Let’s start with my view of “evidentiality.” Most of the arguments about the existence of God seem to revolve around the “there’s no evidence!” “is too!” “is not!” sort of intersnipitude. By which, obviously, each participant means that there is or is not enough evidence to suit their understanding of proof of deity.
Mine, as I’ve mentioned, is founded in subjective experience – an internal theophany. But I think it’s important to recognize that God did not, in effect, say to me, “Le Dieu eternelle, le Pere, le Fils, et l’Esprit Saint, c’est Moi.” What I got was a sense of immense power in the service of immense love, caring directed towards me and towards all mankind. Because I have a Christian upbringing and a familiarity with the Gospels, I identified the Presence Whom I encountered – in the midst of a theology course, FWIW! 
– with the Trinitarian God of Christianity. And He, as presented by the Scriptural evidence in the Gospels, meets the definition of the Presence which I encountered.
In that passage which JMS@CCT has been bent on turning to the support of his Dispensationalist doctrine, Paul advises to “test the spirits,” checking against Scripture to be sure that the experience you have matches up with the God and Father of Jesus Christ. And yes, IMO He does.
In the thread which JMS has apparently decided to hijack, I laid out my understanding, based in Scripture, of what Jesus Himself said were the most important things to be doing, practical modes of implementing His principles, and the attitude in which to do them.
So at rock bottom, a selfish faith is not justifiable. One that is solely interested in the good of the self, whether worldly possessions or salvation, is not in accordance with that test – if you care to take Jesus’s teachings seriously, and not find excuses to interpret them according to your personal prejudices. (The “you” there is generic, not yourself, Alan, of course.)
As for “my ultimate good,” while I fall far short of “Nevertheless, not my will but Thine be done,” I do have a Panglossian sense that all things work out for good in the end. (Old sardonic adage: The optimist believes that we live in the best of all possible worlds. The pessimist is afraid that he’s right. ;))
The sense in which I believe this is one that I need to go into personal psychological history to resolve. As I mentioned in the Laura Bush/boys thread, I had a very strict and Stoic upbringing – “a real, manly man” does not show emotions, according to my parents, and a good boy is supposed to suppress his and try to become that manly man who lets nothing affect him. Well, of course, that resulted in a lot of wall-building during my adolescence, a sense that nobody would want anything to do with me if they knew what I was really like inside. I gather that this fear of rejection is extremely common in gay people and in most introverts, and fairly much so in a few other categories of people.
The net result was to turn me into a sort of benign sociopath, one who could not and did not care about other people in any demonstrable way, who was incapable of tearing down those walls. Certainly I had a vague sense of well-wishing for others, but was afraid to show it, even in the most socially acceptable of ways.
The impact of my conversion experience changed that, to a significant degree. I became rather more outspoken – and for me, learning true humility was learning how to be brave. Then finding out that Michael, our neighbor odd-job boy, was in trouble, and hearing myself say, “If that’s what happened, he’s going to need friends. Tell him to come see us” – and I swear that that was totally involuntary; I did not cause my voice to utter those words, though as soon as they were said, I realized I meant them – led inexorably to the breaking down of the emotional walls and my ability to express love, receive love, and generally become truly human for the first time in my life. And I’ve been catching up with lost time ever since.
But the odd part of this whole thing, and part of what convinces me that that Presence was not self-delusion, is that the Me who had that experience, would never have been willing to become the outspoken, caring person that I am – he would definitely have been too afraid of what might happen, despisal, rejection, etc. I would then have been terrified of choosing to become the person that I have in fact become, and find fulfillment and satisfaction in having become.
And of course, I’m much happier being the person that I am than I was being that inhibited sociopath.
And I’ve found that over the last few years, I’ve continued to change and grow, in large part under the influence of this board and what I encounter here – and likewise for St. Mark’s.
So I am (irrationally) convinced that whatever betide me in the future, I can count on ongoing reshaping of my self, my inner person, to find the good in what happens. I have no real interest in becoming impotent, impoverished, paraplegic, or whatever – but I know that I can face them with equanimity if they happen. Romans 12:1-2 is very much on target as regards that reshaping – and I can testify from personal experience that it’s not merely pious platitude, but a statement of the actual work of making someone over into a more Christian person – in the good sense.
As for the Problem of Pain – why do bad things happen in a world created and under the influence of an omnipotent and benevolent God? – I have no better answer than anyone else in the last 10,000 years who’s asked that question – to wit, no answer.
But I’m convinced that that is a case of “putting God in the dock,” as Lewis put it – to judge Him by our standards of good and evil – and that in point of fact, the proper response to horrific, tragic, or just plain bothersome happenings is not to look for scapegoats, human or divine, but to go forth and offer practical help to those who need it. That’s what we’re supposed to do, both as human beings and as agents of the God from whom help is asked. If, in the old joke, “I sent you two boats and a helicopter,” well, somebody has to be rowing those boats and flying that helicopter. And, rather than trying to sort out what God ought to have done to live up to our expectations of Him – which, to use the Father-and-child metaphor again, may be like a three-year-old considering his father mean for not allowing him unlimited quantities of candy and an infinitely-large playground – we’re supposed to be rowing and piloting, as our individual talents permit.
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