Where Did God Come From and Who Made Him?

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This is an article written by a Christian author/contributor to http://www.faithwriters.com. His article was recently selected and printed at http://www.mydailyarmorschristiandigest.com.

As I read it, I realized that these are the questions I will soon be fielding from our precious daughter, Eve. (Due in 24 days!) These are questions that every single Christian has either considered, received or struggled with. I hope you find Bernardo’s words insightful and maybe useful in sharing your faith in our sovereign, eternal God.

Where Did God Come From and Who Made Him?
Bernardo Pineda

When I was a young lad, I at times mused:

“Where did God come from, and who made Him?”

I lived in a world I did not fully comprehend, and was therefore, always curious about things especially as big as this one. I mean, He is our God. Would not it be nice to know something about Him?

We know God is God, and that He created the world and us. He is called Jehovah (one of His names); sometimes referred to as The Almighty, The Most High, The Everlasting Father, and so on.

But where did He come from and who made Him?
Where is He in heaven?
Does He have a family – wife, children, and siblings?
Does He belong to a royal family up there? Is there a line of succession to the throne of the king?

Young people probably ask these questions. Well, some adults could probably use help in getting cleared on these important matters too, for these concern everyone’s faith. Or at least, if anyone out there does not have it, this is a good time to stir it.

The Bible has all the answers:

You can finish reading Bernardo’s article here: https://mydailyarmor.org/uncategorized/where-did-god-co…and-who-made-him/


Embrace the Silence

“A time to keep silent, and a time to speak.” Ecc. 3:7b
Silence makes most of us uncomfortable.
The silence of a vacant page is enough to rip the words right from a writer’s finger tips. So, as I frantically searched the hall of my mind and the pages of my commentaries for a way to explain to you the profundity of this word, silence, I panicked when God said, “Be still.”
“As soon as I figure this out God,” I whispered back, “As soon as you tell me what to say!”
“Be still, and know that I am God.” Ps. 46:10
The Hebrew word translated, “Be still,” is, raphah, which means: to sink down or drop into, to let it drop, let alone or to be quiet.
Has someone ever told you to, “Just drop it.”? They mean to abandon an argument or discussion, to withdraw from your frantic pursuits.
That’s what God is calling us to here. He desires to spend time with us, not only to hear our petitions or worries, but so that we can know Him and love Him more because of who He is. And that happens in silence. It happens when like a little child we come into His presence and sink down deep into His loving arms. It happens when we drop our fears, frustrations and pleas (and our discomfort in quiet).
If you’re struggling in your walk with God and feel as if you do not know Him like you want to, or don’t have a strong relationship with Him, be still. Sink into His arms and get to know Him in the silence.
This post was written for Swagga4Christ and also featured on FaithWriters daily devotional. I hope you’ll visit their incredible website and read the other inspiring and aspiring Christian authors.

Book Review, A Heart’s Journey

A Heart’s Journey, by Michele Fleming, is the touching story of two motherless sisters during the Civil War. Ana and Lucy’s father is a colonel in the confederate army. As the enemy inches closer to their home, Col. James Lawson sends his daughters to stay with his wife’s sister in Texas. He sends them via train under the watchful care of their freed slave, Liza, a gentle train conductor named Thomas and a handsome soldier, Jacob.

During this journey, Ana moves to center stage. The reader experiences the loss of Liza under horrible circumstance, admires Jacob’s charm and learns of God’s irresistible love, all through Ana’s eyes. When the girls arrive at their aunt Josie’s ranch, they are welcomed with open arms. Romance blossoms in the most unexpected places. Fear begins to be replaced by hope, until terrible news about their father and their home arrives by telegram.

Michele Fleming does a good job of weaving conflict into the story. Many of the challenges the characters face cannot be anticipated and leave the reader in suspense for several pages. However, no single conflict carries through the whole book, leaving the reader feeling a bit like a missing puzzle piece without much continuity. Also, the characters seem almost too good to be true, the heroine and leading roles lacking any real flaws and making it difficult to relate to them.

Despite the decentralized conflict, Fleming concludes the story with a sweet sense of “happily ever after”. And though the characters feel a little contrived, A Heart’s Journey, leaves the reader with peace and hope.

It’s A Small World After All

As a kid growing up in Oklahoma, my primary diet was dust. So, it was remarkably refreshing after an evening softball game, or an afternoon spent mowing the lawn, to pour a glass of cold water. In nearly any room of the house, my sisters and I could turn a shiny silver knob and and lavishly splash cool, clean waterover our faces, arms and neck. Then, reaching for a brightly colored cup, without a second thought, we gulped the life-giving liquid.

Nearly every summer, on the evening news, I remember hearing about a seasonal water shortage. Neighbors began to take turns watering their lawns. Daddy didn’t wash the cars. But never for one second did I fear that we would run out ofclean drinking water.

This year has been record setting in Oklahoma. In August, the temperature soared to 113 degrees. More than 30% of the state is experiencing an exceptional drought. But, in my family’s garage there are still cases of clean water. Every evening we take long showers. Here in rural Oklahoma, I have never known anyone dying for water.

