A typical physical description of God goes something like this:
Older Cauasian man; long, cottony beard (with nary an errant pomegrante seed); ethereal, pristine white robe (does God use Clorox?); and while Jesus walked on water, God just sits on clouds.
When I learned of this common image as a child, I disregarded it. To me, God looked like my friend Katy's dad. Tall, skinny, rugged complexion, tinted glasses and, of course, a flannel shirt. It's not that he exuded religiosity or doled out sage proverbs. Far from it. I think I just thought someone with the name God would look like that.
I've since abandoned the idea of a tangible God. But if I had to eradicate my doubts and mentally resurrect a singular, corporeal God, I prefer my childhood vision. I'd envision God like Katy's dad—tired after work, stretched out on the couch watching t.v. (He would skip any commercials, though, and without TiVo.) He would look...normal.