God strengthened me and taught me who I am in Him. He taught me

Host: The sun was setting over the harbor, a quiet gold spilling across the still water, rippling with slow grace. The faint sound of a saxophone drifted from somewhere down the pier, mingling with the cries of gulls and the distant hum of the city. The air tasted faintly of salt and redemption — that strange mixture of endings and beginnings.

On a weathered bench near the water’s edge, Jack sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, his eyes tracing the horizon as though searching for something just beyond it. Beside him, Jeeny leaned back, her hair catching the light, her face calm but filled with thought.

The world around them seemed to hold its breath.

Jeeny: “El DeBarge once said, ‘God strengthened me and taught me who I am in Him. He taught me that not only do I need to have faith in Him, but I need to believe in myself again.’”

Jack: “Believe in myself again, huh? Sounds like he had to lose that belief first. Most people do — before they remember they ever had it.”

Host: The waves rolled in slow, deliberate motion — steady, rhythmic, as if the sea itself were nodding in agreement.

Jeeny: “That’s what makes his words so powerful. It’s not a declaration — it’s a return. He’s talking about rediscovering himself, not through pride, but through grace. Faith and self-belief — two mirrors that reflect each other.”

Jack: “Or maybe they distort each other. Faith in God and belief in self don’t always coexist. One says ‘Surrender,’ the other says ‘Stand tall.’ It’s a paradox.”

Jeeny: “It’s not a paradox. It’s balance. You can’t stand tall without surrender — not truly. You surrender the illusion of control so that strength can rise in its place.”

Host: A breeze moved across the pier, rippling the surface of the water, scattering reflections of the sky into trembling fragments.

Jack: “I’ve never liked that word — surrender. It feels too much like giving up.”

Jeeny: “It’s not giving up. It’s giving over. There’s a difference. When you give up, you let go out of despair. When you give over, you let go out of trust.”

Jack: “You make it sound easy. But when the world breaks you, faith feels like a story you tell yourself to make the pain tolerable.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But sometimes that story is the only bridge between who you are and who you’re meant to become.”

Host: The sky began to shift — from gold to violet, from warmth to reflection. The sun lowered, the light softening into something almost merciful. Jack’s profile caught the glow, the hard lines of skepticism melting slightly.

Jack: “So you think faith fixes people?”

Jeeny: “No. Faith doesn’t fix. It reminds. It doesn’t erase what’s broken — it shows you how to live with the cracks.”

Jack: “That’s poetic. But it doesn’t stop the bleeding.”

Jeeny: “It teaches you to stop mistaking your scars for open wounds.”

Host: The silence that followed was deep, yet tender. The water lapped gently against the dock, the rhythm of eternity disguised as repetition.

Jack: “You ever lose faith, Jeeny?”

Jeeny: “Of course. Everyone does. But that’s how faith grows — not by never falling, but by finding your way back.”

Jack: “And believing in yourself again?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because if you only believe in God and not in yourself, you end up worshipping from a distance. But if you see yourself as His creation, then self-belief becomes worship too.”

Jack: “You think self-belief can be holy?”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. It’s not arrogance — it’s alignment. You’re not claiming to be divine; you’re claiming to be designed.”

Host: The wind carried her words softly over the water, scattering them like petals over the tide. Jack looked out toward the line where the sky met the sea, and for the first time in a long while, his eyes seemed to see beyond it.

Jack: “You know… when I was younger, I used to pray. Not because I believed — but because I was scared not to. I thought if I said the right words, maybe I’d stay safe. But the world doesn’t work like that.”

Jeeny: “No, it doesn’t. But maybe faith isn’t supposed to make us safe. Maybe it’s supposed to make us strong.”

Jack: “Strong enough for what?”

Jeeny: “To forgive ourselves. To keep believing that who we are isn’t finished yet.”

Host: The pier lights flickered on, glowing amber through the gathering dusk. The reflection of each light shimmered across the darkening water, forming a bridge of gold across the void.

Jack: “You talk like faith’s a mirror.”

Jeeny: “It is. But one you can’t see into unless you dare to look honestly.”

Jack: “And what if you don’t like what you see?”

Jeeny: “Then that’s where God begins. In the places you stop loving yourself.”

Host: The sound of the saxophone rose again — low, yearning, full of the ache of redemption. Jack’s fingers tightened around his coffee cup, then loosened. His voice came quiet, almost reverent.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what El DeBarge meant. That God doesn’t just teach us to believe in Him — He teaches us to believe in His work. And that means believing in ourselves.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because if He made you, then doubting yourself is doubting His creation.”

Jack: “That’s… dangerous theology.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Or healing theology. Depends on how much you’ve been hurt.”

Host: A long pause fell — peaceful this time. The last rays of sunlight dipped beneath the horizon, and the harbor shimmered under a soft, silvery moon. Jack leaned back, eyes half-closed, listening to the water, to the wind, to her words.

Jack: “Maybe belief isn’t something you hold. Maybe it’s something that holds you — when you’ve got nothing left to carry.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Faith isn’t about certainty. It’s about letting love be stronger than doubt.”

Host: The camera of the night widened, the two of them small figures against the vast, luminous harbor — framed by light, shadow, and the rhythm of faith rediscovered.

Host: And as the music from the distant pier faded into the hum of the tide, the essence of El DeBarge’s words echoed through the stillness —
that God’s strength is not a wall, but a mirror,
that to have faith is to find yourself reflected in the divine,
and that the truest act of belief
is learning to see your own soul
as something He never stopped believing in.