But if you have a solid walk with the Lord, then you won't fear

Host:
The evening sky bled into indigo, streaked with the fading gold of a spent sun. A soft drizzle misted the stained glass windows of a small countryside chapel, their colors pulsing faintly like living jewels. Inside, the air was thick with candlelight and the smell of rain-soaked wood — a quiet so deep it felt like it might swallow a whisper.

Jack sat on the front pew, his elbows on his knees, eyes tracing the flicker of the sanctuary’s single candle. His grey eyes were storm-heavy — the kind of eyes that had seen too many defeats and trusted too few promises.
Jeeny knelt near the altar, her hands loosely clasped, her dark hair veiling her face in a curtain of quiet devotion. She wasn’t praying aloud — her lips moved gently, as if speaking to someone unseen, or perhaps to something within.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was dense, reverent, alive — the kind of silence that dares you to breathe wrong.

Jeeny: (softly, turning toward him) “Cliff Richard once said, ‘But if you have a solid walk with the Lord, then you won’t fear that failure.’”

Jack: (half-smiling, leaning back) “Ah, the confidence of believers — they make it sound like walking with God is an insurance policy against fear.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Not insurance. Relationship. It’s not about avoiding fear — it’s about walking through it without breaking.”

Host:
A gust of wind pressed against the chapel doors, making them creak, as though the storm outside longed to be heard. The candle trembled, its flame bowing briefly, then straightening again — like faith after doubt.

Jack: “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re saying trust cancels fear. But fear is what keeps us alert, human. Even Christ was afraid in Gethsemane.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But He didn’t stop. Fear visited Him — it didn’t own Him. That’s what Cliff meant: a solid walk. Not perfect, not fearless — anchored.”

Jack: (frowning thoughtfully) “Anchored in what, though? Words? Rituals? The comfort of believing someone’s in control?”

Jeeny: (gently) “Anchored in presence. The awareness that you’re not alone in your failure, no matter how complete it feels.”

Host:
Rain streaked the windows now, a soft percussive rhythm that seemed to accompany their words. The candlelight flickered across Jack’s face, deepening the shadows beneath his eyes. He looked both skeptical and longing, like a man standing outside a house of warmth he wasn’t sure he was allowed to enter.

Jack: “You know, I used to pray like that — when I was younger. I thought faith meant never doubting. But every time I failed, it was like proof that I’d been abandoned.”

Jeeny: (nodding slowly) “Because you mistook faith for reward. It’s not that. It’s resilience. Faith doesn’t stop you from falling — it teaches you to rise without bitterness.”

Jack: (quietly) “But what about when the fall feels final? When you’ve lost everything that was supposed to prove God was on your side?”

Jeeny: “Then that’s when you finally stop worshiping outcomes and start walking with truth. The solid walk begins when the ground beneath you disappears.”

Host:
The storm outside intensified, the rain now a steady roar against the roof. But inside, the chapel remained calm — a bubble of stillness amid the fury.

Jack: “So, faith is what you keep when everything else collapses.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not the absence of failure — it’s the refusal to let failure define your worth.”

Jack: “But how do you get there? How do you believe that kind of love exists — one that doesn’t leave when you fall apart?”

Jeeny: (softly, eyes glistening) “You don’t get there by logic, Jack. You get there by surrender. It’s the hardest thing a human being can do — to stop earning love and start trusting it.”

Host:
The flame wavered again, throwing the shadow of the cross on the wall behind them — elongated, flickering, alive. Jack’s gaze followed it, his face unreadable but tense, like a man standing at the edge of something vast.

Jack: “I’ve spent my whole life trying not to fail. Maybe that’s the real failure.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Maybe. Because when you fear failure, you stop living — you start calculating. But when you walk with God, even falling becomes a step forward.”

Jack: “That sounds poetic, but life doesn’t forgive that easily.”

Jeeny: “Neither does pride.”

Host:
A hollow thunder rolled across the sky, and for a brief moment, the entire chapel trembled. The candle’s flame danced wildly — then steadied again. Jeeny rose and sat beside him, their shoulders nearly touching.

Jeeny: “You know what I think faith is? It’s not certainty. It’s companionship. It’s walking with Someone who doesn’t flinch when you fall.”

Jack: (after a pause) “And what if that Someone’s just an echo of your own hope?”

Jeeny: “Then walk with that. Even hope deserves faith.”

Host:
Her words hung there — tender, defiant, absolute. The rain began to soften, becoming a whisper against the glass.

Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, staring at the candle.

Jack: “When Cliff said that — when he said not to fear failure if your walk is solid — maybe he meant that failure only terrifies those who think success defines them.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because when your worth comes from the divine, not your deeds, you stop living in fear of the scoreboard.”

Jack: “So faith isn’t about escaping fear — it’s about letting love outlast it.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Now you’re preaching.”

Jack: (chuckling) “Don’t tell anyone.”

Host:
The last roll of thunder faded into silence. The candle’s flame steadied, tall and unwavering. A faint glow seeped through the clouds outside, as if the night itself had begun to forgive the storm.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… walking with the Lord doesn’t mean walking without failure. It means walking through failure without losing sight of grace.”

Jack: (quietly) “Grace. That’s a word I’ve never been able to hold for long.”

Jeeny: “Maybe because you’ve been trying to grasp it. You don’t grasp grace — you fall into it.”

Host:
Jack turned to her, something raw and almost broken flickering across his face — the look of a man realizing that control is the cage he built himself.

He nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack: “Then maybe it’s time I stop running from the fall.”

Jeeny: “And start walking again.”

Host:
The candle’s light caught in both their eyes now — two reflections of the same flame. The storm outside was gone. Only the gentle rhythm of dripping water remained, steady as a heartbeat.

And in that sacred stillness, Cliff Richard’s words came alive — not as a line of comfort, but as a commandment carved in mercy:

That faith does not promise safety,
that failure is not the opposite of walking with God, but part of the journey,
and that the only solid walk is one that keeps moving — even through the dark —
because love does not fear falling.

Host:
Jeeny reached over and blew out the candle. For a moment, darkness swallowed them. Then, slowly, the dawn’s first light crept through the stained glass —
red, blue, and gold, painting them both in color.

And as they rose to leave, the world outside seemed new again —
washed clean,
like failure forgiven,
like faith reborn in the rain.