God! What Do You Want from Me Anyway?

By Dave Putnam

Answers for everyone desperate about discovering the meaning of life and why we're all here

God, "What do You Want from me, Anyway?" takes God's answer to that question from the Bible and gives it in easy, understandable language.

Really it deals with many questions most of us ask?

How can we know there really is a God?

How do we know Jesus is God's son and how can that be?

Is the Bible really a divine book. How can we talk to God?

How can we recognize God's voice if he is speaking with us; and much more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Putnam
• Release date: Oct 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223252450

Dave Putnam

David Putnam, an American from New Jersey, holds a Doctorate from Drew University and a Master of Divinity from Regent University. In additon to serving as the senior pastor of two churches, he has extensively traveled in Christian Leadership Development, church planting, and historical/archeological research. More recently Dr. Putnam has taught History, Ethics, Theology, and Biblical studies as an Assitant Professor at Pillar College in Newark, New Jersey and the American University of Iraq, Baghdad. Currently he holds the position of Pastoral Fellow at the University of Melbourne in Australia where he resides with his wife Claire.

Book preview

GOD! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, ANYWAY?

(God’s plan for creating you! 

Stuff you can actually use from the Bible and Christian spirituality,  Answers hard questions, Find God, Make your life better)

by

DAVID PUTNAM

Contents

Is Your View of God Right?       3

I’ll get by with a Little Help from My Friends     18

What About What I Want?        29

Is Worship Legal where You Live?      36

Becoming a SON Worshipper        46

Passion, Romance, and Eroticism in knowing God  55

Doing Lunch with Jesus         75

You are not the Boss of Me       83

Thicker Than Water        90

Uh yeah; I’ll take a Cheeseburger, Large Fries, and a Chocolate Shake  100

Have a Heart!          106

So, God, What’s Your Deal       111  

1

Is your view of God right?

IT WAS A CRISP, AUTUMN afternoon. The cheerleading squad had just finished a routine as the crowd roared with an enthusiasm that can only be found in American High School Football. But I didn’t hear any of that. Only the call of the quarterback. Our huddle broke up with a joint clap in team unison. 

Down by a field goal, we were in last remaining seconds of the fourth quarter of the final game of the playoffs. An entire season had all come down to this single concerted effort. Moments against weeks of training in the heat of a St. Louis summer. A few quick movements in contrast to a thousand repetitious drills in preseason. A single executed stratagem countering countless hours spent studying plays and playbooks.

The final grains of sand dropped through the hourglass; falling pieces of granulated stone cascading down through the tiny transparent vortex, landing upon sands measuring only what was and will never be again; proverbial protons of temporality that would soon declare us champions or send us home suffering the ​agony of defeat. The ball was snapped. A hushed silence swept through the stands. Only sounds of human flesh being pummelled were heard on the field.  Run deep, cut right, there it is ... right where it’s supposed to be, lofting, hovering for a second before it descends. Everyone is frozen, waiting to see where the ball will go. 

I already knew the answer to that question.  It was heading straight for me. Reaching upward, my fingertips sensed the dimpled leather surface, then the laces. With the delicacy of a neurosurgeon, I was quick but very careful to guide, not grip the ball.

It all happened in a millisecond, yet I coaxed the ball gently, as a mother reasoning with a child. My inflated prize complied and ended its trek through space near my heart where it was cradled securely by my forearm and left bicep. I didn’t have to think what came next: RUN! 

Looking through the corner of my eye, I saw the opposing team’s players trying to flank my position. They’re going to cut me off at the thirty-yard line. NO!  I won’t let them ... can’t let them get me. Accelerate! Adrenaline is coursing, pulsating as if to energize every atom of my body. I know I can do this!  My feet had wings, and like the after burner in a jet engine they rocketed me toward the end zone. 

Faster and faster my legs carried me. Now! Pour it on! Give it all you’ve got! Full throttle! Push! One lone contender lightly touched my shoulder but missed. Another is trying to catch me. I wanted this more than he did! Come on...overdrive! Maximum! More than 100%! GO! The crowd was cheering wildly. Both teams’ benches empty as the players rushed the sidelines for a better view.

The digital clock on the scoreboard was counting down nine ... eight...seven...six; I’m crossing the twenty-yard line, the fifteen, the ten. The crowd counted down with the clock- three, two, one, Touch down! Crack! went the sound of the pistol shot: Game over! 

Fans wildly poured onto the field, flashes from cameras going off like strobe lights; the players surrounded me and hoisted me onto their shoulders. Its bedlam! Chaotic joy!

In a split second my mind’s eye gazed into my future. There would be scholarships, college, the cheerleader’s choice, the player with the most metals; the respect of the school ... it was all mine! 

