Of all the things Christ wants for us, loving Him and focusing

Host: The chapel was empty except for the sound of the wind whistling faintly through the old stained-glass windows. The candles near the altar flickered with a trembling glow, painting soft colors — gold, red, blue — across the cracked stone floor. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and dust, the smell of faith that had weathered centuries of doubt.

Jack sat in the second pew, his hands folded, his coat collar turned up against the chill. His eyes were fixed on the simple wooden cross that hung above the altar. It wasn’t ornate, not polished — just plain, honest, human.

Jeeny entered quietly from the side aisle, her footsteps barely audible on the stone. She carried a small Bible, its corners worn soft with years of searching. She sat beside him without a word. For a long while, the silence between them was prayer enough.

And then, she spoke — softly, as though quoting to herself:
"Of all the things Christ wants for us, loving Him and focusing our attention on Him are the most important." — Charles Stanley.

Jeeny: “It sounds so simple when he says it, doesn’t it? Just love Him. Just focus. As if the heart and the mind ever worked that cleanly.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Simple’s easy to preach. Harder to live. I’ve spent years focusing on purpose, not person.”

Jeeny: “You mean faith as a task?”

Jack: “Faith as an achievement. Like if I prayed better, served more, sinned less — I’d earn His attention.”

Jeeny: “And did it work?”

Jack: (shaking his head) “No. It just made the silence louder.”

Host: The candlelight trembled on the stone walls as if the building itself were listening. Outside, the rain began — soft, persistent, the kind of rain that makes time feel suspended.

Jeeny turned slightly, studying him. Her expression was not pity, but understanding — that quiet recognition shared by those who’ve wrestled with God and themselves in equal measure.

Jeeny: “Stanley’s right about one thing. Christ doesn’t want our performance. He wants our attention — our gaze. Not the kind that glances up during worship, but the kind that lingers.”

Jack: “And how do you keep your eyes on someone you can’t see?”

Jeeny: “By seeing Him in everything else.”

Jack: “That sounds like faith dressed in poetry.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Maybe poetry’s the truest language for faith. It makes room for mystery.”

Host: A drop of wax fell from one of the candles, hissing softly as it hit the metal holder. The cross above them caught the faint glint of light.

Jack’s eyes softened, his voice quieter now.

Jack: “When I was a kid, I used to think loving God meant doing things for Him — helping, giving, proving. But the older I get, the more it feels like He’s asking me to just stop.”

Jeeny: “Stop what?”

Jack: “Earning. Explaining. Hiding.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what love is — not trying to impress, just trying to be near.”

Host: The wind outside pressed gently against the windows, as though trying to enter — to listen in.

Jeeny: “You know, when Stanley said ‘focus on Him,’ I don’t think he meant fixate. I think he meant align. To turn your heart toward Him like flowers turn toward light — not because they’re told to, but because they can’t live without it.”

Jack: “And yet, people forget that light burns too.”

Jeeny: “Only when you resist it.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “You really believe love and focus are the most important things?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because love without focus drifts, and focus without love hardens.”

Host: The rain deepened its rhythm, echoing softly against the church roof — like a heartbeat from the heavens. Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice distant but raw.

Jack: “There was a time I couldn’t pray. Not because I didn’t believe — but because I didn’t know who I was talking to anymore. God felt… like a mirror that stopped reflecting.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now He feels like silence that listens.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s closer to love than we think.”

Host: The candlelight shifted, catching Jeeny’s face — serene, steady. She looked toward the altar, her eyes soft with something deeper than certainty.

Jeeny: “Love isn’t always emotional, Jack. Sometimes it’s just presence. Stillness. Showing up when you don’t feel it. Focusing when your heart’s tired. That’s courage disguised as devotion.”

Jack: “So faith is endurance?”

Jeeny: “No. Faith is intimacy. Endurance is what keeps you there until you remember it.”

Host: For a long moment, they sat in silence again. Outside, the world seemed to have stopped — the rain, the wind, the night itself all suspended in the quiet gravity of the moment.

Jack: “You ever think God gets lonely? Waiting for us to look up?”

Jeeny: “All the time. But maybe that’s why He keeps sending reminders — not through sermons or miracles, but through people.”

Jack: “People?”

Jeeny: “People who love, even when it costs them. People who forgive what they shouldn’t have to. People who stay when it’d be easier to leave. That’s how He turns our eyes back to Him.”

Jack: “Through human reflection.”

Jeeny: “Through spiritual presence.”

Host: The church bell struck midnight — soft but resonant, echoing through the rafters, through the years. The sound lingered like an unspoken Amen.

Jeeny stood, slipping her small Bible into her coat pocket. Jack remained seated, eyes fixed on the cross.

Jeeny: “You know what I think Stanley meant most of all?”

Jack: “Tell me.”

Jeeny: “That loving Him isn’t about religion — it’s about relationship. Attention is love’s purest form.”

Jack: “And what about failure? The days when you can’t love well or focus at all?”

Jeeny: “That’s the beauty of grace — it doesn’t need perfect concentration. Just a heart that keeps turning back.”

Host: She walked toward the door, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone. Before stepping out into the rain, she turned once more to him.

Jeeny: “You can’t love God the way you love people, Jack. People demand proof. God just asks for presence.”

Jack: “And when you don’t feel His presence?”

Jeeny: “Then love Him through the absence. That’s the highest kind of faith.”

Host: The door closed behind her. The sound of rain filled the chapel again, steady, rhythmic — a kind of hymn without words. Jack rose slowly and walked to the altar.

He stood beneath the cross, looking up, his face caught in the candle’s trembling light.

Jack: (whispering) “Of all the things You want… love and attention. Maybe that’s all I’ve ever needed to give.”

Host: He sat back down, the silence wrapping around him — warm this time, not empty. The cross above seemed to shine a little brighter, not from miracle, but from recognition.

Outside, the rain softened into mist. Inside, one man remembered that the deepest prayer is not asking, but adoring — not striving, but staying.

And so, the night ended not in answers, but in stillness —
where the human heart looked up, and love finally looked back.