Choosing an attitude of faith will release peace out of your

Host: The sky above the city was a deep indigo, wet with mist, and soft light glowed from the lamps along the riverwalk. The air carried a faint smell of iron and rain, like the breath of a storm that had just passed.
A bench sat beneath a flickering streetlight, its paint peeling, its metal cold. On that bench, Jack and Jeeny sat — a small thermos between them, steam curling into the night.

Host: The city sounds were distant — tires hissing, a dog barking, a train horn crying in the distance. But here, under the weak light, there was only silence, and the quiet hum of two people thinking about things they could not quite touch.

Jeeny: “Joyce Meyer once said, ‘Choosing an attitude of faith will release peace out of your spirit and into your soul.’ I’ve been thinking about that.”

Jack: “Faith, huh? Sounds like a good slogan for a Christian bookstore. Or a screensaver.”

Jeeny: “You’re mocking it.”

Jack: “No — I’m questioning it. Choosing an attitude of faith? As if faith is a switch you can just flip. People talk about peace like it’s a product — something you can download if you believe hard enough.”

Host: The wind shifted, lifting Jeeny’s hair, brushing it across her face. She tucked it behind her ear, her eyes dark, but gentle.

Jeeny: “It’s not a switch. It’s a decision. A daily one. Faith isn’t pretending everything’s fine — it’s believing that, somehow, everything can be.”

Jack: “Belief doesn’t change reality, Jeeny. You can’t pray a storm away. You can’t have faith that cancer disappears, or that war stops. The world doesn’t care what attitude you choose.”

Jeeny: “Maybe the world doesn’t — but your soul does.”

Host: The streetlight buzzed, a faint halo forming around its bulb. Jack’s shadow stretched across the wet pavement, long and broken by puddles. Jeeny’s reflection shimmered beside it — two halves of a single image, distorted but still together.

Jack: “So you think faith gives you peace? That it just… flows from your ‘spirit’ into your ‘soul’? You make it sound like a plumbing system.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Maybe our souls get clogged by fear, anger, cynicism — all the things we carry. Faith just unblocks it. It lets the peace that’s already there move.”

Jack: “And what about those who can’t find faith? Are they doomed to chaos? Some of the calmest people I know are atheists, Jeeny. They find peace in order, in logic, in acceptance of what is. They don’t need faith in anything unseen.”

Jeeny: “But they do have faith — just in something different. In science, in reason, in humanity. Everyone believes in something, Jack. Even doubt is a form of faith — faith that nothing else exists.”

Jack: “You sound like a theologian trying to rebrand agnosticism.”

Jeeny: “No. I’m saying peace isn’t about what you believe in — it’s about how deeply you let that belief transform you. Faith, logic, love, art — it’s all the same current. The soul only finds peace when it trusts something greater than its fear.”

Host: The river shimmered, moonlight trembling on its surface. The sound of water filled the space between their words, a slow pulse of the earth’s heart.

Jack: “So if faith brings peace, then why do so many believers live in fear? Wars fought in God’s name. Families broken by dogma. People claiming they have peace while they’re drowning in guilt.”

Jeeny: “Because faith without love is control. It’s not the attitude Joyce Meyer was talking about. It’s not faith when it’s used as a weapon. Real faith is surrender, not conquest.”

Jack: “Surrender. I hate that word.”

Jeeny: “Because you think it means losing.”

Jack: “Doesn’t it?”

Jeeny: “No. It means accepting that you can’t fix everything — that you’re human. Surrender isn’t defeat, Jack. It’s breathing again after holding your breath too long.”

Host: A pause. The kind that feels like a breath between storms. Jack’s jaw tightened, his eyes drifting toward the river. His reflection wavered — a man both present and haunted.

Jack: “I tried that once. Faith. After my father died.”

Jeeny: “What happened?”

Jack: “I waited for peace. But it never came. Just… silence. I prayed, I listened, I pretended to believe. But all I heard was the sound of my own breathing in an empty room.”

Jeeny: “Maybe peace isn’t supposed to be loud. Maybe it’s in that silence, Jack. Maybe you just didn’t know how to hear it yet.”

Jack: “Or maybe there was nothing there to hear.”

Jeeny: “No. There was you. You were there. That silence — that’s where the spirit begins. It’s where peace grows, like a whisper you almost missed.”

Host: The mist thickened, wrapping around them like a soft veil. The distant bridge lights shimmered in the fog, blurred and beautiful, like memories refusing to fade.

Jack: “You really believe peace comes from faith?”

Jeeny: “I do. Not because I’m naïve, but because I’ve seen what the opposite looks like. When you lose faith — in God, in people, in yourself — you start fighting shadows. You chase peace but never touch it.”

Jack: “And when you have faith?”

Jeeny: “You stop chasing. You start resting.”

Jack: “Resting sounds a lot like giving up.”

Jeeny: “No — it’s trusting that even when you don’t understand the path, something good is still guiding it.”

Jack: “Like destiny?”

Jeeny: “Like grace.”

Host: A train passed in the distance, its lights cutting through the fog. For a brief moment, the bench, the river, and the two figures were illuminated — like a still frame in a film, frozen in silver light.

Jack: “Grace. Another word for luck.”

Jeeny: “No. Grace is what happens when peace finds you even when you don’t deserve it.”

Jack: “Then maybe that’s the problem. I’ve never believed I deserve peace.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why you need faith, Jack. It’s not about deserving — it’s about receiving. Faith doesn’t demand proof; it opens the door for peace to enter.”

Host: Jeeny reached out, her hand resting on his forearm, lightly, like a prayer that had taken shape. Jack didn’t move, but his breathing softened. The city noise faded, as if the world itself had paused to listen.

Jeeny: “Maybe Joyce Meyer was right — peace doesn’t come from changing what’s outside. It comes from letting something pure flow from the inside. Spirit to soul. Light through water.”

Jack: “And what if your spirit’s empty?”

Jeeny: “Then faith fills it. That’s what it does. That’s what it is.”

Jack: “You make it sound so easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not easy. It’s daily. It’s the hardest choice — to trust instead of control, to forgive instead of fight, to believe instead of break.”

Jack: “You really live by that?”

Jeeny: “Every day. And every day, I fail at it. But that’s what keeps me trying.”

Host: The thermos hissed as the last of the tea was poured, a small stream of warmth in the cold air. Jack watched the steam rise, his expression softening, his voice quieter now.

Jack: “Maybe peace isn’t found. Maybe it’s remembered. Maybe it’s been inside all along, buried under the noise.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Faith just helps you remember. It’s like striking a match in a dark room — the light doesn’t create the room, it just lets you see it again.”

Jack: “And once you see it?”

Jeeny: “You can finally rest in it.”

Host: The river moved, slow, patient, eternal. The moon broke through the clouds, its light spilling over the water, silver and trembling.

Jack exhaled, a long, unburdened breath, the kind that feels like forgiveness. Jeeny smiled, quietly, her eyes reflecting the moonlight.

Jack: “Maybe I’ll try it again. The whole faith thing. Not because I expect answers, but because… maybe I’m tired of fighting silence.”

Jeeny: “Then you’re already halfway there.”

Host: They sat together, the bench creaking, the mist lifting. Somewhere, deep beneath the river’s skin, peace stirred — quiet, invisible, but real.

And as the city lights dimmed, the night exhaled a final whisper:
that faith, once chosen, doesn’t demand to be understood — only trusted.

And in that trust, the soul finally finds its peace.