Rain tapped the window. Elior scrambled into the soft armchair beside Grandad. “Tell me a story about Yahweh tonight,” he said. The clock went tick-tock in the warm lamplight, and Elior pulled the blanket to his chin.
Grandad opened the big family Bible on his knees. The thin pages whispered. He told how Yahweh made the wide sky and still called people by name. Elior looked at the dark window, then at his small hand on the blanket. “Can Yahweh really see one boy like me?” he asked.
Grandad pointed to the rain sliding down the glass. “Yahweh sees every drop,” he said. Then he tapped Elior’s nose. “And every Elior.” Elior gave a little laugh and scooted closer. The room smelled like tea and old books.
Grandad told how Yahweh guided people through hard places. Then the lamp flickered once, twice, and Elior jumped. Shadows wobbled on the wall like giant dancing hats. Elior grabbed Grandad’s sleeve. Grandad chuckled. “Even with a flickery lamp, the story stays.”
A loud rumble rolled outside. “What if I am too small?” Elior whispered. Grandad closed the Bible gently and laid one hand over it. “Yahweh is great enough for thunder and kind enough for Elior,” he said. The rain sounded softer against the window.
Grandad walked Elior to bed. Down the hall, the clock kept ticking. Elior whispered the words again, “Great enough for thunder, kind enough for Elior.” Under the blankets, with rain pattering on the roof, he smiled into the dim light and let the words stay with him.