Not a taker. More generous than exacting. More keen on blessing than extracting. More into surprising than expecting. More interested in what he can contribute than what he demand.

It can be easy to unwittingly accept an image of God as the Great Demander. The Domineering Father. The Exacting Boss The By-the-Book Judge. Always with a keen eye to whether or not we’re paying our dues or living up to his standards.

And doing the work in front of you that day is all that God really asks of you. Just attending to and finishing to the best of your ability whatever the work is he has given you to do. Maybe simply living your life to the best of your ability brings all the glory to God that he desires from you.

Brew the coffee. Make the bed. Pack the kids’ lunches. Get them to school. Show up to the office. Respond to the emails. Pay the bills. Prep the meals. Take your meds. Get back to bed at a decent hour.

All the normal, uneventful, innocuous tasks that come with being human. Nothing fancy. Nothing extravagant. Nothing with the potential of going viral on social media.

According to Jesus at least, doesn’t simply mean living forever, on into eternity. Nor does it simply mean existing in a blissful, pain-free state. Those may very well be true. I suspect that they are.

For the record, by “eternal life” Jesus also does not mean going on to live in some sort of disembodied, floating-in-the-ether, angel-like state. No. There is something about embodied existence that is good and that will forever be a part of “eternal life.”

For the voice of God is this: peace.

Whether it’s a though popping into your own head, or a feeling stirring in your own heart, or a word from a trusted spiritual friend, or a supposed prophecy from a stranger—or a more abnormal source like a talking donkey—wherever or through whomever your receive a possible communication from the Divine, begin by asking one simple questions: Does this bring me peace?

Not fear, or anxiety, or anger, or contempt, or judgment, or hopelessness—not anything like that. Only peace. That almost nonsensical, beyond-understanding, doesn’t-make-sense-given-the-circumstances-kind of peace. Everything on the outside may remain the same, but deep down there is equanimity. Calm waters.

Is what helps you believe.

Most likely it is not the same thing that will make someone else believe. Share your story, but don’t be discouraged if your listener doesn’t find it particularly compelling. It’s still your story; it’s still the genesis of your belief. Rejoice in the seemingly inconsequential or unconvincing thing that helps them believe.

If God truly is as vast and incomprehensible as any honest definition of “God” implies, then reasons to believe must necessarily be as numerous as there are people to believe. No one-size-fits-all. No clincher of an argument. No silver bullet.

And where he came to, and where he then went after that—and where he is ultimately going to call his forever home—those are central plot movements in the Christian story.

He came from the Father’s presence—”heaven” we often say. God’s reality. God’s dimension. God’s kingdom where his good rule and reign are perfectly realized.

He came to the world. He entered into what we know as reality. Our physicality. Our time and space. All the beauty and joy and pain and suffering that make up our human lives. He stepped right into the thick of it and made himself at home—at least temporarily.

A huge problem with attempting to read the Bible literally is that there is so much damn metaphor.

Metaphors by design are problematic. Metaphors are by design unstable, wobbly words that can be interpreted (or, I suppose, misinterpreted) any number of ways. In an attempt to communicate something that cannot, or is best not, described directly or in precise terms, they can be as confusing as they are helpful.

There is hardly a page of the Bible that does not contain metaphor. Which, I can’t help but believe, is by necessity when talking about the Divine.

“If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck.”

There is something of this in the way that prayer works, something to do with what Jesus meant when he told his disciples, “My Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.”

The foundational premise of this is that the Father already gives the Son whatever he asks for. Imagine prayer from God’s perspective: “If it looks like my Son, and lives like my Son, and prays like my Son, then I will respond as if it is my Son.”

When my wife and I were taking birthing classes in preparation for the arrival of our first child, we were introduced to a phrase: “Pain with a purpose.” At the time, it was a bit corny, but it also proved to be true. It still is.

The human capacity to press through just about anything for the sake of a worthy goal is astounding. The human phsyche’s ability to quite literally forget the anguish once something like a baby is held in the arms is an astounding piece of biology. A true gift from the Creator.

There’s at least not that I know to be true deep down in my bones. My mind contains a lot of supposed information. There are a lot of facts in my head. A lot of theology and philosophy, But a lot less of the kind of knowing that I might really qualify as faith. Living in your head your whole life, as it turns out, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Faith comes from somewhere deeper.

But there is one thing I really do know—in the deepest way I can know anything—and that is that Jesus instigates surprising reversals: