God surrounded me with people of faith, people of strong faith

Host: The sunset burned low over the harbor, bleeding its last golden light across the water. The wind carried the scent of salt and fading jasmine. A slow tide lapped against the old wooden pier, where two figures sat facing the horizon. Jack, his coat heavy, his eyes the color of storm clouds, leaned against a rusted lamppost, a cigarette trembling between his fingers. Jeeny, with her hair loose and her eyes reflecting the dying light, sat cross-legged beside him, her hands clasped in quiet faith.

The world seemed to hold its breath as the day gave way to twilight — that fleeting hour when faith and doubt could almost look like the same thing.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… I read something today. Natalie Cole once said, ‘God surrounded me with people of faith... and I saw little miracles happen in their lives. By it happening in their lives, I started believing it could happen to me.’”

Jack: (smirking slightly) “Miracles, huh? Sounds nice — like something you read in the hospital waiting room right before they call bad news.”

Host: The waves murmured below, breaking softly against the pier’s spine, like gentle applause for a truth that refused to die.

Jeeny: “You don’t believe in miracles?”

Jack: “I believe in coincidence. In probability. Call something a miracle, and it just means you’ve run out of ways to explain it.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it means you’ve stopped trying to control it. You think everything has to be measured, proven, defined — but faith doesn’t need evidence. It only needs experience.”

Host: A seagull cried overhead, circling once before vanishing into the orange haze. The light began to fade, the pier sinking into soft shadows.

Jack: “Experience? Come on, Jeeny. You talk like belief is contagious. Just because someone else finds peace, doesn’t mean it’ll rub off on you. You think Natalie Cole suddenly believed because she saw miracles? Or because she needed to believe her pain wasn’t for nothing?”

Jeeny: “Maybe both. You forget she lost everything — her health, her voice, her faith. But when she saw others find grace through their storms, she began to hope again. That’s not weakness, Jack. That’s human strength — to borrow faith when yours runs out.”

Jack: “Borrow faith? That’s poetic, but it’s dangerous. It’s dependency. People see what they want to see. Call it a ‘miracle’ when it’s just timing, or luck, or biology catching up.”

Host: The light flickered over the water, a thousand trembling reflections — like uncertain prayers trying to rise.

Jeeny: “And yet, you still look for meaning, don’t you? You call it reason, I call it faith. But we’re both trying to make sense of the chaos.”

Jack: “The difference is I know it’s chaos. You pretend it’s divine choreography.”

Jeeny: “You think miracles are illusions. I think they’re whispers from something greater than us. You don’t have to name it ‘God,’ Jack — just admit there are moments that logic can’t hold.”

Host: Jack exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting like a ghost between them. His voice softened, rough with something that almost sounded like regret.

Jack: “You ever watch someone die, Jeeny? Not quick — slow. Day by day, slipping away while you pray for a miracle that never comes? You stop believing in divine whispers after that.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Yes. I have. My mother. And I prayed too. But maybe the miracle wasn’t in saving her life. Maybe it was in the way she smiled until the very end. The way she made me promise not to stop hoping.”

Host: A small pause — heavy as the sea beneath them. The sky deepened into indigo, the first stars trembling awake.

Jack: “So that’s it? You redefine the word ‘miracle’ every time it fails?”

Jeeny: “No. I redefine myself. Faith isn’t about getting what you want — it’s about surviving what you don’t. Miracles aren’t rewards; they’re reminders.”

Jack: “Reminders of what?”

Jeeny: “That we’re not alone. That even in the darkest hour, something — someone — still believes in us.”

Host: Jack turned toward her. His face, usually carved with skepticism, softened under the moonlight. The tide had risen now, licking the edge of the pier, as though eavesdropping.

Jack: “You think that belief is what kept her strong?”

Jeeny: “I know it. And I think that’s what Natalie meant. When you see faith in others, it reignites something in you — like embers waking in ash. You remember you can believe again.”

Jack: “That’s beautiful, Jeeny. But not everyone gets surrounded by saints. Some of us just get noise — empty words, false comfort.”

Jeeny: “Then be your own proof. Be the miracle someone else needs to see.”

Host: Her voice trembled with quiet conviction. The air thickened with meaning. Jack dropped his cigarette, watching it fizzle out against the wet wood.

Jack: “You make it sound so simple.”

Jeeny: “It isn’t simple. That’s what makes it sacred.”

Host: The moon climbed higher, casting silver across the harbor. The water shimmered like spilled glass. A small boat drifted by, its lone lantern cutting through the darkness — a fragile symbol of persistence.

Jack: “You know, once I met this guy in the army. He’d lost his leg in a roadside explosion. But he’d still smile every morning like it was his birthday. When I asked him how, he said, ‘Because someone prayed for me, and I’m still here.’”
(pauses) “I thought he was delusional. But maybe… maybe he just saw something I couldn’t.”

Jeeny: “Maybe he was your Natalie Cole moment.”

Host: Jack laughed — low, broken, real. It sounded like forgiveness waking from a long sleep.

Jack: “Maybe. Or maybe I just needed to believe that someone’s miracle could happen to me.”

Jeeny: “It already did. You’re still here, Jack.”

Host: The wind softened. The stars above them brightened — faint but defiant against the void. The pier, once drowned in shadows, now shimmered with reflected moonlight.

Jeeny reached out, her hand resting gently over his. No words. Just the shared warmth of two souls remembering what belief felt like.

Jack: “So what now?”

Jeeny: “Now, we wait. And we believe — not for proof, but for peace.”

Host: The camera pulled back, the ocean stretching infinitely behind them — vast, silent, holy. Two silhouettes, bound not by certainty, but by the fragile courage to still hope.

As the tide whispered against the wood, the night itself seemed to kneel — as if acknowledging that sometimes, the greatest miracle is not what happens to us,
but what awakens within us when we dare to believe again.