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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called Is It Growing Yet? Inspired by the Gospel of Luke eleven forty two forty six. Some things in life can't be rushed, no matter how much we want them to. Tonight Jesus shows the lambs that the surest, strongest kind of growing happens slowly, a little every day, with roots reaching down where nobody can see, and that staying close to God works exactly the same way. So let's go back to Shepherd's Hill, where Juniper has a cup of water, a very exact measurement, and a whole lot of questions. Same as yesterday, said Juniper, holding her little clay cup up to the morning light, so old Wooly could check it. Exactly to the line. Not a drop more, not a drop less. Old Wooly peered at the cup, then nodded, pleased. Juniper had measured that same cupful every single morning for eleven days now, ever since the big storm took down the old shade tree by the stream, the one with the wide branches where half the flock used to nap through the hottest part of the afternoon. One crack of thunder and down it went, roots and all, leaving nothing behind but a stump and a lot of very sunburned lambs. So Jesus had brought a sapling, a small one hardly taller than Juniper's knee, with a stem no thicker than a reed, and planted it right at the edge of the flowing stream, pressing the soil firm around its roots with his own hands. Why right there by the water? Clover had asked, watching. Because that's where it can drink even when the rest of the hill goes dry, Jesus said. A tree planted by water doesn't have to wait for rain. Its roots just reach down and find what they need every day on their own. Old Woolly watched a dry curled leaf go tumbling past them on the wind just then, end over end, going nowhere in particular, because it had nothing to hold it anywhere. That's the difference, he said. No roots and you go wherever the wind decides. Roots and you get to stay and grow. That had been eleven days ago. Juniper had measured her cup full every morning since, carried it down the path without spilling a single drop, and poured it at exactly the same spot at the base of the little stem, and the sapling looked exactly the same as the day it was planted. This morning Juniper set the empty cup down harder than she meant to. I don't understand it, she said. I do it exactly right. Same cup, same spot, same time, before the dew burns off, and it hasn't grown one single hair taller. Not one. Maybe tomorrow, said Clover. You said that eight mornings ago. Juniper's voice wobbled. Maybe it's supposed to be a different kind of water. Maybe I'm supposed to pour it faster or slower. She stopped, looking down at the small, stubborn stick in the dirt, and something in her face went very tired. Maybe I should just stop. If it isn't working, why keep doing the same thing every day? Clover didn't answer right away. Instead she knelt down beside the sapling, and very gently, with one hoof, she pushed back a little curl of soil from its base, just enough to peak. Juniper, she said, come look at this. Underneath, pale as morning light, thin little roots had crept outward through the dark soil, not just down, but sideways too, further than the sapling itself was tall, reaching toward the stream like small fingers feeling their way to water. Juniper stared. That wasn't there before. Maybe it was, said old Woolley, and we just couldn't see it, because it was happening where nobody was looking. Jesus crouched beside them and pointed to something smaller still, tucked where the stem met the soil, the tiniest curl of pale green, no bigger than a fingernail, a bud. But the roots grew, Juniper said slowly. Not the tree. Why does it get to hide the important part? It isn't hiding from you, Jesus said. It's just busy first, where you can't see it. You don't have to see something grow to know it's growing. Juniper looked at the roots a long moment. So all those mornings weren't wasted. Not one of them, said Jesus. Old Wooly smoothed the soil back gently over the roots, tucking them in. This is how it works for us too, he said. You can't make your own roots grow faster by wanting it badly enough. You just keep coming back, a little prayer, a kind word, a quiet minute with God, every single day, even on the days nothing seems to change. The growing happens underneath, where you can't always feel it. And then? asked Juniper. And then one day, Jesus said, there's shade enough for a whole flock to nap under, and fruit enough to share with every lamb who's hungry. But first, for a good long while, there's just roots quietly doing their work. Juniper picked up her little cup again and looked at it differently now. Not as something that hadn't worked yet, but as something that had been working the whole time. Same time tomorrow then, she said. Same time tomorrow, said Clover. Tonight we learned that growing close to God isn't something that happens all at once. It happens a little at a time, with roots reaching deeper every single day, even on the days when nothing seems different at all. The important question is never did it work yet? It's just did I come back today? Dear God, thank you for loving me every single day, even the ordinary ones. Help my roots grow deep and strong, close to you, even on the days I can't feel it happening. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.