As your faith is strengthened you will find that there is no

Host: The night hung like velvet smoke over the city, its lights trembling in the misty air. A faint rain tapped against the window of a small bookstore café, where time seemed to pause between the turning of pages and the soft hum of a distant train. Jack sat by the window, his hands wrapped around a cup of black coffee, steam rising like unspoken thoughts. Across from him, Jeeny stared into the rain, her eyes glimmering with that quiet sadness of someone who believes in something too beautiful for this world.

Host: The quote lay between them, scribbled on a napkin in her handwriting — “As your faith is strengthened you will find that there is no longer the need to have a sense of control, that things will flow as they will, and that you will flow with them, to your great delight and benefit.” — Emmanuel Teney.

Jack: (his voice low, rough) You really believe that, don’t you? That faith somehow replaces control. That if we just let go, the world takes care of itself.

Jeeny: (softly) Not replaces, Jack. Transforms. Faith isn’t the absence of control; it’s the realization that control was never really ours.

Host: A car splashed through the puddles outside. The light from its headlamps swept across their faces — one shadowed, one softly glowing.

Jack: (leaning forward) You say that like it’s freedom. But it sounds like surrender. People don’t survive by floating, Jeeny. They survive by grasping, by fighting, by controlling what they can.

Jeeny: (meeting his eyes) And yet so many who fight hardest end up breaking. Look at the ones who try to control every outcome — the tyrants, the perfectionists, the fearful. The more they try to hold, the more life slips through their fingers.

Jack: (grimly) You’re talking about philosophy. I’m talking about reality. When the factory I worked in started cutting jobs, I didn’t “flow” with it. I fought. I negotiated, I planned, I took control. That’s why I still have work.

Host: He sipped the bitter coffee, its heat stinging his lips. Outside, the rain softened, the sound of it like an old song on a forgotten radio.

Jeeny: And yet… you still look tired, Jack. Even with your job, even with your plans, your control. You survived, but did you live?

Jack: (snapping) What’s that supposed to mean?

Jeeny: It means your fight kept you standing, but maybe it also kept you from moving. Faith isn’t about sitting back and doing nothing. It’s about trusting that the river you’re in knows where it’s going, even when you can’t see the shore.

Host: Her voice was soft, but it cut through the room like a bell in fog. Jack’s jaw tightened. The silence between them grew heavy, filled with the weight of what neither wanted to admit.

Jack: (quietly) I used to think like you once. That life had a kind of rhythm, that if I just believed, things would make sense. Then my father got sick. No amount of faith changed that. Control — that’s what I needed. Doctors, plans, schedules, research. That was the only thing that kept me from falling apart.

Jeeny: (whispering) And when he was gone? Did all that control save you from the grief?

Host: The question lingered in the air, trembling like the flame of a candle caught in a draft. Jack looked away, his eyes on the window, where raindrops crawled slowly down the glass like tears on a cold face.

Jack: (after a long pause) No. Nothing saved me from that.

Jeeny: Because some things aren’t meant to be controlled. They’re meant to be felt.

Host: A clock on the wall ticked, its rhythm steady, like a heartbeat reminding them of the present.

Jack: So what are you saying — we just give up? Stop planning, stop thinking, stop trying to make things better? That’s not faith, Jeeny. That’s denial.

Jeeny: (shaking her head) No, Jack. I’m saying we trust the flow, not abandon it. Like a sailor who learns the wind, not to fight it, but to move with it. The control is in the listening, not the forcing.

Jack: (half-smiling, sarcastic) You sound like one of those Zen monks in a mountain temple.

Jeeny: Maybe they have a point. Even the Buddha said, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”

Host: A faint smile touched her lips, and for the first time, Jack’s expression softened. The tension between them shifted, turning into something quieter — a wound that began to breathe.

Jack: (murmuring) And what about the ones who never find that faith? The ones who can’t just… let go?

Jeeny: Then they live their lives in fear. Always building walls, always calculating. But faith, Jack, doesn’t mean certainty. It means trusting the uncertain. Like those who cross oceans not knowing if they’ll see land again — yet they sail.

Jack: (thinking) You’re talking about explorers, dreamers… people like Columbus, Magellan. But they also prepared — they didn’t just flow into the unknown.

Jeeny: True. But their preparation wasn’t control — it was readiness. They accepted that the sea would do what it must. That’s the difference.

Host: The rain had stopped. The streets outside gleamed with the reflection of neon signs, colors bleeding into the pavement like liquid light. Inside, the air was warm and still, except for the quiet breathing of two souls who had finally begun to understand each other.

Jack: (softly) Maybe I’ve been fighting the river too long. Every time something went wrong, I thought I just had to tighten my grip. But maybe… maybe the point is to open the hand.

Jeeny: (smiling gently) And trust that the water knows where it’s going.

Host: Jack’s eyes lifted, catching the faint glow of a streetlamp beyond the glass. For the first time in a long while, his shoulders eased, his breath slowed. He looked at Jeeny, not as an opponent, but as someone who had simply waited for him to arrive.

Jack: (quietly) You think that’s what Emmanuel Teney meant — that faith isn’t about blindness, but about alignment. About finding that flow that was always there.

Jeeny: Yes. When your faith is strong, you stop trying to command the current. You start to dance with it.

Host: The clock ticked once more, louder now, like the sound of a decision made. The rain had ended; in its place came a gentle breeze, carrying the smell of wet earth and hope.

Jack: (smiling faintly) Maybe it’s time I stopped building dams and started learning to float.

Jeeny: (whispering) You’d be surprised how light life becomes when you do.

Host: The scene faded as the two sat in silence, hands wrapped around now-cold cups, watching the streetlights flicker over the empty street. Somewhere, in that quiet moment, the universe seemed to breathe — and they breathed with it.

Host: Outside, a single leaf drifted down the wet pavement, spinning gently before it settled. And in that small motion, everything that had been said was understood — faith, control, flow, all parts of the same river, forever moving, forever teaching.