Faith gives my life meaning

Whenever I'm in a time of severe hardship in my life, I recite to myself my favorite bible passage. It truly fills me with hope and gives my life meaning. It confirms 100% that my God is eternal and all-powerful. I mean, with that kind of God protecting me, I have the power to accomplish anything I want!

"The Lord is He, other than Whom there is no other god;
who knows both what is hidden and what can be witnessed;
He is the Most Compassionate and Merciful.
Lord is He, other than Whom there is no other god;
the Sovereign, the Holy One, the Source of Peace,
the Guardian of Faith, the Preserver of Security, the Exalted,
the Compelling, the Supreme.
Glory be to God, beyond any associations.
He is Lord, the Creator, the Evolver, the Bestower of Form.
To Him belong the Most Beautiful Names:
whatever exists in heaven and earth declares His Praise and Glory.
And He is Exalted in Power, the Wise."

Whenever I begin to doubt my religion, its historicity and tangible validation, the existence of God, I try to look for real evidence to prove it all. Then I read this passage and realize I don't need any evidence. All the proof I need is in my heart, and in my faith, and in my hope of God.  It reminds me that whatever troubles I could possibly experience in this world, Jesus has already– wait, Jesus? Oh crap, just kidding. That passage isn't from the bible, it's from the Qu'ran. 59:22-24. I must have accidentally replaced the word "Allaah" with "Lord". Sorry about the mixup.

A little religious Shanghai surprise for ya. Now that I've guaranteed myself a lightening bolt from one God or another, here's where this is coming from: I was contemplating all the beautiful passages in the bible that make me genuinely want to believe in something so hopeful and wonderful. You can talk about God's beauty and wonder and power in a thousand different ways, and it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, and it can suddenly be very motivating to take a leap of blind faith and give yourself to God. But I'm afraid I need something a little more substantial. If religion were a gorgeous, fresh-baked and aromatic cake, then I need to see all the ingredients – the flour, the fruit, the milk, the lard. I need to scrape the cake pan and taste the burnt underside and oily coating, and know that it's real, before I can appreciate and get eternally lost in the decadent icing and sugary sweet decorations. If you can do that for me, then I'm all for it.

After all, how will I not be led astray by false religions when they all endlessly spout such tantalizingly hopeful prose?