But, enough of the food metaphors, although, ironically, toast is one of His favorite mediums in which to appear. We’ll start by finding ways to meet Jesus.
You don’t find Jesus by having a nice, fat 401(k) and being on a glide path to an easy retirement on a coral sand beach in the Caribbean, with a compliant wife twenty years younger than you, so that she still looks pretty hot in the bikini that is all she mostly wears every day. If you find yourself in this situation, you are as close to Hell as you can get and still have a cocktail in your hand. What you want to do is lose that IRA in an obvious pyramid scam, the wife to a cabana boy, and your drink to a rogue wave. Destitute and sober, you have to relocate to someplace like Buffalo, where, amid the snows of winter and the mosquito-clouds of summer, Jesus will come to you. You will realize that having your life turned to shit was part of His divine Plan, and join a particularly annoying church, the kind full of white people who can’t sing but do so constantly anyway. You are on the way to eternal glory. Isn’t that a relief?
You won’t find Jesus by being a young hunk with a perfect head of hair, great clothes sense and a lucrative job with a vague title like “Investment Banker.” You are a magnet for attractive young girls who just want to have sex with you. Jesus is avoiding you like the plague, brother. What you need to do is develop a crack habit that ruins your skin and melts away all those muscles you spent years at the gym acquiring. You lose your condo and your ability to sustain an erection. Bottoming out by being arrested in homeless sweep at the park, you get clean at taxpayer’s expense and spend the rest of your days boring the crap out of people at Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Those people, at least, will be happy when you get Raptured.
Ladies, you won’t find Jesus by being a sexy young Instagram influencer, or wriggling in lingerie or less on My Fans. Flashing your uniquely attractive booty on the Internet, and basking in the waves of approval it draws from men all over the world, may be fun—strike that, it is fun—but you’re looking for Jesus in all the wrong places. Fall in love with a jealous guy who makes you suspend all your accounts, then breaks his back in an accident so that you have to support him by working at a Rite-Aid while he tries to get approved for disability. Have a child. Discover your toddler is on the spectrum. At this point, Jesus will come to you, although it is likely that the married manager at the Rite Aid will come to you as well, not necessarily wearing his pants. Pray.
There are countless other ways to find your Savior. A book could be written, but I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I’m not writing it now. The important thing to remember is you don’t have to endure tragedy or deadly disease to get closer to God. Just reflect, when things are going fine and your life seems to be working out as well as it possibly can on Earth, Jesus is waiting.
For you to make some poor decisions. They’re the highway to Him.