When I was little, I used to think the sun rose in the morning. Like God held onto a puppet string. Up in the morning, down at night, on and on for all eternity.
But Miss Carbo says the sun stays still and the planets go around it like ponies on the merry-go-round and the sun is the bit in the middle with all the mirrors and the music player.
So where is God if He doesn’t pull on a string? Maybe He’s the man who sits in the middle and shouts if you don’t stay sitting till it stops.