A trickle of sweat running down my neck brought me back from my football fantasy. I was standing outside the entrance to the high school locker room on a hot August morning. Freshman football tryouts were supposed to be at 9:30, or at least that is what the sign in the commons said.  But I seemed to be late.  Everyone was already there; dressed out in T-shirts, shorts, and sneakers. That’s weird. I thought, Wonder when all the equipment is going to be passed out? I couldn’t wait to see how I would look in that uniform. Maybe the coach could clue me in on what’s going on. I spotted him as the guy with the whistle; surrounded by a group of anxious players. Waiting for his eyes to meet mine, he beat me to the punch by asking me: Can you run in those clothes? Well, yeah ... sure ... I guess so, came my brilliant reply. With my mouth still open, hoping to ask about my new uniform, he cut me off again. See those guys down there? Looking way down the field across the baseball diamond, a line of runners moving at warp speed was about to disappear into some nearby woods that I knew to be honeycombed with trails. I nodded my positive response in time to hear him give the command: Follow ‘em! I raised my index finger to gesture that I still had a question, but he had already turned into a deluge of other players. OK, what else can I do?  Running is a major factor in the game. Why am I surprised that I would have to run? Moments later, dressed in street clothes and sneakers, I was sprinting toward the woods that had already swallowed the other runners. They seemed to move like deer bounding into the forest. I’m gonna have to move to catch these guys!  Accelerating my pace did little to help me. They were moving farther ahead not getting nearer. Each degree on the thermometer seemed to form a new bead of sweat on my brow. Three minutes had gone by as I strained to focus my eyes on the trail. I wasn’t prepared for this.  The humidity coupled with the absence of a breeze made it seem as if my legs were running through a vacuum.  My heart was pounding; I couldn’t get enough air. Looking ahead there was an occasional glimpse of the other players as they leaped effortlessly over hill and dale like playful dolphins in the sea. 

How could they run so fast in this heat? They must have trained all summer to be able to do this.  Another four minutes clicked off the clock. This was more than just a couple of laps around the track; we were already chalking up miles. How much longer could this last? 

Mercifully, the trail opened up to reveal the school complex in the distance. Thank God, my ordeal was almost over. Surely, if I could hold up under a test like this, a place on the first string has to be mine.

Coming in last did not diminish my sense of great accomplishment. Crossing the line that marked the end of the arduous trial allowed my heart rate to slow and my original questions to return: What about my new uniform?  My playbook?  When will I see my first football?  The rest of the players were already kneeling on one knee listening to the coach as I hobbled up just in time to hear him say: OK, that’s it for now, be back at 2:00 sharp.​ ​The group began to disperse. The coach wheeled and headed for the clubhouse, then he stopped and looked right at me. Get dressed out this afternoon, okay?" All I had time to do was nod yes, and he was gone.  Two o’clock found me ready. As the sun poured over the practice area, I realized the logic of dressing in shorts and T-shirts. It was all making sense now. If we were dressed out in full uniform with helmet and pads ... well, we would all be dropping like flies. Besides, the coach would probably spend the afternoon talking to us in the cool locker room about our positions on the squad. This was going to be easier than I thought. 

Just as I was contemplating a stroll to the cooler, there he was!  The coach was making one of his brief but exhilarating appearances. Telling myself We’re going to talk this time. I’ve got questions. I was about to raise my hand for his acknowledgment, and he yells, Take Off!  Before you could blink an eye, the entire group erupted from their stationary positions as though a wounded bear was in pursuit. I paused for a second in absolute disbelief. This is not happening. We’re not going to start running again? And then it occurred to me, if I don’t move I will be eating the dust of thirty guys! I burned my reserves to get ahead of the pack. I was not spending the next two miles watching the shoe soles of men that ran more like antelope than football players.

Reaching the shade of the woods brought small relief from the heat which was intolerable.  I chided myself for not training back in June and July. I hated not being prepared; and worse, everyone else seemed more than ready. The mercury touched the century mark as we endlessly plod over the meandering trail. This was like an episode from the old television series, ​The Twilight Zone ​where some people were trapped in a small, deserted town by an unknown force, and they couldn’t get out no matter how hard they tried. Whenever they walked to the city limits sign they were right back where they started again.  Now I was trapped in my own starring role in the sequel; running through what seemed like an erupting volcano. 

My lungs begged for oxygen; my thoughts even turn to the possibility that I missed the famed rapture. Jesus Christ actually came and beamed​ the Christians to heaven[1]​leaving me to face the antichrist and this endless run to Armageddon. Then we turned the final bend, and the finish line came into sight. Out of the woods into the burning sun, with grimace face and exploding chest, I stumbled toward the finish line. There wasn’t enough air on the planet to satisfy my need to breathe. The pulse of my heartbeat pounded through my temples. If this is what it took to play football, I was not so sure it was worth it. 

The marker ending the ordeal was just twenty feet ahead; a line of chalk separating the living from the dead. Surely I could make it. My legs, like concrete piers weathering a hurricane, discovered a torrent of agony with every step. I looked like an extra in a zombie movie, stiff-kneed, moving like a reanimated corpse frozen with rigor mortis. But I didn’t care how I looked. I just want to survive. Then I saw it! The finish line passes beneath my blistered feet. My head was spinning, and I it was a toss-up as to whether I felt like passing out or throwing up. It seemed an hour but only five minutes went by. Gradually my ability to speak returned and limping toward the coach, I called out to him. I’ll never forget the look on his face as finally, I ask about my new uniform. Uniforms? What uniform? You know, I replied, Football Jerseys, helmets, shoulder pads... He just looked down for a few seconds. Then slowly shaking his head, his eyes looked up to meet mine as he broke the news with a sheepish grin on his face. Kid, this is not football; this is Cross Country!"

I looked at him in horror. This was a sick joke. He was going to burst out laughing any moment! No, he was serious! I just ran four miles through the Amazon to be a football player and instead I made the Cross-Country team? Oh, yeah, he’s laughing now, but not because it’s a joke. He’s laughing because I was the joke.

As he walked away chuckling, my imagined glory of the winning touchdown was long gone. Reality began to temper my thoughts. My questions about a new uniform and playbook were replaced by different questions. "Do I really want to do this? Do I enjoy this?  Is this really