When we look at the world around us, we see evidence of design and order everywhere. The balance of our planet, the precision of the stars, even the complexity of the human cell—all of it points to a God who created with great care and intention. Nothing about creation suggests randomness or neglect. It reflects purpose.

So if God exists, then it’s reasonable to expect that He would care about the world He made. His care wouldn’t end when the sixth day of creation ended, as if He closed the book, set the world spinning, and walked away. A craftsman who pours detail into building a house doesn’t abandon it the moment the last nail is hammered. He maintains it.

This is even more true when the thing created is living. A gardener doesn’t plant a seed and then leave it untended. They water, prune, and guard it so that it flourishes. A pet owner doesn’t stop caring the day they bring the animal home. They feed it, train it, and make space for it in their lives. And most certainly, after nine months of preparing to become a parent, moms and dads do not look at a newborn in a bassinet and assume their job is done. Their real work of love has only begun.

If that’s true of human parents, how much more would it be true of God? Of course we would expect God to communicate with his creation! Love doesn’t just act—it speaks.

No author writes a story and then walks away before the ending. No composer pens a melody and leaves the orchestra without a finale. And no Creator leaves His world without His voice.

The question, then, is this: if God were to speak to us, what would His communication look like? How would we recognize His voice today? We should expect it be the voice of a perfect, concerned, and loving parent. And his word, therefore, would carry three certain marks of divine authorship:

• It would be perfect—accurate in what it says about reality and trustworthy in what it says about the future.

• It would be profitable—not just true, but useful, giving us clarity about who He is and what He wants for/from us.

• It would be protected—preserved so that His words are not lost or corrupted through time.

God’s Word would bear the kind of credibility that makes us lean in, not ignore it. Let’s turn to the Scriptures themselves and see if they bear these marks of God’s voice.

Authors and artists often have a discernible style. Some plays and poems from Elizabethan England were originally published anonymously. Scholars later attributed several of them to William Shakespeare because the style matched his known works: his rhythm, use of iambic pentameter, wordplay, and imagery. Even if his name wasn’t on the cover, the style gave him away. Van Gogh often didn’t sign his paintings. Yet, his thick brush strokes, swirling skies, and vivid colors are so distinctive that art experts can identify his work at a glance. In fact, several paintings once thought lost were later recognized as his solely because the style was unmistakably Van Gogh.

We would expect God to have a style as well. And the key feature of that style would be perfection. Unlike Shakespeare or Van Gogh, whose works—though brilliant—still show human limits, God’s speech would rise above every human flaw. His Word would describe reality as it truly is, without distortion.

We can see God’s fingerprints in two forms of perfection:

Perfection Within. Despite being written by more than forty different authors over a span of roughly 1,500 years, the Bible carries one unified story. That’s not coordination—that’s inspiration. Think about how unlikely that is. If you gathered forty people from the same town, speaking the same language, living in the same year, and asked them to write about religion, you’d end up with a stack of contradictions. Everyone has opinions. Everyone has blind spots. And religion is one of the most divisive topics of all. Yet the Bible—written by shepherds and kings, prophets and fishermen, scholars and laborers, across continents and centuries—tells one seamless story. From Genesis to Revelation, the thread is unbroken. Humanly speaking, this kind of unity across so many voices and so much time is impossible. But it reflects the perfection of a single divine Author.

Perfection to Reality. The Bible not only describes the world truthfully, it predicts the future accurately. Consider the prophecies of Daniel. Chapters 9–12 outline the rise and fall of empires—the Persians, the Greeks, even the persecution under Antiochus Epiphanes—with such precision that skeptics insist it must have been written after the fact. Yet Daniel is referenced by other Old Testament writers long before those events, and fragments of his writings were found at Qumran dating back to the second century BC. Ultimately, Daniel points beyond those kingdoms to a time when “many will be purified, made spotless and refined” (Daniel 12:10)—a clear foreshadowing of the Messiah.

This brings us to the second mark we would expect to find when God speaks: not only is His Word perfect, it is profitable.

When a being as powerful, wise, and influential as God speaks, we would expect to find His words incredibly impactful. According to the Christian Scriptures, God spoke all things into existence. That same voice, with its creative power, has spoken with great effect throughout history.

