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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called Still Awake, inspired by the gospel of Luke eleven thirteen. Some nights, children, the littlest ache keeps calling out long after we've already asked for help once. Tonight's gospel tells us something every heart needs to hear. God is never too tired, never too busy, and never bothered when we ask him again and again and again. He is not a grumpy neighbor woken at midnight. He is a father who delights in giving good gifts to the ones he loves. And so tonight we're back on Shepherd's Hill, where a very small lamb is about to find out just how true that is. A twig snapped somewhere beyond the sleeping flock, and Pip's eyes flew open. She lay very still, listening. The hill was dark and enormous, in a way it never seemed by daylight. Every shadow suddenly a shape she didn't recognize. Somewhere down near the stream something rustled in the reeds, probably just a vole, probably just the wind. But Pip's heart went thump, thump, thump anyway, fast as a rabbit's foot. Beside the biggest oak on a worn wooden post hung the night bell. It was small and brass and a little dented, and every lamb on Shepherd's Hill knew what it was for. If you truly needed someone in the dark, you rang it, and whoever was tending the fire would come. Pip had rung it once before, exactly one week ago, the night she lost her good smooth pebble, and cried herself breathless looking for it. Old Wooly had come right away, found the pebble tucked in a fold of her blanket, and sat with her until she stopped shaking. But that was one week ago. Surely a lamb only got so many turns. Pip squeezed her eyes shut and tried to be brave the way Biskit was all with brave, lying so still and so quiet that maybe the dark would forget she was there at all. It didn't work. Her wool prickled, her breath came too fast. Finally, moving like she was doing something wrong, she crept to the post and gave the bell the smallest, softest ring she possibly could. Barely a whisper of sound. Nothing happened. She waited, counting her own heartbeats. Maybe one tiny ring wasn't enough. Maybe she needed to try again. But what if ringing it twice made her the lamb who always needed something? What if Jesus, who she knew sat by the fire most nights with old Wooly, grew tired of a small lamb who kept asking for comfort she'd already been given once? She rang it again anyway, a little louder this time. Firelight bobbed through the dark almost at once, and it wasn't old Wooly's slow, steady walk. It was Jesus, coming quickly across the grass and kneeling right down in front of her, as quick as if he'd been listening for that exact sound all along. I rang it twice, Pip blurted, before he could even say hello. I already asked for help last week. I didn't want to be the lamb who keeps asking. Jesus didn't look surprised, and he didn't look tired. Pip, he said, how many times do you think I want you to ring that bell? She didn't know. Once? she guessed. Maybe twice if it's important? Every single time Jesus said To night, tomorrow night, a hundred nights from now. There's no number where I stop wanting to hear you. By now the bell had woken half the flock. Biscuit sat up with her tuft sticking sideways, blinking but already talking. Wait, she said. Pip already got help last week. Doesn't that use up her turn? Won't you get worn out, being asked so much by the same lamb? It was Clover who answered, before Jesus could. She was quiet for a moment, working it out loud the way she did when a thought was still forming. Old Wooly doesn't get tired of telling me the same story every single night, even though I ask for it over and over, she said slowly. He likes telling it. I don't think love runs out like that, like a jar that goes empty if you dip into it too many times. Jesus smiled at her. That's exactly it. He turned back to Pip, and his voice went plain and certain, the way it did when he wanted a thing understood all the way down. If you ask me for a warm wrap on a cold night, would I ever bring you a scratchy thistle instead? No, Pip said. If you asked for warm milk, would I bring you something bitter? No. Then why would you think I'd grow tired of giving you something good just because you asked more than once? Keep asking, Pip. Keep knocking on this door as many times as you need to. It will always open. Old Woolly, who had come up behind them with his slow, careful walk, added something Pip had never heard before. Do you remember the dusty lamb who came from beyond the ridge with her sick little one? he said. Her mamma kept asking Jesus to help, even when the answer seemed slow and quiet. She never once stopped, and Jesus never once grew tired of her. He healed her little lamb and said she had about the bravest, most stubborn faith he'd ever seen. Pip thought about that, a mamma who kept asking and asking, and a father who never once said enough. And Pip, Jesus said gently, the best thing I give isn't a warm wrap or milk, or even finding a lost pebble. The best thing I give is myself, close to you every single time you call. That part never runs out. Pip looked at the small brass bell, no longer something she was ashamed of touching. Then she looked at Jesus, still kneeling right there in the grass, in no hurry at all to leave. Ask, and you'll be heard, old Wooly said softly, like he was teaching her a new little song. Seek and you'll find, knock and the door will open. Pip said it back just once, under her breath, and this time when she lay back down, the dark didn't feel nearly so big. And that is the lovely secret tonight's gospel wants every child to know. You can ask God for help again and again, and he never grows tired of hearing from you. He isn't like a neighbor woken at midnight who grumbles before answering. He is a father who delights in giving good things to the ones he loves, and the very best gift he gives is himself right beside you. So ask and keep asking, seek and keep seeking. Knock, and the door will always always open. Dear Father, thank you for never getting tired of me. Help me remember that I can always come to you as many times as I need to with anything on my heart. Thank you for loving me enough to always answer. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.