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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called Clover Sit Still, inspired by the Gospel of Luke ten thirty eight forty two. Tonight Jesus teaches us something that's easy to forget when there is too much to do. That stopping everything to listen to someone you love is never a waste of time. Even the best most helpful job can wait a little while if something even better is happening. And so tonight we are back on Shepherd's Hill, where Clover has far too many jobs lined up before supper, and Jesus is already on his way up the path. Just one more trip, Clover told herself, lugging a hollowed out gourd dipper down the slope toward the stream. The gourd banged against her knees with every step, and cold water sloshed over the rim and darkened the wool on her front legs. Behind her, up on the flat ground by the fold, the water trough sat deep and dark in the last gold light of evening. It was already three quarters full. Clover had decided it needed to be filled all the way to the very rim before Jesus arrived, and so down to the stream she went again and again, her breath coming quick and short. There was still the bedding to fluff before dark, she reminded herself, and the loose stones by the fire circle to line up into proper seats for anyone who came late, and Clover Biscuit's voice came bright and easy down the hill. He's here. Come quick. He's already telling the beginning part. Clover looked up. Sure enough there was Jesus walking slowly up the path with old Woolly beside him, and already a little knot of lambs settling at his feet in the grass. Biscuit had dropped down right in the middle of them, chin propped on her front legs, not moving an inch. Something in Clover's chest went tight and unhappy. She wanted to be sitting there too, more than almost anything. But the trough wasn't quite full, and if it wasn't full, the littlest lambs might be thirsty before morning, and wouldn't that be her fault? So she kept going, up the bank, down to the stream, up the bank again. Each trip she told herself would be the last one. It never quite was. By the time Jesus had finished the first part of his story, something about a shepherd who left ninety nine sheep to go looking for just one who had wandered off. Clover was still hauling water and getting crosser with every trip. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She marched over, gourd still dripping in her front hooves, and planted herself right in front of Jesus. Doesn't it matter to you that I'm doing all this work and Biskit isn't helping even a little? she said, louder than she meant to. Tell her to come fill the trough too. The lambs around Jesus went quiet. Biskit's ears drooped, stung. But Jesus didn't look cross at all. He looked at Clover the way he always did, like there was truly nowhere else he would rather be looking right now. Clover, he said gently. Clover just her name, said twice, soft as anything. No one had ever corrected her so kindly before. There will always be another job, Jesus said. The trough will need filling again tomorrow and the day after that, and every day for the rest of your life. But there is only one of me here tonight. Come and sit down, listen with me. Clover's throat felt tight. But the little ones will be thirsty, she said. It was the thing she had been telling herself all evening, and she needed it to still be true. How full is it right now? Jesus asked. Clover opened her mouth to answer and stopped. She actually thought about it. The trough had been deep and nearly full before she had even started her extra trips. She had kept going, she realized slowly, not because the flock truly needed it, but because stopping and sitting down with empty hooves had felt like doing nothing at all, and doing nothing had felt somehow like failing. It's already enough, she admitted. I think I just didn't want to stop. That's all right, Jesus said. Set the gourd down. It will still be there after the story. Clover set it down in the grass. She sat, finally, close against old Wooly's warm side, and Biscuit shuffled over to make room, bumping shoulders with her the way she always did. Jesus went on with his story, and this time Clover heard every single word of it. The part where the shepherd found the one lost sheep, lifted it onto his shoulders, and carried it all the way home, glad. When the story was finished, the stars had properly come out, clustered thick across the dark, like a floor of oats someone had scattered without counting. The whole flock sat quiet for a moment, just thinking about it together. In the morning the trough had gone down again the way it always did, and needed filling all over, just like every other day. The bedding Clover had fluffed so carefully the evening before had gone flat again overnight, the way bedding always does, but the story about the shepherd and the lost sheep, Clover still had every single word of that one. She told it to little Wren by the fire that very evening, start to finish, and it hadn't worn out one bit. Jesus loves it when we work hard and take care of each other, filling troughs and fluffing bedding and all the rest. But every single day there is one thing that matters even more than any job on the list, stopping what we are doing and really listening to him. Chores get finished and then need doing all over again. But what we hear from Jesus when we sit still enough to really listen is ours forever. Nobody can take that away. Dear Jesus, thank you for all the good jobs we get to do each day, but most of all, thank you for wanting to just be with us. Help us remember to stop, sit close to you, and listen. Keep us safe and warm all through the night. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.