One rainy afternoon, the little boy and the little girl went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandpa was downstairs making hot chocolate, which seemed to require him to taste it every few minutes just to make sure it was still chocolate. Grandma was upstairs in the little room at the end of the hall, where paintbrushes stood in old glass jars along the windowsill and tubes of paint tumbled across the table. Some brushes were thin enough to paint the whiskers on a mouse. Others were wide, flat, and stained with so many colors that no one could remember what they had looked like when they were new. One tube of blue paint had been squeezed so many times that it looked like a crumpled sock.
In the middle of the room, Grandma stood before a great canvas. It had once been white, but now snowy mountains rose across the top of it. A silver river curled through green fields and slipped behind a forest. Tiny houses stood beside the water, sheep no larger than beans dotted the hills, and a castle with golden windows watched from above. The little girl climbed onto a stool. The little boy leaned so close that Grandma gently pulled him back before his nose became part of the sky. “It is a whole kingdom,” the little girl whispered. Grandma dipped the smallest brush into brown paint and added a dog beside one of the cottages. He had floppy ears, a white spot on his nose, and a tail that curled like a question mark. “What is his name?” the boy asked. Grandma studied him. “Noodles.” The children looked at each other. Of course it was.
Soon they were finding new things everywhere. Yellow flowers grew beside the road. Three ducks floated beneath the bridge. A baker carried a loaf of bread almost as large as his head, and two children ran toward the castle while a little gray cloud gathered over the mountains. Every time they thought they had seen the whole kingdom, Grandma pointed out something else hiding inside it.
Then the little girl became quiet. She followed the river with her finger, peered behind the cottages, and searched all the way to the castle gates. “Grandma,” she said, “where are you?” Grandma looked over. “I am right here.” The little girl shook her head. “I mean in the kingdom. You painted the baker and the fisherman. You even painted Noodles. Where did you paint yourself?” The little boy joined the search. He checked the boats, the bridge, the orchard, and every castle window. There were people everywhere, but no Grandma. “You forgot yourself!” he cried.
Grandma laughed so suddenly that the tiny brush wiggled in her hand. “I did not forget. You will not find me beside the river or hiding behind the castle. I am the one painting them.” The children looked back at the canvas. Grandma had chosen where the mountains would rise and where the river would turn. She had made the trees, the boats, the people, the ducks, and every curl of smoke above every little chimney. The whole kingdom had begun in her hands. “So you were here before all of them?” the girl asked. Grandma nodded. “Before this kingdom had its first mountain, it was only a white canvas. I was already here.”
Just then Grandpa appeared in the doorway with four warm mugs. He squinted at the painting, found the tiny brown dog, and nodded. “Noodles,” he said. Grandma smiled. “How did you know?” Grandpa handed her a mug. “He looks like a Noodles.” Rain tapped softly against the window while the children sat on the floor with their hot chocolate and looked at the painted kingdom. It held rivers and roads, storms and sunshine, tiny places to go, and more stories than they could count. Yet before its first mountain, first boat, first flower, or first morning, the painter had already been there.
Everything around us seems to have a beginning. You began small enough to be held in someone’s arms. A great oak begins inside an acorn. Houses have builders, songs have singers, and paintings have painters. So when the Bible says that God created everything, it makes sense to wonder, “Then who created God?”
The Bible’s answer is full of wonder: no one did. Psalm 90 says, “Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God” (Psalm 90:2). Before there was ground beneath our feet, before the sun had warmed a single face, before anyone could count mornings and evenings, God was God. He never had a birthday. He never had to grow wiser or stronger. There has never been a moment when He was missing, and there never will be.
Just as Grandma was not one of the people inside the scene she painted, God was not created as part of creation. He is the Creator, and everything else begins with Him. The Bible’s first words say it simply: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth” (Genesis 1:1).
And God has never been alone. He has always been Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Jesus did not begin when Mary held Him in Bethlehem. John takes us back before Bethlehem, before the stars, and before the world itself: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). The Word is Jesus, and John says that all things were made through Him. Genesis tells us that the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters at creation (Genesis 1:2). Before there were people, planets, or anything else God made, the Father loved the Son “before the foundation of the world” (John 17:24). God was already full of perfect love, joy, and life.
