I grew up in a very religious family and it is the motivating

Host: The late afternoon sun spilled through the stained-glass windows of a small community center, its colors spreading across the walls like soft watercolor — fragments of blue, gold, and mercy. The place was quiet now; the children had gone home, leaving behind chalk drawings, scuffed floors, and laughter still echoing faintly in the corners.

Jack stood by the window, sleeves rolled up, hands streaked faintly with paint, watching the dust swirl through beams of fading light.
Jeeny sat cross-legged on the floor beside a half-finished mural of outstretched hands, her fingers still smudged with color. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was earned, the kind that lingers between two people who have spent the day doing something good without needing to explain it.

On the wall, someone had pinned a sheet of paper — its edges curled, its words handwritten in a neat, steady hand:
“I grew up in a very religious family, and it is the motivating force to everything I do. I am fortunate to have had adults all around me who really lived their faith — in helping other people and doing the best you can do.” — Marian Wright Edelman.

Jeeny: (quietly, tracing the quote with her finger) “You ever read this before?”

Jack: (nodding) “Yeah. Edelman. She founded the Children’s Defense Fund. Spent her life turning faith into policy.”

Jeeny: “Faith into action, you mean.”

Jack: “Same thing, ideally. Though most people never get past the first step.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “You sound cynical, even when you agree.”

Jack: “Maybe because I grew up around people who talked about God more than they practiced kindness.”

Jeeny: “That’s the difference, isn’t it? She says faith isn’t what you believe — it’s what you do when no one’s watching.”

Jack: (glancing at her) “And what if no one ever thanks you for it?”

Jeeny: (shrugging) “Then maybe that’s how you know it’s real.”

Host: The light shifted, falling now on Jeeny’s face, catching the faint shine of paint across her cheek. It wasn’t makeup — it was work. Faith made visible, one brushstroke at a time.

Jack: “You really believe in that — in religion as motivation?”

Jeeny: “I believe in faith as fuel. Religion is the map; faith’s the motion.”

Jack: “And you think everyone needs it?”

Jeeny: “No. But I think those who have it forget how powerful it can be when it’s humble.”

Jack: “Humble?”

Jeeny: “Yeah. The kind that doesn’t preach, doesn’t brag — it just shows up. Builds houses, feeds people, paints walls for kids who’ll never know your name.”

Jack: “That’s not religion. That’s decency.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Maybe decency is religion, in its purest form.”

Host: A clock ticked softly above the door. Outside, the sound of traffic mingled with the laughter of a few stragglers. Somewhere, a church bell rang, not announcing prayer but closing the day — the small holiness of routine.

Jack: (sitting down beside her) “You know, I used to envy people like Edelman. People whose moral compass was carved in childhood. Mine kept breaking.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it didn’t break. Maybe you just learned to question which way north really was.”

Jack: (chuckling) “You make doubt sound sacred.”

Jeeny: “It is. Faith without doubt isn’t faith — it’s programming.”

Jack: “And what about people who don’t have faith at all?”

Jeeny: “They can still have goodness. Some people find God through kindness. Others find kindness through the lack of God. The path doesn’t matter. The work does.”

Jack: (looking at the mural) “Then Edelman’s right. It’s not about the doctrine. It’s about the doing.”

Host: The colors on the wall glowed — deep reds, bright yellows, soft greens — a mosaic of imperfect beauty.
Each brushstroke was different, but together they made something coherent — something whole.

Jeeny: “You know what strikes me about that quote?”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “She doesn’t say faith made her successful. She says it made her helpful. That’s rarer.”

Jack: (quietly) “We live in a time when people want their faith to make them special, not useful.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Faith as a brand instead of a bridge.”

Jack: “You think we could ever go back to the kind she’s talking about?”

Jeeny: “We don’t need to go back. We just need to live forward — with that same simplicity. Help when you can. Try your best. That’s all she meant.”

Host: Jack leaned back, his eyes tracing the mural. It wasn’t perfect. Some colors bled, some lines crooked — but it breathed sincerity. A child’s joy, an adult’s effort, a shared heartbeat painted into plaster.

Jack: “You think that’s why she never stopped? Because faith made her tired but never bitter?”

Jeeny: “No. Because faith gave her permission to care endlessly, even when it hurt.”

Jack: “That sounds exhausting.”

Jeeny: “It is. But the alternative — not caring — is worse.”

Jack: “So we build hope like she did. Brick by brick. Quietly.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And maybe that’s the only sermon worth giving.”

Host: The sun dipped lower, the light now golden, catching the edges of the mural’s hands reaching upward. It was a simple image — nothing grand, nothing mystical — just hands reaching for one another.

For help. For connection. For redemption in small, ordinary acts.

Jack: (after a long silence) “You ever think faith might just be another word for endurance?”

Jeeny: “No. Endurance is what we do when we’ve lost faith. Faith is what keeps us from needing endurance.”

Jack: (smiling) “You’ve thought about this a lot.”

Jeeny: “I’ve lived it.”

Jack: (softly) “So did she.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what made her dangerous to cynicism — she believed in good like it was oxygen.”

Host: The lights dimmed inside the hall, leaving just the glow from the mural, the colors shimmering faintly in the twilight. It looked alive — not because of perfection, but because of intention.

And beside it, the quote remained, quiet but resonant — an echo of a life lived for others:

“I grew up in a very religious family, and it is the motivating force to everything I do. I am fortunate to have had adults all around me who really lived their faith — in helping other people and doing the best you can do.”

Host: And as Jack and Jeeny stepped outside, the sky deepened into blue, the city lights flickering on one by one,
they walked past the sound of children’s laughter fading into distance —
the kind of sound that reminds you what faith once felt like:
not an argument,
not a sermon,
but a call to action whispered gently through the heart —

to help, to endure, to hope,
and above all,
to do the best you can do.