In 2008, a non-profit foundation calledWater4 , was founded in Oklahoma City by Dick and Terri Greenly, to address the global water crisis. A water crisis that most of us in North America have never even considered. We certainly don’t worry about dying children every time we enjoy a cool glass of ice water.

Water4 exists primarily provide water to impoverished, thirsty areas. At the same time, Water4 educates and trains nationals to be intricately involved in the effort to provide sustainable, clean water sources to their villages. Already working tirelessly in Haiti, Sierra Leone, Uganda and Rwanda, Water4’s goal is to provide clean drinking water to a million people by 2014.

Statistically, the majority of Oklahomans are pro-life. Consequently, voters are well aware that about 3,322 children are aborted everyday. However, few people know that 4,320 children die everyday due to a water-related illness.

Many states across America are withering with drought this summer. Farmers are fearful for their crops and consequently, their livelihood. The entire globe is feeling the economic pinch. But when we feel the parched tongues of children in third-world countries, when we see the countless tiny graves of thirsty children – we have to be grateful for our relative abundance and wonder…

What can we do?

While the cost to build a private well in Oklahoma is upwards of $2000, you can donate a well and supply water to an entire village through Water4’s program for $900. You’ll never turn that shiny silver knob mindlessly again, and neither will your children.

Topic courtesy of: Faith Writers

Wagon Driver

I wrote this little fiction story for a contest based on the one-word prompt “employment.” To all my stay-at-home-mom friends and especially to my own mother – Thank You!

Bethany laid her head down on her desk. She felt the flame of tears seeping toward the corners of her eyes. “I can’t cry, I won’t cry,” her daily mantra marched through her head. “I’m doing the right thing.”

Just as she gained composure, Conner appeared before her, hauling his little red wagon.

“Conner! How many times have I told you not to bring that inside?” her tone raised in frustration, her voice cracked too,  belying her near brush with tears. Muddy tread lined her white berber carpet from the garage to the school room where her desk was. One more menial job to add to her pathetic to-do list. No pay, no commendation, no recognition, just endless days of the same: muddy shoes, nightmares, temper tantrums, breakfast followed by lunch followed by dinner and a stack, make that stacks of dishes.

Yesterday, she had met the new neighbors on their tiny cul-de-sac of rental homes in suburban Virginia. “What do you do?” It was always the first thing anyone asked. They meant, “What is your employment?”

She imagined they were mentally comparing their paycheck to hers. “I work at home.”

“Oh? What is your business.” Bethany tried to be glib when she endured this conversation. “It doesn’t pay very well,” she would always smile. “I’m a stay at home mom.” She willed herself not to say, “I’m just a stay at home mom.”

“Oh.” No one ever knew where to go from there. Usually, she offered them a way out, returning the question and asking about their occupation. It never failed, “I’m a pediatrician,” “a teacher,” “a lawyer,” “an accountant.”

“Mom!” Conner was still parked at her feet, his wagon shedding clods of dirt. “Can you take me for a ride?” Bethany realized she was staring a hole into space as she replayed yesterday’s scenario.

“Take the wagon outside. Then come help me clean up the mess you’ve made. After that we’ll see about going for a ride.” Her throat squeezed even as she stretched a smile across her face for Conner’s sake.

It took a full half hour to remove the muddy tracks from the carpet. The whole time thoughts of how many more valuable, wage-worthy things she could be doing traipsed across her mind.

What do you do?

“Well, today I spent half an hour scrubbing the carpet.” She might not know law, or be a teacher, but she could tell you how to remove blood stains from white socks. She might not own a pair of pumps, but she could find the best generic deals anywhere.

Finally, Bethany bundled Connor against March’s chill. As she lifted his

dough-boy, four-year-old into the wagon, she felt the ache in her throat relax slightly. She held him to her chest of an extra second and let her chin rest on his straw colored curls.

Before she had gotten pregnant, Bethany could run a 3:45 marathon. She had been proud of her athletic ability. More than once, a complete stranger had touched her upper arm and marveled at her toned triceps. Short skirts had made her feel a little smug, knowing that few women had such shapely thighs.

Now? Tedious wagon walks were her most strenuous exercise. Rising early enough to have 30 minutes to herself before Connor woke was the only reason she was tired – no more long runs. Bethany locked the front door and picked up the wagon handle.


“What, Connor?”

“I have to pee.”

Pants zipped, shoes re-tied and perched once again on his royal, red throne, Connor rode happily for three blocks.

Bethany knew better than to push her luck. Anything longer than 40 minutes and they ran up against hunger pains, multiple bathroom breaks or nap time. They rolled up to the front porch and parked the wagon, outside.

“Thanks, Mom,” Connor clambered over the side of the wagon, not waiting for help. “Wait out here, I’ll be right back!” Still roiling in her own thoughts, Bethany didn’t argue but sat down on the stoop.

She began to worry when Connor was gone for a full 10 minutes. Finally, she heard the screen door creak behind her.

“Here, Mom,” Connor stuffed $200 of wadded Monopoly money in her hand. “You’re a great wagon-puller!”