In the fourth century, Christians transformed how society cared for the sick and poor. In the Greco-Roman world, the weak were often discarded. But Jesus’ words—“I was sick and you looked after me” (Matthew 25:36)—inspired believers to build places of care. By the fourth century, leaders like Basil of Caesarea had founded the first true hospitals. That seed of Scripture has grown into the modern systems of hospitals and charities we know today.

Centuries later, the same biblical vision of compassion shaped the work of Henry Dunant, a Swiss Christian whose concern for wounded soldiers after the Battle of Solferino in 1859 led to the founding of the International Red Cross. Dunant drew his inspiration from the teachings of Jesus about mercy and neighbor love. The Red Cross would go on to become one of the largest humanitarian organizations in the world, bringing relief to millions in times of disaster and war—all flowing from the conviction that every human life has value because each person bears God’s image.

God’s Word is alive and active (Hebrews 4:12). The Christian Bible is not simply a book that sits on a shelf; it builds hospitals, births movements, and calls people into action.

The same voice that spoke light into darkness continues to speak through the Bible. And when it speaks, things change—hearts, communities, even the course of history. But the Bible itself tells us its deepest purpose is not just to shape societies—it is to change souls. Paul reminded Timothy, “From infancy you have known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 3:15).

God cared enough to do more than simply show us where we are wrong and why. He also shows us the way back to Him. The Bible points us to Jesus, the Savior who makes us right with God. And it doesn’t stop there—it teaches us how to live out that new life through His power.

That is the true profit of God’s Word. It does not just inform us; it transforms us.

Perhaps one of the greatest pieces of evidence for Scripture is its preservation through the millennia. Ancient writings are fragile things. The original manuscripts of nearly every work of antiquity have been lost. What survives are copies—handwritten, passed down generation after generation. And yet, compared to every other ancient text, the Bible stands alone.

Consider a few examples. Homer’s Iliad was written around 800 BC. The earliest copy we possess comes from about 400 years later, and we have roughly 1,800 manuscripts. Plato’s works survive in about 200 copies, the earliest of which is 1,300 years after he lived. Tacitus, the Roman historian, wrote his Annals around AD 100, but we only have 31 copies, dating almost a thousand years later.

Now compare that with the Bible. For the Old Testament, the Dead Sea Scrolls discovered in Qumran in 1946 date as early as 385 BC—within a lifetime of when the last books were written. For the New Testament, the earliest fragment of John’s Gospel is dated around AD 125—just a few decades after the original. Altogether, we have nearly 6,000 New Testament manuscripts and more than 10,000 Old Testament manuscripts. And when these are compared, the level of agreement is astonishing: over 99% accuracy. The differences that do exist are almost always spelling variations or minor word changes that do not affect meaning.

By every measure, the Bible is the most reliably preserved book in history.

But of course, we would expect this. We take great care to protect our own written words. A student saves and backs up his term paper. A lawyer secures legal documents to ensure nothing is lost. An author stores drafts and revisions so that the final work survives. And if fallen and frail humans can protect what matters to them, how much more must we expect that God can (and did) protect His message that matters to everone.

So far, we have been dealing with the question, “Can I trust the Bible?” And we’ve seen just a few very compelling reasons to answer yes. Its style is marked by perfection. Its words have been preserved with astonishing accuracy. Its message has proven profitable, shaping lives and even the course of history.

But evidence can only take you so far.

Consider the following scene. A kid comes marching into the living room with a “serious business” look on their face—you know the one, arms folded, little eyebrow raised. The child has what would seem to be a simple demand: “Prove to me you’re really my parents.”

His parents are a little surprised by the demand. But they have plenty of proof, so they start pulling out the evidence.

“Look, here’s the hospital photo when you were born.” The kid squints. “Photoshopped.”

They show the birth certificate. “Obvious Forgery!” He exclaims.

They drag out baby pictures. “Yeah, could’ve been anybody’s baby,” comes the dismissive tone, “I need more proof.”

In this case, you’re not dealing with a lack of evidence—you’re dealing with a lack of trust. Such a child doesn’t need another photo album; they need to decide if they’re going to believe the people who have fed them, clothed them, and put up with their drama all these years.

It’s the same with the Bible. You can explain away anything if you really want to. You can always ask for “one more test, one more photo, one more piece of proof.” But at some point, the issue isn’t the evidence—it’s trust.

At some point, demanding more proof isn’t about finding truth—it’s about avoiding it.

So, the ultimate question isn’t, “Can I trust the Bible?” The real question is, “Will I trust the God who gave it?”