SPEAKER_00 0:00

Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Stone Pebble Couldn't Take Back, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew thirteen thirty six to forty three. Before we begin tonight, here's something wonderful the Bible tells us. God is like a good shepherd who leads his flock to soft grass and clean water, and when any of his lambs make a mistake, he never keeps count of it or holds it against them. He simply lets it go all the way down and never goes looking for it again. Tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where a lamb named Pebble is about to find out just how completely that's true. The last light was draining out of the sky in soft grey blue, and the fold was settling into its nightly hush. Wool pressed close to wool, the fire popping low, old Wooly's voice rising and falling somewhere near the front as he finished a story. Pebble had the gate tonight? It was a job he liked, standing at the wide wooden gate at the fold's edge, counting heads as the flock filed in for the night, making sure every lamb was safely inside before the latch dropped. He was almost done counting, clover, biscuit, fig, bramble, mat, when a firefly blinked past his nose, and then another, and Pebble's eyes followed them right out past the gatepost, out into the dark grass beyond. By the time he looked back, the gate hung open, and Tiny Wren, old Wooly's granddaughter, barely three days old, all curled ears and wobbly legs, was gone. Pebbles' whole body went cold. He shot through the gate and into the meadow, heart hammering, calling her name low so as not to frighten her further. He found her only a few steps out, sitting in the grass, blinking up at the huge, unfamiliar stars, more curious than scared. He scooped her up gently and carried her back inside, and nothing bad had happened at all. But Pebble couldn't stop shaking. I looked away, he told Jesus, when Jesus came and sat beside him, near the gate. Just for a second, and I let her right out into the dark. His voice dropped low. What if this is just who I am? The lamb who doesn't watch closely enough. First I ran when it mattered most, that night by the lake. Now this. Jesus didn't answer right away. He picked up a smooth grey stone from beside the gatepost and turned it over once in his hand. Come here a moment, he said, and led Pebble down to the dark stream at the bottom of the hill, where Wren, now sleepy and safe against old Wooly's side, could still be seen glowing faintly by the firelight above. You remember that night by the lake, Jesus said. You thought that once you'd let me down, you'd have to spend the rest of your life proving you wouldn't do it again. But that's not how I keep things, Pebble. He held up the stone. Watch. He tossed it into the middle of the stream. It vanished with a soft plunk, sinking down through the dark water, gone. That's what I do with every mistake you bring me, Jesus said. I don't hold on to it to bring up again later. I don't stay upset and wait for my chance to remind you. I let it sink all the way down, and I don't go fishing for it. It's not still sitting at the bottom waiting to trip you up tomorrow. It's simply gone. Pebble looked at the water, smooth and dark again already, as if the stone had never touched it. Even this one, the gate? Even this one, Jesus said. Wren is safe. You noticed, and you ran to find her, and you brought her home. That's the lamb you are tonight. He nudged Pebble's shoulder gently. I'm not keeping a list, Pebble. I never have been. Something in Pebble's chest, coiled tight all evening, finally loosened. He walked back up the hill beside Jesus, and when he reached the gate he pulled it firmly shut behind them both, not out of fear this time, but simply because it was good and right to do, and his hooves felt steady doing it. And so tonight we learned that God is not the kind of shepherd who keeps a list of our mistakes to bring up later. When we come to him, he lets them go completely, sunk out of sight, never to be dug back up. Is there a mistake you've been quietly carrying that you could hand to Jesus tonight? Trust in Him to truly let it go. Dear Jesus, thank you for never keeping count of the times I get things wrong. Help me remember that when I bring you my mistakes, you let them go for good. Watch over me and everyone I love tonight, safe inside your fold. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.