Luna the Lamb and the Path of Light - A Children's Story

 Luna the Lamb and the Path of Light

By Bill Conley
America’s Favorite Children’s Storyteller

Moral to the Story:
Choosing the Light means choosing love, truth, and kindness every day. God’s light isn’t scary; it’s warm and guiding—like a lantern on a gentle path. When we’re unsure, we can pause, pray, and step toward what is good and brave. Listening to God’s Word helps our hearts see clearly when choices feel confusing. Friends who follow the Light help us shine brighter, together. Small acts—sharing, forgiving, telling the truth—glow like stars in the night. The Light of Christ is stronger than any shadow and welcomes us back when we stray. We grow into leaders of love when we keep walking toward the Light.

In a green valley where dew pearls rested on clover and the wind hummed a sleepy song, lived a little lamb named Luna. Luna loved mornings best. When the sun rose, it painted her meadow in gold—every blade of grass a tiny light-spark. She would trot to the brook, dip her hooves, and laugh at how the water winked back at the sky.

Luna belonged to a caring flock watched over by Shep, a kind shepherd with a steady voice and a lantern that never seemed to go out. Even at dusk, when shadows stretched long, Shep’s lantern glowed like a promise: You are safe. Keep close. Walk in the Light.

One afternoon, Luna and her friends, Bruno the Bunny and Dot the Dove, played hide-and-seek among the olive trees. “Not too far,” Shep called, lifting the lantern. “Stay where the light can find you.”

Luna nodded, but her heart wondered about the lane that curved away from the meadow. It was lined with tall trees whose branches made lacework shadows on the path. It didn’t look bad, just… dim. And curious.

As they hid and giggled, Luna heard Dot coo, “Let’s go see the wildflowers near the lane.” Bruno’s whiskers twitched. “Only a peek!”

They bounded toward the curving path, and at first, it seemed fine. But the farther they went, the quieter the birds sang and the duller the colors became. The petals by the lane were not golden like the ones in the meadow; they were grayish, as if they had been keeping secrets from the sun.

Luna slowed. “Do you feel it?” she whispered. “It’s… dimmer here.”

Bruno shrugged. “I can still see.” But then he stumbled on a root he hadn’t noticed. Dot fluttered from a branch to the ground with a soft thump. “Oh!”

Luna looked back the way they’d come. She could still see the meadow—a ribbon of brightness between the trees, and Shep’s lantern, warm and steady. Her woolly chest felt easier just seeing it.

“Maybe we should go back,” Luna said gently.

Before they turned, a soft, kind voice seemed to bloom in Luna’s memory, words Shep often shared from Scripture when the flock rested:

“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

Luna breathed out. “I want the light of life,” she said, more to her own heart than to anyone else.

They took a step toward the glow, and the world grew kinder. The roots looked like roots again, not tricks. The path widened. The colors returned a little, then a lot. When they reached the meadow, Shep was waiting, lantern in hand and smile in his eyes.

“Did the lane whisper to you?” he asked, kneeling to their height.

Luna nodded. “It wasn’t terrible, just… not bright.”

“That’s how some choices are,” Shep said softly. “Not terrible at first. Just less light. And less light can hide little roots that trip our feet.”

He set the lantern on a rock, and its circle of honey-colored light touched their toes. “Do you remember the verse?” he asked.

Luna’s voice strengthened. “Jesus said He’s the light of the world.”

“Good.” Shep ruffled Bruno’s ears and Dot’s feathers. “And when we’re unsure which way to go, God’s Word helps us see.” He opened a pocket Bible and read, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalm 119:105

Dot tilted her head. “Like your lantern!”

“Exactly,” Shep said. “My lantern helps your eyes. God’s Word helps your heart.”

That evening, clouds rose like mountains and the first stars glittered into view. The flock gathered near Shep’s fire, and he told a story, their favorite kind, half memory, half parable.

“Once,” Shep began, “a little lamb learned that small choices add up: which path to wander, which voice to listen to, which friends to follow. The lamb learned that the Light isn’t only a place you walk; it’s a Person you trust. And every time the lamb chose kindness, truth, and courage, the night thinned.”

Luna smiled. She liked stories where the light grew.

The next day brought a new test. A drizzle left the meadow slippery, and Miri the Kid Goat slipped near the brook, splashing her knees muddy. “I didn’t mean to!” Miri bleated, embarrassed.