Then God filled the emptiness with a world. Light spilled into the darkness. Seas gathered, trees stretched up from the earth, and birds swept across the sky. Colossians says that all things in heaven and on earth, the things we can see and the things hidden from our sight, were created through Jesus and for Him (Colossians 1:16). Blue whales beneath the waves, beetles under leaves, moons circling planets, children tucked beneath their blankets, and stars whose light has not yet reached our eyes all came from His wisdom and belong to Him.
God did not make the world and then leave it to tumble along by itself. Colossians continues, “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17). Every breath, heartbeat, sunrise, and seed pushing through the soil depends on Him. The whole world rests in hands that have never grown tired. No storm, sorrow, king, or frightening piece of news can surprise God or push Him from His throne.
That matters because sometimes life feels much larger than we are. Plans change. People we love get hurt. We hear about things far away that we cannot fix, and we wonder what will happen next. God welcomes those questions. We can bring Him our fear and remember what has always been true. He was God before the first mountain rose. He was God before our hardest day began. He will still be God when that day is over.
And the God who holds all creation together sees His children one by one. Jesus said that the Father notices even a little sparrow falling to the ground and knows the number of hairs on our heads (Matthew 10:29–31). The stars are not too many for Him to name, and your worries are not too small for Him to notice. No one created God. He has always been, He always will be, and the hands holding His whole world are holding you too.
Draw or paint a whole little world. Give it mountains, rivers, houses, animals, people, or any funny creatures you can imagine. You might even hide a tiny dog named Noodles somewhere in the picture.
When you finish, remember what was there before the first line, color, or creature appeared: you, the artist.
At the bottom, write:
Before the beginning, God was there.
Dear God,
You were there before the first mountain, the first star, and the first morning. Thank You for making this wonderful world and holding it together. When life feels big or I do not understand what is happening, help me remember that You are still God. Thank You for seeing me, knowing me, and holding me close.
I trust You.
Amen.
This week introduces the distinction between the Creator and everything He created. Creation has a beginning and depends on God. God is eternal, uncreated, and the source of all that exists. The painting is loosely grounded in a comparison C.S. Lewis uses in Mere Christianity: an author stands outside the time of the story he is writing, while every moment in that story depends on him. Like every picture of God, the comparison has limits, but it helps children see why the Creator does not need a creator of His own.
There was a bend in the river where Grandpa and the little boy liked to sit.
The water curled around a wall of smooth gray rocks, slipped beneath the branches of two old willow trees, and widened into a quiet pool before continuing toward the village. Minnows flashed beneath the surface. Dragonflies skimmed across the water. Every now and then, a yellow leaf floated past like a tiny boat headed somewhere important.
Grandpa sat beneath one of the willow trees with his fishing pole resting beside him. The little boy had a fishing pole too, although he had spent much more time throwing sticks into the current and watching them race downstream. He tossed another one in and watched it spin around twice, bump against a rock, and disappear around the bend.
Then he noticed something.
Another patch of water came around the bend. Then another. The river just kept coming.
“Grandpa,” he asked, “where does all this water come from?”
Grandpa opened one eye. He had been doing the sort of fishing that looked suspiciously like sleeping. He pointed toward the mountains far beyond the village. Their highest peaks were still white with snow, even though the afternoon beside the river was warm.
“Way up there,” Grandpa said, “snow and ice melt into little streams. There are deep springs too, where cold water comes up through the rocks. Those streams meet other streams as they run down the mountains, and eventually they become this river.”
The little boy looked toward the mountains, then down at the water touching the tips of his shoes. “This water came from there?”
Grandpa smiled. “All the way from there.”
The boy crouched and dipped his hand into the river. It was colder than he expected. A moment ago, he had only seen the water in front of him. Now he imagined the river stretching backward through the trees, becoming smaller and smaller, running through valleys and over stones until somewhere far beyond what he could see it reached its source.
Another yellow leaf drifted past his fingers. The little boy looked upstream again.
Somewhere beyond what he could see, all this water had begun.
The river in our story had a source. The water beside the little boy had come from somewhere else. Most things we know are like that. A lamp receives electricity. A tree receives sunlight, rain, and nutrients from the earth. Our bodies need food, water, air, and sleep. Created things receive what they have from somewhere beyond themselves.
