to lead them, and his heart was moved with tenderness for every single one. He healed what was hurting, and then he told his friend something wonderful. There is so much love in the world still waiting to be shared, and he needs helpers, even small ones, to go find the ones who feel lost and bring them close. And so tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, on the one afternoon of the whole summer, when the bramble patch was so full of ripe berries that old Wooly declared a harvest day. The bramble patch sat at the far edge of the meadow, heavy and humming with bees, its branches sagging under berries so dark and sweet they looked almost like little jewels. More berries than I've ever seen, old Wooly said, setting out baskets by the fence. We'll need every hand we have before the evening rain comes. Clover, biscuit, mat, and little Bramble grabbed baskets at once, laughing as they raced down the row, purple stained mouths and full hands. Cedar counted the bushes with his usual head tilt and frowned. Even with all of us, this is too much for one afternoon. Nobody noticed Wattle drifting toward the thinner, quieter end of the patch, where the berries grew sparse, and the others' laughter grew faint. She hadn't been asked to join, not really, and she told herself, it was silly to mind. She picked alone, ears drooping like folded paper, until she looked up and realized she couldn't even see the rest of the flock anymore. Jesus saw her before she saw him. He walked the whole length of the bramble row, past the busy pickers, straight to the quiet edge where Waddle stood small and still. I looked for you, he said gently, the moment I noticed you'd wandered off by yourself. Waddle's voice came out like a dry leaf. I didn't think anyone would notice. I always notice, Jesus said. He held out an empty basket, not a full one, an empty one, hers to fill. There's room for one more helper today. Will you come? Something in Waddle's chest loosened, the way a fist slowly opens. She took the basket, and when she reached the others, before she could stop herself, she called out, clear and glad, not a dry leaf whisper at all. There are whole bushes over here. Nobody's touched yet. Come look. Biscuit's tuft bounced with delight. Bramble scampered over immediately. Even Cedar looked up, surprised by the sound of Wattle's voice ringing so bright across the field. By the time the last light turned gold, every basket was full, and old Woolly's arms could barely carry them all. Around the fire that night, Jesus looked at the tired, happy, berry stained flock. There is always more good waiting to be gathered than we have hands for, he said. That's true of berries, and it's true of love. So many lambs out there feel lost, the way Waddle did today, wandering just out of sight of the flock. I need helpers to go notice them, the way I noticed her. Even the smallest of you can do this, with a kind word, an open spot in a basket, or simply a prayer asking me to send more helpers. Cedar, still faintly purple around the mouth, looked over at Waddle. I didn't think to look for you today. I'm glad he did. Waddle's droopy ears lifted just a little and stayed that way. And so tonight we learned that Jesus notices every lamb who has wandered off alone, even to the quiet edges, nobody else is watching, and the same love that finds us is the love he asks us to share, so that no one stays lost for long. Is there someone near you who might be standing a little apart tonight, waiting for someone to notice them? Dear Jesus, thank you for always noticing me, even when I feel far away or forgotten. Help me notice others who might be feeling lost too, and give me a kind word or a helping hand to share. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.