God’s glory in thunder and burnt mince

Dusk and the sky is rumbling. Cam is all bedtime ecstasy. Scott is tears and terror: ‘Mommy! Switch off thunder!’ I say how only Jesus can switch off thunder. Murray comes home and the party moves to our bedroom. Four people, one duvet. He reads Snowstorm and it kind of matches the moment though it’s tamer than it sounds. Cam asks how long does it take in an aeroplane to Europe and can we go play in the snow? Scott hugs my head. Cam giggles – snuggles – says it feels like Christmas Eve. I’m starving and the mince is catching on the stove. We’ll eat when Jesus has switched off the thunder and Murray has switched off the light. I don’t care about burnt mince ‘cause I’m cosy-drowsy on a queen-sized patch of the planet under the covers with the three biggest landowners of the tracts of my heart.