I pray to start my day and finish it in prayer. I'm just

Host:
The morning was still — that soft, golden quiet that exists just before the world remembers it has somewhere to be. A faint fog hovered over the open field, curling around the worn goalposts like breath in the chill. Somewhere, a lone robin sang — a single note of hope against the hum of awakening light.

At the edge of the field, Jack sat on a wooden bench, the kind scarred with initials and years. His grey eyes stared toward the horizon, where the first hint of sunrise painted the sky in strokes of orange and silver. A half-empty thermos rested at his feet, its lid steaming faintly in the cold.

Behind him, the bleachers stood silent — ghosts of cheers long gone. A few steps away, Jeeny approached, her black hair tucked beneath a knit cap, her brown eyes reflecting the morning glow. She carried two cups of coffee, her breath forming clouds as she walked.

Host:
She handed one to him, and together they sat in quiet companionship — two souls sharing the same pause between night and day. And in that stillness, Tim Tebow’s words seemed to whisper through the air, like a prayer carried on the wind:

"I pray to start my day and finish it in prayer. I'm just thankful for everything, all the blessings in my life, trying to stay that way. I think that's the best way to start your day and finish your day. It keeps everything in perspective."

Jeeny:
(quietly)
You ever notice how mornings feel like they were made for second chances?

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
Yeah. The world hasn’t decided who it’s going to be yet. Everything feels possible.

Jeeny:
That’s what I think he meant — about starting the day in prayer. It’s not about religion so much as… realignment.

Jack:
Realignment?

Jeeny:
Yeah. Like you check your soul before you check your phone.

Jack:
(laughs softly)
That’s harder than it sounds.

Jeeny:
(smiling)
That’s why it’s called practice. Gratitude’s not a mood — it’s a discipline.

Host:
A faint breeze rippled through the field, bending the grass just enough to shimmer under the rising light. The sun had begun its climb now, slow but certain, washing the landscape in soft gold.

Jack took a slow sip of his coffee, his expression thoughtful.

Jack:
You know, I used to think prayer was just… asking for stuff.

Jeeny:
(laughs)
Like a cosmic shopping list?

Jack:
Yeah. “Please fix this, help me with that.” But somewhere along the way, it changed. Now it’s more like — breathing. Like saying, “Thank You” before I even know what for.

Jeeny:
That’s growth. It’s not about getting; it’s about grounding.

Jack:
Exactly. It’s like Tebow said — it keeps everything in perspective. Because when you start the day with gratitude, even the chaos feels holy somehow.

Jeeny:
And when you end it in gratitude, the noise softens into meaning.

Jack:
Yeah. The day’s not perfect — but it’s enough.

Host:
The sunlight broke fully now, spilling warmth over their faces. It touched the old goalposts, the scoreboard, the dew-soaked field — transforming every mundane thing into something almost sacred.

Jeeny:
You ever wonder why he prays both at sunrise and sunset?

Jack:
To make sure he doesn’t forget what’s between.

Jeeny:
(smiling)
Exactly. It’s not just routine — it’s rhythm. The same way the heart beats: morning, night, repeat. Gratitude becomes your pulse.

Jack:
And faith becomes your breath.

Jeeny:
(softly)
You’re learning, Jack.

Jack:
(laughs quietly)
Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.

Host:
She smiled, her laughter soft against the hum of waking light. A few sparrows darted through the air, their wings cutting through the silence with the grace of prayer in motion.

They sat there for a long time — saying nothing, yet speaking through the stillness.

Jack:
You think perspective’s something we find, or something we keep losing and relearning?

Jeeny:
Both. It’s like sunrise — you have to meet it every day. You can’t hold it; you can only witness it.

Jack:
That’s humbling.

Jeeny:
That’s the point. Prayer isn’t about changing the world — it’s about letting the world change you a little each day.

Jack:
So it’s gratitude in slow motion.

Jeeny:
Exactly. You can’t rush thankfulness any more than you can rush dawn.

Host:
The first sounds of life began to stir — a truck engine, a door slamming, a child laughing somewhere in the distance. The world was waking, piece by piece, unaware that two people sat quietly in awe of it.

Jeeny:
You know, when Tebow says “it keeps everything in perspective,” I think what he’s really saying is that gratitude protects you from illusion.

Jack:
Illusion?

Jeeny:
Yeah. The illusion that you’re in control. The illusion that you’re owed anything. Gratitude breaks that down. It reminds you that every breath is borrowed.

Jack:
And prayer is how you remember to say thank you for the loan.

Jeeny:
(smiling softly)
Beautifully said.

Host:
The wind shifted again, carrying with it the scent of cut grass and early rain. Jack’s hands rested on his knees, his coffee long gone but his spirit lighter.

The sky had turned to full blue now, the sun resting high, washing away the last of the fog.

Jack:
You ever think the world would be quieter if everyone started and ended their day like that?

Jeeny:
Maybe not quieter. But kinder. Gratitude softens people. It turns “I deserve” into “I appreciate.”

Jack:
And “why me?” into “thank You.”

Jeeny:
Exactly.

Host:
Her words settled in the air like sunlight through glass — invisible, but full of warmth. The morning had stretched itself open, wide and alive, and everything around them seemed sharper, more real.

Jack stood slowly, stretching, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

Jack:
You know, I used to think peace was something you earned. Now I think it’s something you remember.

Jeeny:
That’s what prayer does — it reminds you. Of peace. Of purpose. Of where you stand in the vast, breathing rhythm of it all.

Host:
The two of them stood there for a moment longer, the world at their backs, the day ahead waiting — unshaped, unwritten, but ready.

And as the light poured across the field, Tim Tebow’s words seemed to rise again, not as advice, but as a quiet promise — a truth wrapped in humility:

That gratitude is not a pause between things,
but the thread that connects them.

That prayer is less about asking,
and more about aligning —
breathing in the grace of morning,
and exhaling peace into the night.

That to begin and end each day in thankfulness
is not habit — but perspective:
a way of seeing that transforms the ordinary
into the sacred,
the daily into the divine.

Host:
And so, as the sun climbed higher,
Jack and Jeeny began their day —
quietly thankful, quietly aware,
their hearts steady in rhythm with the rising light,
each heartbeat a prayer
for simply being alive.