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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Camel and the Open Hooves, inspired by the Gospel of Matthew nineteen twenty three thirty. Tonight, Jesus teaches us something big and kind. Sharing is hard, and we cannot make our own hearts kind enough all by ourselves. When we want to keep the best things for ourselves, walking into God's close love gets very hard, like a huge shaggy camel trying to squeeze through a tiny needle's eye. But Jesus looks at us with love and says, With people this is impossible, but with God all things are possible. And so tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where a little lamb named Juniper is learning how to share. Morning smelled of crushed mint and left over time. Dew silvered the grass, Juniper's white wool was still a little dusty from the far pasture. One clover blossom rode behind her ear, and her empty basket hung light on her foreleg. Yesterday Juniper had learned something hard about herself. She liked to keep the best things for herself. Today she wanted to do better. She wanted to share. She really did. By the mint, the berry bush had gone suddenly heavy, dark, sweet, and shining. Biscuit's golden tuft bounced toward the biggest cluster. First pick, she called, then softened. I mean we can share, I can try. Little Bramble waited at the back of the line. Waddle stood near the gate, dusty ears lifting. Clover's cream wool was soft, her blue scarf neat, her sprig thoughtful and green. Old Woolly watched from the shade, silver grey, quiet as a kind fire. Juniper's hooves twitched. She wanted the fattest, sweetest berries, and she wanted them first, before anybody else could get there. Sharing them felt like giving away something she really, really wanted. I can't, she whispered. I want to share. I tried yesterday, but when I see the best ones, my hooves still want to grab them. It is too hard. It is impossible. Clover's sprig tipped. Then who can have a heart that's free? she asked, if even trying hard lambs get stuck. That was when Jesus came along the mint path, warm as always. He looked at each of them as if that lamb were the only lamb in the meadow. He did not frown at Juniper's shaking hooves. He looked, and the look was love. Listen, he said, It is very hard for a grabbing heart to walk into my father's kingdom, harder than a huge, shaggy camel squeezing through the eye of a sewing needle, packs and all. Biscuit pictured it, a camel as tall as the hillgate, bags piled high, trying to poke its nose through a needle no bigger than a daisy seed. A small, astonished laugh popped out of her. That camel would never fit. Not while it hangs on to the load, Jesus said gently. The trouble is not that berries are bad or baskets, or being first. The trouble is thinking that having the most and the best will make you happy. Setting the load down is something you cannot finish by your own strong hooves. The circle went still. Then who can be saved? Clover asked, almost in a breath. Jesus looked at them, really looked the way morning looks at a field. With lambs, this is impossible, he said, but with God all things are possible. Juniper's blossom trembled. The words felt like hands around her tight place, not yanking, just warming. Wattle came one step closer. Her voice was like a dry leaf, brave and thin. I left my old corner in the lower pasture, she said. We followed you. What will we have? Jesus did not scold the question. He answered it like a hug. You will have more than you can count, he said. More friends, more home, more love than a hundred baskets, and life with me that does not end. This is not a trade, it is a gift. When you stop grabbing, you finally receive things as gifts, and many who are first will be last, and the last will be first. He turned to the back of the line. Bramble, you first. Bramble's small legs blinked forward. Jesus set three berries in her hooves, still warm from the sun. Biscuit waited and went last on purpose. The last berries tasted just as sweet, sweeter even, because her hooves were empty enough to notice. Juniper asked, very small, will you do what I cannot? Yes, Jesus said. That is what my father loves to do. Her hooves loosened the way ice loosens in kind weather. She passed a cluster to wattle. Old Wooly's voice felt like sitting next to a fire. Grace opens what trying cannot, he said. And so tonight we learned that we cannot make ourselves share, and we cannot pry our own hooves open. Jesus looks at us with love and does the impossible. God makes wide, sharing hearts. He gives more home and more love than we can count, and he is especially kind to the ones at the back of the line. What is one tight place you could ask God to open for you tonight? Let's close our eyes now, safe on the green hill, held by the shepherd who makes the impossible possible. Jesus, I cannot open my heart all by myself. Please do what I cannot. Help me trust you more than my pile, and make room in me for your love. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.