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Good evening, little lambs. Tonight's story is called The Lamb Who Lost Count, inspired by the Gospel of Luke thirteen nine. There is a kind of mistake that keeps happening, no matter how many times you promise yourself it won't. Tonight we learn what God does with mistakes like that, not cut us off, but come closer and help. Tonight on Shepherd's Hill, a small scruffy lamb named Bracken is about to be given one more evening, and something nobody had thought to give him before real help, not just one more try. Every evening, just as the sky turned the color of ripe peaches, someone walked a slow circle around the whole flock and touched each lamb once, counting out loud before old Wooly swung the heavy gate bar shut for the night. It was the oldest job on Shepherd's Hill, older than the fold wall itself, and everyone understood exactly what it was for, so that not one single lamb was left shivering alone in the dark pasture after the gate was closed. For three evenings now the job had belonged to Bracken, and for three evenings Bracken had gotten it wrong. The first night two of the littlest lambs had curled up so close together by the warm rocks that he'd counted them as one. The second night a falling star streaked across the sky right in the middle of his count, and by the time he'd finished watching it, he couldn't remember if he'd said twenty six or skip straight to twenty eight. And just last night, the worst one, Bracken had called out all in too fast, and it wasn't until the gate bar was halfway down that someone heard a small, frightened bleat from behind the bramble patch. Mallow, the quiet lamb who'd wandered over from the browning fields in the next valley weeks ago, and still wasn't sure she counted as one of the flock, had been standing out there in the cold, forgotten. Nobody had been hurt, but it had been close. Three evenings, three mistakes, said Jonah the next morning, pacing in front of the fold with the particular seriousness he brought to anything unfair. Jona kept track of things, whose turn was whose, who had borrowed what, who owed an apology to whom, and he did not like what he was seeing. We can't keep risking a fourth. Someone steadier should take the count tonight. Give him one more evening, Jesus said. He was sitting on the low wall, turning a smooth stone over in his hands. But this time I'll walk the circle with him. Jonah planted his hooves. That isn't the same as fixing it, he said. He already had three chances. If we just keep handing him more and he keeps missing lambs, that isn't kind. It's dangerous. It isn't fair to the little ones to make every evening a guess. It was a fair thing to say, and nobody argued with it, not even Jesus. Instead, Jesus turned to Bracken, who was staring hard at his own front hooves. In three evenings, Jesus asked him gently, has anyone walked the circle beside you before tonight? Bracken opened his mouth to answer and then stopped. He thought about it properly. Each evening old Woolley had simply said Off you go then, and Bracken had gone off alone, and come back, and been asked for a number. Nobody had ever shown him how. No, Bracken said slowly, and something in his chest loosened just a little at saying it out loud. I was just trying, by myself, every time. Then that's what will change, Jesus said. Not just more time. Real help. He looked at Jonah. You're right that the little ones matter too much to risk. So tonight? Nobody has to guess. That evening, as the sky turned its peach and gold color, Jesus walked the circle with Bracken, step by step. He showed him how to touch each lamb's wool as he passed, a real touch, not just a glance, and say the number out loud before moving on, and never once let his eyes wander to the sky, no matter how many stars came out. Twenty nine, said Bracken, touching Pip's soft grey wool. Thirty, touching Wattles. They came to the bramble patch last, and there, tucked small against the thorns exactly where she'd been the night before, was Mallow. This time, Bracken didn't call out all in and hurry on. He stopped. He walked right up to her and touched her wool, the way Jesus had shown him. thirty one, Bracken said. Mallow looked up, surprised that anyone had come all the way to find her. You're part of the count too, Bracken told her. Every single evening. They walked back together, and the gate bar came down with every single lamb safe behind it. Jona, watching from the wall, didn't say anything at all. He just nodded once, the way he did when a thing had finally been made right. Jesus doesn't give up on us the moment we get something wrong, even if we get it wrong more than once. He doesn't just wait around and hope we'll fix ourselves either. He comes close, walks right beside us, and helps us learn patiently for as long as it takes. That's what it means that God is patient with us. Not just more time, but real help every single evening. Dear Jesus, thank you for not giving up on me when I make mistakes. Thank you for walking right beside me and helping me learn. Help me to be patient with others too, the way you're patient with me. Amen. Good night, little lamb. God loves you so much. Sweet dreams.