But God does not work that way. God alone is without a source. God does not borrow His power. He does not need anyone to make Him stronger, teach Him something new, or give Him what He needs. Power belongs to Him because He is God. When Moses asked God what name he should give the people, God answered, “I AM WHO I AM” (Exodus 3:14). What a strange and wonderful name! God is not becoming God. He does not need to grow into who He is. He simply is. He is completely and perfectly God, and always has been, and always will be.
That means His power belongs to who He is too. When God promised Abraham and Sarah something that seemed impossible, He asked, “Is anything too hard for the LORD?” (Genesis 18:14). Jeremiah later prayed, “You have made the heavens and the earth by your great power... Nothing is too hard for you” (Jeremiah 32:17). The Bible calls God Almighty.
We sometimes use the word omnipotent, which simply means all-powerful.
God has all the power He needs to do everything He chooses to do. Nothing can overpower Him, wear Him out, or stop His good purposes. We see that power everywhere in Scripture. God speaks, and light appears. He gives the oceans their boundaries. He raises mountains and fills the sky with stars. When Jesus walks the earth, He speaks to a storm and the wind becomes quiet. He heals sick bodies, opens blind eyes, walks across water, and calls Lazarus out of a tomb.
But power is not the only thing God never has to receive from somewhere else. God does not have to learn anything either! Psalm 147 says His understanding is “beyond measure” (Psalm 147:5). God never discovers something new or realizes He forgot something. Psalm 139 says He knows when we sit down and when we stand up. He understands our thoughts and even knows the words we are going to say before we speak them.
We call this omniscience, which means all-knowing.
God does not know almost everything. He does not know more than everyone else because He studied longer. Knowing belongs to who He is. There has never been something God needed someone else to teach Him.
And God does not have to travel somewhere in order to be there. David asks God in Psalm 139, “Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?” (Psalm 139:7). David imagines going up to the heavens, across the sea, even into the deepest darkness, and every time the answer is the same. God is there.
We call this omnipresence, which means there is nowhere God is absent.
That does not mean God is a little piece of every tree, rock, or person. It means no place is beyond His presence. There is nowhere we can go where God suddenly has to catch up with us.
So when we say God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and always present, we are not describing three special tools God carries around. All these things belong to who He is. He does not borrow power. He does not learn knowledge. He does not travel into His presence. He simply is.
And that is what makes His greatness so wonderful for us. The God who has power over storms also knows when one frightened child is praying. The God whose understanding has no end knows the question sitting inside your heart. The God who fills heaven and earth is near when you are sitting at the kitchen table, lying awake at night, walking into school, or standing somewhere you have never been before.
And His power is always the power of the God who is good, wise, holy, and loving. He never uses His strength foolishly or cruelly. He does not stop being good when He acts with power or stop being wise when He answers our prayers. Everything God does flows from who He is.
So how is God so powerful? His power does not come from somewhere else, like the river receiving its water from the mountains. Power belongs to God because it belongs to who He is. The same is true of His knowledge and His presence. He is all-powerful, all-knowing, and always present.
There is no source behind God. He is the source for everything. He is God.
Draw one big picture of you standing under a night sky beside the ocean.
Then add:
Waves! For God’s power.
Stars! For everything God knows.
You! To remember that God is with you there.
Then write:
All-powerful. All-knowing. Always present. You are God.
Dear God,
You are all-powerful, all-knowing, and always present. You never grow tired, never need to learn, and are never far away. How amazing! How awesome!
Thank You that You, the God who made the stars, knows me completely and stays near to me. Help me trust Your power, Your wisdom, and Your presence. Keep teaching me who You are when I read Your Word.
There is no one like You.
Amen.
This week uses the question “How is God so powerful?” as an opening into three of God’s attributes: His omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence.
The central idea is that God does not receive these qualities from somewhere outside Himself. Created things depend on other things for strength, knowledge, life, and presence. God does not. He is all-powerful, all-knowing, and always present because these belong to who He is.