Some of the older lambs snickered. “Clumsy Miri!” one teased.

Luna felt a pinch inside. She could join the giggles and feel included, or she could choose something brighter. She stepped between Miri and the laughter. “Everybody slips,” Luna said, offering a paw. “Let’s clean up together.”

Bruno hopped beside her. Dot fluttered down with a leafy “towel.” Soon Miri smiled again, and the teasing faded like fog in sunlight.

Shep watched from a distance, lantern at his side even in daytime. “That’s the Light,” he said when Luna returned. “The Light isn’t only about where you walk; it’s about what you do while you walk.”

He pointed toward the olive trees, where a shy lamb named Pip stood apart, tracing circles in the dust with his hoof. “See Pip? He thinks no one wants him on their team.”

Luna glanced at Bruno and Dot. Then she jogged to Pip. “We need another player,” she said. “Want to be our captain?”

“Captain?” Pip blinked. “Me?”

“Captains notice who needs the ball,” Luna said. “You’re great at noticing.”

They played until sunset, painted the sky with tangerine and rose. Pip passed, Luna cheered, Bruno zigzagged, and Dot called out kind directions from a branch like a pint-size coach. The game sparkled with teamwork. When the shadows grew long, Shep lifted the lantern and called, “Little lights, gather in.”

As they circled up, Shep said, “Today you let your light shine.” He smiled and quoted their third memory verse:

“Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16

Luna felt a warm, happy feeling in her tummy, the kind that tasted like fresh bread and sounded like singing. The Light wasn’t just “out there”—it was happening in their choices: helping Miri, including Pip, stepping away from a dim path.

But Luna still wondered: What happens when I don’t choose the Light? The thought nudged her later that week when she told a half-truth to avoid a chore. The moment the words left her mouth, the room seemed a little duller. Not dark, just less bright.

That evening, Luna found Shep by the lantern, checking its oil. “Shep,” she began, “what if I chose a small shadow?”

Shep looked up, eyes kind. “Small shadows happen. We’re learning. The good news is the Light always welcomes us back.” He tapped the lantern’s warm glass. “We tell the truth, make it right, and step into brightness again.”

Luna nodded and padded to her mother. “Mama, I said I put away the berry baskets, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Mama Lamb kissed her head. “Thank you for telling the truth. Let’s do it together.”

They put away the baskets, and Luna felt it, the glow returning, like someone opening a window.

A few days later, mist hugged the ground. The lane of lacework shadows tried to whisper again, hinting at shortcuts and secrets. But Luna knew how to listen now. She looked for the lantern, remembered the verses, and checked her heart: Will this choice brighten someone’s day? Will it tell the truth? Will it help me walk with Jesus?

Shep’s voice carried through the mist. “Little lights!”

“Here!” Luna called, already stepping toward the glow. Bruno and Dot followed, laughing. Pip jogged behind, breath puffing white in the cool air. When they reached Shep, he lifted the lantern high and winked. “I knew you’d choose the bright way.”

They walked together, small lights around a greater Light, and the mist seemed less like a wall and more like a gentle veil that the morning would soon lift.

That night, Luna curled into the grass, the stars stitching silver patterns over the valley. She whispered the verses to herself, like a lullaby for her heart:

Jesus is the Light of the world.
God’s Word is a lamp to my feet.
Let your light shine before others.

The lantern’s glow dimmed as Shep settled it near the gate, but it never truly went out; a coal stayed warm, ready to rise. Luna closed her eyes, thinking of tomorrow’s chances to choose kindness, truth, and courage. She didn’t feel afraid of shadows anymore.

Because every time the shadows tried to grow, she knew, the Light of Christ shines brighter. And when she walked in that Light, she helped it shine for others, too.

Moral of the Story Poem

When paths grow dim and choices seem tight,
We pause, pray, and step toward the Light.
A kind, true word; a helping hand.
God’s love turns pebbles into sand.
His Word, a lamp for every mile,
His Son, the Light that makes us smile.
Together we glow, together we grow.
For Christ’s bright love outshines all shadow.

Discussion Questions

1.     What helped Luna decide which path to take when the lane grew dim?

2.     How did Luna “shine” for her friends (think of Miri and Pip)?

3.     Which verse do you want to remember this week, and how will it guide one small choice?