Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ can be bolstered as we learn about

Host:
The chapel lights were dim, glowing softly through stained glass in colors of dusk — blue, amber, and quiet gold. Outside, the wind whispered across the churchyard, stirring the dry leaves into gentle circles. Inside, time moved slowly — as though the world outside had paused its noise out of respect.

At the far pew, Jack sat in silence, shoulders slightly hunched, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. The pew creaked softly under his weight. His Bible lay open, not because he was reading, but because he needed to hold something that didn’t change.

Across from him, Jeeny lit a single candle and set it at the front of the chapel. Her movements were calm, deliberate, as though she’d done this many times — not out of ritual, but from reverence. When she turned, the flicker of the flame reflected in her eyes, the light steady, alive.

Jeeny: softly “Russell M. Nelson once said, ‘Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ can be bolstered as we learn about Him and live our religion. The doctrine of Jesus Christ was designed by the Lord to help us increase our faith.’”

Jack: quietly “That’s a sentence that sounds like light itself — simple, but deep enough to drown in.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Faith’s always been that way, hasn’t it? You don’t study it like a textbook. You live it, breathe it, wrestle with it.”

Jack: after a pause “I don’t know if I’ve got the strength to wrestle anymore.”

Jeeny: gently “Then maybe it’s time to learn again — not about faith, but about who it’s in.”

Jack: quietly “You mean Him.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. Nelson’s right — faith doesn’t grow from believing in belief. It grows from knowing Him, little by little, through living what He taught.”

Host: The candle’s flame swayed slightly as a draft moved through the chapel. Its light brushed against the old hymnbooks stacked nearby, casting long shadows like delicate fingers reaching for the unseen.

Jack: softly “I’ve tried to have faith, Jeeny. But it’s like trying to hold water in my hands. Every time life shakes me, it slips through.”

Jeeny: quietly “Maybe faith was never meant to be held, Jack. Maybe it’s meant to flow through you — to move, not to be gripped.”

Jack: after a pause “Then what’s the point of all this? Church, prayer, ritual — if faith can’t stay steady?”

Jeeny: softly “Because faith isn’t about staying steady. It’s about returning, again and again, no matter how many times you fall away.”

Jack: looking at her “Returning to what?”

Jeeny: gently “To Him. To the doctrine that leads you back.”

Host: The organ pipes hummed faintly as the air shifted. The sound wasn’t music — not yet — just a tone, low and waiting. It felt like the walls themselves remembered prayers whispered through generations.

Jeeny: softly “When Nelson talks about learning of Him, he’s not talking about facts or scripture alone. He means relationship. You learn about Christ the same way you learn about anyone you love — through time, trust, and conversation.”

Jack: quietly “And living it out?”

Jeeny: nodding “That’s the hard part. Living what He taught — forgiveness, patience, humility — it’s how faith becomes real. It’s how it stops being theory and starts being transformation.”

Jack: softly “That’s what I struggle with. I can say the prayers, but living the words — that’s another war.”

Jeeny: gently “Every disciple fights that war. Even Peter denied Him. Even Thomas doubted. Faith isn’t the absence of questions — it’s the courage to keep seeking answers in the presence of love.”

Host: The rain began outside, faint and soft at first, then steady — a rhythm that filled the silence between their words. The candle’s reflection rippled in its own flame, as if the light itself were listening.

Jack: after a pause “You make it sound like faith isn’t built in big moments, but in small ones.”

Jeeny: quietly “Exactly. It’s not a miracle that falls from the sky — it’s built in the quiet, ordinary things: keeping a promise, saying a prayer you don’t feel, forgiving when no one deserves it.”

Jack: softly “That’s not the kind of faith they put in songs.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “No. But it’s the kind that survives the dark.”

Jack: after a moment “Maybe that’s the design Nelson meant — the doctrine as architecture. Each teaching is a beam holding the roof up.”

Jeeny: quietly “And the foundation is Him — always Him.”

Host: The rain’s rhythm deepened — steady, cleansing. The candle’s light now danced on the walls, illuminating the small wooden cross above the altar. The flame was small, but its reach was vast.

Jeeny: softly “You know, Jack, I think faith grows the way light does — not all at once, but gradually. You don’t notice the dawn until the darkness begins to retreat.”

Jack: quietly “So you’re saying faith doesn’t erase doubt. It just outshines it.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. You don’t defeat night by fighting it — you wait for the light to rise.”

Jack: after a pause “And the doctrine — the teachings, the commandments — they’re like… matches, aren’t they? Tiny sparks to help you find the light again.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Yes. They don’t replace faith — they renew it. They remind you who He is, and what He promised.”

Jack: quietly “Promises that hold, even when we don’t.”

Jeeny: softly “Especially then.”

Host: The clock near the altar chimed once, its sound echoing gently through the stillness. The hour didn’t matter — it was sacred time, unmeasured by seconds.

Jack: after a silence “You know, when I was younger, I thought faith meant certainty. That to believe was to never waver.”

Jeeny: softly “And now?”

Jack: quietly “Now I think faith’s more like trust in the middle of a fog — you can’t see where it leads, but you keep walking because the voice guiding you feels real.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “That’s the truest kind. Faith that’s alive, not perfect.”

Jack: smiling faintly “So it’s okay to not have all the answers?”

Jeeny: gently “It’s more than okay — it’s holy. Because questions are how faith breathes.”

Host: The candle flame flickered once more, steadied, and then glowed brighter. The rain outside softened, as though heaven itself had exhaled.

Jeeny: softly “That’s what Nelson meant — learning of Him and living His doctrine. It’s not about memorizing scripture or perfect obedience. It’s about walking closer, step by step, until your heart begins to move like His.”

Jack: quietly “Until faith stops being belief in Him… and becomes trust with Him.”

Jeeny: smiling “Yes. That’s the transformation — when your faith stops being borrowed and starts being born.”

Host: The light from the candle reached its furthest edge, casting a gentle glow on both their faces. The chapel, once still, now seemed alive with quiet presence — the unseen made tangible.

And in that hushed sanctum, Russell M. Nelson’s words unfolded not as doctrine, but as lived truth:

That faith is not inherited — it is cultivated,
fed by learning of Him
and made strong by living like Him.

That the teachings of Christ
are not restrictions, but roads —
pathways designed by love to lead us home.

That belief is not the end of faith,
but its beginning —
and every act of patience, forgiveness, or prayer
is another step toward divine understanding.

And that the greatest miracle
is not when mountains move,
but when the heart finally stands still enough
to hear His voice say,
“You are mine.”

Fade out.