SPEAKER_00 0:00

Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Map Clover Didn't Need, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew eleven twenty five twenty seven. Tonight's Gospel is a quiet, happy prayer of Jesus's. He thanks his Father for tucking away the biggest secrets of heaven not for the cleverest grown ups, but for the littlest, most trusting hearts. Jesus says knowing God isn't about figuring him out with clever thinking. It's about loving him and staying close, the way a child leans into someone who loves them without needing to understand everything first. And so tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where Clover has gotten herself quite tangled up, trying to work God out all on her own, and where the littlest lamb in the whole flock is about to show her something better. The evening had come down soft and golden over Shepherd's Hill, the kind of evening where fireflies blinked on one by one, like the sky was practicing for stars. Down by the fire circle, Biskit was teaching a somersault to anyone who'd try it, and old Wooly sat mending a bit of frayed rope, humming low. But Clover sat apart, a little stick in her hoof, drawing careful lines and circles in the soft dirt. What's that? Biskot asked, bouncing over, one somersault still in her legs. A map, Clover said, frowning at it, of how to know God exactly right. If I can remember every one of old Wooly's stories, and never get a single prayer wrong and understand every bit of it, then I'll finally be sure. Sure that I really know him, sure that I love him the right way. Biskit tilted her head. That sounds like a lot of remembering. It has to be, Clover said. Doesn't it? Just then a small round shape came wobbling across the grass. Wren, the littlest lamb in the whole flock, her curly wool still baby soft. She didn't stop to ask anyone anything. She simply toddled straight up to Jesus, climbed into the crook of his arm, and settled there, humming happily at the fire, not understanding one single thing about flames or warmth or why the stars were coming out, and needing to understand none of it, to feel perfectly, wonderfully safe. Clover watched her, stick forgotten in her hoof. How does she just do that? she murmured. She doesn't know anything yet. Jesus looked over at Clover's careful drawing in the dirt, and then at Clover herself, and his eyes were warm, not teasing. Come tell me what you're working on. Clover explained it all, the map, the remembering, the fear of getting even one piece wrong. Clover, Jesus said gently, my father and I know each other completely all the way through. Do you know how I learned him so well? Clover shook her head. Not by figuring him out with clever thinking, by loving him all the way through and letting him love me back. That's the whole of it, and that's exactly what I want to share with you. Not a hundred answers you have to earn, but a closeness you don't have to work for at all. But what if I get confused? Clover asked, and her voice went small. What if I don't understand something right? Then you'll be exactly like every lamb who has ever loved me, Jesus said, smiling. Loving me was never about having no questions, Clover. It's about staying close even with them. The way Wren doesn't understand the fire, and stays warm anyway. Clover looked down at her stick at all those careful, worried lines. It reminded her suddenly of the night she'd tried to find her own clever shortcut home instead of trusting the path she already knew, and ended up lost and ashamed by the stone wall. Maybe some things weren't meant to be worked out alone after all. She set the stick down. Come sit, Jesus said, and she did, right against his side, and Wren shifted sleepily to lean against her wool too. Clover didn't understand everything. She still had questions stacked up like unread stars, but sitting there held close, she felt her little clover sprig lift bright and easy behind her ear, and for the first time all evening that felt like more than enough. And so tonight we learned that you don't need to have every answer figured out to be close to God. Jesus shares his own perfect closeness with his Father, with anyone who trusts him simply, the way the littlest lamb trusts the arms that hold her. Is there something you don't quite understand about God tonight that you could bring to him anyway and just let yourself be held? Dear Jesus, I don't understand everything about you, and that's okay. Thank you for loving me anyway. Help me stay close to you tonight, just the way I am. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.