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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Story Underneath the Story, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew thirteen ten seventeen. Before we settle in tonight, here's something wonderful the Bible tells us. Jesus loved telling little stories that had something tucked inside them, and understanding what they truly meant was never about being the cleverest lamb in the fold. It was a gift for anyone whose heart was willing to slow down, turn the story over, and really look. Tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where Clover and Biscuit are about to find out just how true that is. The evening fire had burned down to a soft orange glow, and the whole fold smelled like warm wool and wood smoke. Stars were coming out one by one over the ridge, and the flock was settling in around the fire the way they did every night. Old Woolly near the middle where his voice could reach everyone. Matt a little to the side. As always, fig and bramble curled together already half asleep, and clover and biscuit shoulder to shoulder near the warmest part of the circle. Jesus came and sat down among them, the way he always did, and the lambs made room without even thinking about it. There was always room for him. I have a small story for you tonight, he said. It has something tucked inside it. You won't need sharp eyes to find it, just a patient heart. Biscuit sat up straight, tuft bouncing. Tell it, tell it. So Jesus told them about a mother swallow who lived under the eaves of the old barn. Every night after her babies had fallen asleep, she tucked soft moss under their wings, so gently they never even stirred, and every morning they woke up warm, never once wondering why. What do you think that story means? Jesus asked. Biskit answered first, the way she always did. It means she's a good mommy bird. That's true, Jesus said warmly. And there's something else tucked inside it too, for whoever wants to look with their heart, not just their eyes. Biskit turned the thought over for about two seconds. Then a firefly wobbled past her nose, and she was up and bounding after it, giggling into the dark. But Clover stayed. Her little clover sprig tilted thoughtfully as she sat by the dying fire, turning the story over and over the way she turned over most things. Old Wooly noticed her stillness. What is it, Clover? Old Woolly, she said slowly, do you think Jesus is like that bird, tucking warm things under us before we even notice we needed them? And then, sitting there, she noticed something she had walked past every single night without truly seeing it. Old Woolly always settled himself on the draftier side of the circle, so the younger lambs, fig, bramble, even biscuit, got the warmest spot without ever having to ask for it. He had been doing it for as long as she could remember. She had simply never looked closely enough to see it. You give us the warm side, she whispered. Every night. I never noticed. Old Wooly smiled, surprised and a little shy. I didn't need you to notice, little one. That's rather the point. Just then biscu came bounding back, beetle forgotten. Did I miss something? Clover didn't tease her, and she didn't keep the secret to herself either. She simply told her gently, the way you'd hand someone something precious. It's not only about birds, biscuit. It's about all the warm things someone gives us quietly before we even ask. Biskit went still, really still for the first time all evening, and looked around the circle with new eyes. Then her mouth fell open. Old woolly's always on the cold side, on purpose. Jesus watched them both, smiling. That's the gift I love giving most, he said, not just words for your ears, but truth that sinks all the way down and changes how you see. It isn't reserved for the quickest heart or the quietest one. It's for anyone willing to stay a little longer and really look. Tonight both of you heard it, just at your own speed, and I was glad to wait for each of you. And so tonight we learned that Jesus loves giving us hearts that truly see and truly hear, not because we're the cleverest, but because we're willing to slow down and let a small story sink all the way in. Is there something kind and quiet someone has been doing for you that you might not have noticed yet? Let's close our eyes now, warm by the low fire, hearts a little more open than they were this morning, and rest safe in the love that's been tucked under us all along. Dear Jesus, thank you for loving me enough to tuck kindness under me before I even ask. Help my heart slow down tonight, so I can truly see the quiet, warm things you and others do for me. Thank you for waiting patiently for me to understand at just the speed I need. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much, sweet dreams.