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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called Biscuit and the Sign That Was Already There, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew twelve thirty eight forty two. And so tonight our gospel tells us about some grown ups who kept asking Jesus for one more amazing sign to prove who he was, even though he had already healed the sick, comforted the sorrowful, and shown kindness again and again right in front of them. Jesus told them the truest sign of all was still coming. Like the old story of a man swallowed by a great fish and kept safe three days in its dark belly before being carried gently back to shore, Jesus himself would pass through the hardest, darkest days before rising up again full of life. What God wants isn't more proof. It's a heart that notices what's already been shown and turns toward him in trust. Tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where Biskot, who loves a good test more than almost any lamb in the flock, is about to discover that the biggest sign of all was standing right beside her the whole time. The evening fire crackled low and gold at the center of the fold, and the flock had gathered close around it the way they did every night, wool warm against wool, the first stars blinking awake overhead. Old Woolly was telling his favorite old story, the one about a man who ran from the task God gave him, got swallowed whole by an enormous, gentle hearted fish, and spent three long days curled safe in its dark belly before it set him down, unharmed on a sunny shore. And after all that, old Wooly said, silver wool glowing in the firelight, he did exactly what he'd been asked to do all along. Biscuit's golden tuft bounced as she sat up. But how do we really know it's true? she asked, the way she asked almost everything, bright eyed and unsatisfied. She turned to where Jesus sat quietly among them. Do something tonight nobody's seen before, something brand new. Then I'll really believe all of it. Jesus didn't look surprised. He only looked at her the way he always did, like she was the only lamb in the meadow. Biscuit, he said gently, how many signs do you already have? Biskit opened her mouth, then closed it. Think, Jesus said. Two nights ago a bent reed that should have snapped for good was mended in my hands, and a nearly out flame caught and grew steady again. Last night a muddled little garden bed was left to grow slow and unhurried, and it's already turning towards something beautiful. Every single night this week I have been here, not once missing, not once too tired, not once too busy for you. He tilted his head. That's already more signs than you could count on every hoof you have. Biscuit shifted, her tuft drooping slightly. But those already happened. I wanted something new. I know, Jesus said, kindly, not scolding. But wanting a new sign every night is like standing beside a whole river and asking for one more drop of water before you'll believe it's wet. What I'm asking for isn't a bigger trick to watch. It's a heart that lets what it's already seen, change how it lives. Beside them, Clover hadn't said a word. She'd simply leaned in close against Jesus' side the moment he sat down, her clover sprig glowing steady in the firelight. No test, no proof required. Old Wooly's story had told of a faraway queen who once crossed weeks of desert sand just to sit and listen to a wise king. Clover hadn't traveled far tonight. She'd simply come and stayed close, and that had been enough. Biskit watched her a moment. Then she thought of Wren, tucked near the far edge of the fold, still sniffling faintly from a scraped knee nobody had tended to yet. She didn't ask Jesus for anything else. She got up, crossed the grass in the dark, and settled beside Tiny Wren, nuzzling her gently until the sniffling stopped, and Wren's eyes drooped shut against biscuits wool. Jesus watched her go and smiled the smile he saved for exactly this. And so tonight we learn that we don't need one more amazing sign to know God is real and good. He has already shown us again and again in the ordinary kindnesses we sometimes forget to count. The best way to answer him isn't to ask for more proof. It's to let our hearts soften and go do the next kind thing right in front of us. Is there a kindness God has already shown you today that you could notice and answer with kindness of your own? Dear Jesus, thank you for all the kind things you've already shown me today, even the small ones I almost missed. Help my heart notice them and turn them into kindness for someone else. Keep me close to you tonight, safe and unafraid. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.