One summer afternoon, Grandpa took the little boy sailing. Their boat was small, with one white sail, smooth wooden sides, and a little wooden tiller at the back that Grandpa usually held while the boy sat near the bow looking for turtles asleep on half-sunken logs. The lake was quiet that day. Dragonflies skimmed across the surface, little silver fish flashed beneath the water, and every now and then the sail filled with wind and pulled the boat forward as though the whole lake had taken a deep breath.
After they had sailed for a while, Grandpa moved aside and held out the tiller.
“Your turn.”
The little boy stared at him. He had pulled ropes before and helped tie knots, but Grandpa had never actually let him steer. He wrapped both hands around the wooden handle while Grandpa showed him how even a small movement could turn the whole boat. Then Grandpa pointed toward a thick patch of reeds along one side of the lake.
“Stay out in the open water,” he said. “Those reeds are thicker than they look. If we sail too far into them, we’ll get stuck.”
The boy nodded seriously. And for a while, he did wonderfully. The boat glided across the lake, and every time the bow turned exactly where he wanted it to go, he grinned a little wider. He steered past a floating log where two turtles were sunning themselves, around a patch of lily pads, and toward the bright reflection of a little white cloud drifting across the water.
Then the blue bird appeared.
It landed on one of the tall green reeds near the shore, flashed its bright wings in the sun, and disappeared. The boy leaned forward. There it was again! Just a little farther in.
He looked toward Grandpa. Then back at the bird. He remembered what Grandpa had said about the reeds. And then he turned the tiller.
“Remember the reeds,” Grandpa said.
“I know,” the boy answered.
The boat slipped between the tall green stalks. For a moment, nothing happened. The sail still puffed. The water still sparkled. The blue bird fluttered ahead. Maybe Grandpa had worried for nothing. So the boy turned a little farther. Then came a soft scrape beneath the boat. Another. The sail loosened. The boat slowed. Reeds brushed along the sides, curled beneath the hull, and caught so tightly that the little sailboat stopped. The boy pushed the tiller one way, then the other. Nothing happened. He tried again, harder this time, but the boat only rocked in place.
The blue bird was nowhere to be found, and the boy looked down at his hands in shame.
“I knew you told me not to.”
Grandpa looked over the side at the tangled reeds. “Yes,” he said.
For a moment, the boy wondered if Grandpa was angry. He wondered if he had ruined the whole afternoon. He wondered if Grandpa would take the tiller away and never let him steer again. Instead, Grandpa took off his shoes.
He rolled up his pants and climbed over the side into the cold water. Mud swallowed his feet almost to his ankles. Reeds wrapped around his legs and clung to his pants. Grandpa pulled one handful away, then another, then another, while the boy watched from the boat. At last, Grandpa leaned against the side and pushed. The boat did not move. He pushed again.
This time, something underneath gave way. The reeds loosened with a long scrape, and the little sailboat slid free into the open water. When Grandpa climbed back aboard, his pants were soaked and mud covered his feet. The boy looked at Grandpa, then at the tiller still resting between his own hands.
“Are you taking it back?”
Grandpa sat beside him, water dripping onto the wooden floor of the boat. He shook his head and pointed across the lake.
“Try again.”
The boy wrapped both hands around the tiller. A few minutes later, Grandpa pointed left. The boy turned left. When Grandpa told him to straighten the boat, he straightened it. And together they sailed home beneath the late afternoon sun, the little white sail full again, Grandpa dripping beside him, and the boy steering toward home.
When we read the story of Adam and Eve, it makes sense to wonder why God did not simply stop them. God knew the tree was there. He knew what Adam and Eve were about to do. He knew what their choice would bring into the world. And as we learned last week, God was powerful enough to stop them. So why did He let them choose?
Well, to answer that, we have to look at the kind of relationship God made them for.
When we look carefully at the garden, we see that God had already given Adam and Eve almost everything before He ever gave them a rule. He gave them a beautiful world, food from every tree, work to enjoy, one another, and His own presence. They lived with Him without fear or shame. Genesis says that God looked at everything He had made and called it “very good” (Genesis 1:31). So the command about the one tree did not come from a God who was trying to keep good things away from them. It came from the God who had already filled their lives with good gifts. He was asking them to trust Him, Him the God who gave them so much!
This trust was incredibly important because God had not made Adam and Eve like puppets. The Bible tells us that God is love, and He made people to actually know Him, love Him, and walk with Him. So, He did not force Adam and Eve to obey Him as though they had no heart or choice of their own. He did not want to force their love or trust, because then it wouldn't be real! Their obedience could be real because they freely chose Him. They could listen to His voice, trust His goodness, and stay close to Him. And painfully, that also meant they could turn away.
That is why the serpent’s words were so dangerous. The fruit was what he used to make Adam and Eve question the heart of the God who had given them everything else. Was God really good? Was He keeping something better from them? Could they trust His word? The tree became the place where that trust was tested, and Adam and Eve chose the serpent’s lie over God’s word. Eve took the fruit and ate, and Adam ate too, and everything changed because of their choice. They became ashamed and blamed one another. When they heard God walking in the garden, they hid among the trees. The people who had been made to live openly with God were now trying to get away from Him. Yet the first thing we hear God say after they hide is not, “I am finished with you.” He calls, “Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9). Of course God knew where Adam was. Yet, again, He calls for a free response from them.
This is where we begin to see the strange beauty of God’s love. The love that allowed Adam and Eve to truly trust Him, love Him, and obey Him did not disappear when they chose against Him. God loved them enough not to force them to stay. And when they walked away, that same love came looking for them, amidst their sin and disobedience. Their choice brought real pain, separation, and death. But even while He spoke about those consequences, He gave them a promise. One day, He told the serpent, an offspring of the woman would crush his head (Genesis 3:15). Adam and Eve could not yet see everything that promise meant, but we can.
That promise was pointing to Jesus.
Jesus is God’s promised way of bringing His people back into direct relationship with Him. Through His life, death, and resurrection, Jesus defeats sin and death and opens the way for us to live with God again. The serpent does not get the final word. Sin does not get the final word. Death does not get the final word. God does. And the Bible ends by showing us where that rescue is taking us. Revelation says, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man” (Revelation 21:3). The relationship that was broken in Eden is restored. God is with His people again. Death is gone. Pain is gone. And beside the river appears the tree of life once more.
The Bible begins with people living with God, choosing to walk away, and hiding from Him. It ends with God dwelling with His people again. The God who gave Adam and Eve a real choice, the God who came looking when they hid, and the God who promised that the serpent would be crushed is the God who gives Jesus to bring His people home.
So why did God let Adam and Eve eat from the tree? Because He made them for a real relationship with Him. He wanted their trust, obedience, and love to be real, not forced. They could truly choose to listen to Him, and they could truly choose to walk away. They chose to walk away. But that was not the end of the story. The same love that gave them room to choose came looking when they hid, promised that the serpent would be defeated, and finally gave Jesus to bring His people back into the presence of God.
Draw one big heart that fills most of your page.
Inside the heart, draw the story of the Bible as one long, winding path.
At the beginning of the path, draw the garden of Eden with Adam and Eve and the tree.
In the middle, draw the cross.
At the end, draw the river and the tree of life from Revelation, with God’s people living with Him again.
Remember: from the garden, to the cross, to God bringing His people home, His love carries the story all the way through.
Dear God,
Thank You for making us to know You, love You, and walk with You. Thank You for filling Your world with good things and for giving us Your good words to trust.
Adam and Eve chose to walk away from You, and we choose wrong things too. Thank You that You did not stop loving them when they hid. You came looking. You promised rescue. And You gave Jesus so that we could live close to You again.
Help us trust You when You tell us what is good. Help us listen to Your voice and remember that Your way leads to life.
Thank You for loving us enough to come after us and bring us home.
Amen.
This week’s question naturally leads to a larger one: “If God knew Adam and Eve would sin, why didn’t He stop them?” We are helping kids see this question inside the larger story Scripture tells. God made people for a real relationship of love, trust, and obedience. Humanity chose to walk away, but God’s love did not disappear when they did.
In fact, the rest of the Bible tells the story of that love bringing His people home. God comes looking in Eden, promises that the serpent will be defeated, gives Jesus as the promised rescue, and ultimately restores His people to His presence. From Genesis to Revelation, the whole redemptive story is held together by the love of God.