I think faith helps me a lot. God wants you to be where He wants

Host: The rain had just ended, leaving the streets of the city slick with reflections of neon signs and amber lamplight. A soft wind carried the smell of coffee and wet concrete through the narrow alley where a small café hid behind a fogged glass door. Inside, the air was warm, heavy with the sound of an old record spinning something slow and melancholic.

Jeeny sat near the window, her hands clasped around a cup of tea, her eyes following the raindrops that slid down the glass like fading memories. Jack leaned back in his chair, his jacket hung over the backrest, his grey eyes scanning the street as if searching for a truth that refused to appear.

The clock above the counter ticked with a slow, indifferent rhythm.

Host: And in that moment of quiet — between the drip of rainwater and the crackle of vinyl — Jeeny spoke, her voice carrying a strange peace, as if she’d just been thinking about something much bigger than herself.

Jeeny: “I think faith helps me a lot, Jack. You know… sometimes I really believe that God wants us to be where He wants us to be. And when something doesn’t happen — when a door closes — I try to see it as His plan, not just bad luck.”

Host: Jack’s eyebrow lifted, his lips curving into that faint, skeptical smile that always cut through Jeeny’s warmth like a blade through fog.

Jack: “God’s plan, huh? You mean like when you didn’t get that teaching job you wanted last year? Or when your car broke down the same day you had that big presentation? You really think some invisible being decided that’s where you were ‘meant to be’?”

Jeeny: “Yes, I do. Maybe I was meant to be home that day. Maybe I was meant to be still for once — not chasing, not forcing. I’ve learned that there’s always a reason, even when it’s hidden.”

Host: Jack let out a low chuckle, rubbing his temple with a calloused hand. The light from the hanging lamp caught the shadows under his eyes — the kind that come from too many nights spent thinking and not sleeping.

Jack: “You make it sound poetic. But you know what I see when bad things happen? Coincidence. Cause and effect. You don’t get a job — maybe you weren’t the best fit. Your car breaks down — maybe it wasn’t serviced right. The world doesn’t need divine permission to make sense.”

Jeeny: “But doesn’t it ever feel like something greater is guiding you, Jack? Something you can’t explain? Like when you narrowly avoid an accident, or when you meet someone who completely changes your life — and you realize it couldn’t have been random?”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. He looked out the window, where a couple laughed under a shared umbrella. His reflection flickered on the glass, half-man, half-shadow.

Jack: “I used to think that way. When I was younger. My mom used to say the same thing — that God had a reason for everything. Then she got sick. And I watched her pray every night while her body withered. You tell me, Jeeny — what kind of plan was that?”

Jeeny: (softly) “Maybe not one we can understand. Maybe she was teaching you something even through her pain.”

Jack: “Teaching me? She was dying. There’s no lesson in that.”

Host: The music changed — a low piano melody filling the room with a sense of grief that clung to the air like smoke. Jeeny looked at him, her eyes shimmering with a kindness that wasn’t pity, but something deeper — an ache of shared humanity.

Jeeny: “I’m sorry, Jack. But I don’t believe God causes pain — I think He transforms it. Maybe what you learned wasn’t a lesson from her suffering, but from your love for her — the part of you that still remembers, still feels.”

Jack: “And where was He when she asked to live? When she begged for one more day?”

Jeeny: “He was there. Just not the way you wanted.”

Host: Jack’s hand clenched around his coffee cup until his knuckles went white. He exhaled through his teeth, a breath full of anger and memory.

Jack: “That’s the problem with faith — it’s always right no matter what happens. If things go well, it’s God’s blessing. If they don’t, it’s His mysterious will. It’s an unbeatable logic, Jeeny — but it’s not truth.”

Jeeny: “No, it’s not unbeatable. It’s just hope. And maybe you’ve forgotten what that feels like.”

Host: The rain began again, light at first — tapping against the glass, then harder, like a rhythm matching their hearts. The streetlights shimmered through the droplets, scattering gold and silver over the table between them.

Jeeny: “You know, Jason Dolley once said something that’s stayed with me — that faith helped him because it reminded him that every missed opportunity had meaning. That maybe God wanted him home, or at church, or simply elsewhere. It’s not about blind obedience, Jack. It’s about trust.”

Jack: “Easy for someone with faith to say that. But for people like me — who’ve watched good people suffer — trust feels like surrender.”

Jeeny: “Maybe surrender isn’t weakness. Maybe it’s the strength to accept what you can’t control.”

Host: Jack leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a whisper. The lamplight drew lines across his face, revealing the faint trace of something softer beneath the cynicism.

Jack: “And what if there’s no plan, Jeeny? What if all this — the timing, the losses, the chances — are just chaos we try to decorate with meaning so it doesn’t crush us?”

Jeeny: “Then at least we’ve decorated it beautifully.”

Host: Silence hung between them, thick and alive. The rain softened again, as if listening. Jeeny’s eyes found his, and for a moment, Jack’s mask slipped — revealing that small, quiet fear behind every skeptic’s argument: the fear that there’s nothing beyond the pain.

Jeeny: “You ever heard of Corrie ten Boom?”

Jack: “The Dutch woman who hid Jews during World War II, right?”

Jeeny: “Yes. She lost her whole family in a camp. Yet she said, ‘When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off — you sit still and trust the engineer.’ That’s faith, Jack. Not pretending everything’s fine — but believing the darkness won’t last forever.”

Host: Jack stared into his cup, his reflection trembling in the black liquid. He looked tired — the kind of tired that comes from fighting an invisible enemy.

Jack: “Maybe I’ve been jumping off the train too soon.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Or maybe you’ve been holding onto the wrong one.”

Host: The rain slowed, the piano faded. Outside, the sky began to clear — a thin light breaking through the clouds, washing the city in pale gold. The waiter moved quietly behind the counter, the smell of fresh bread filling the room.

Jack: “You really believe God wants you to be where you are?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Even if it’s not where I thought I’d be.”

Jack: “And when everything falls apart?”

Jeeny: “Then I wait. Because sometimes what looks like falling apart is just falling into place.”

Host: Jack gave a small, rueful smile, his eyes softening. He leaned back, letting the light touch his face for the first time that evening.

Jack: “You know… maybe that’s not such a bad way to live. To believe there’s some kind of rhythm behind all this noise.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about believing everything happens for a reason, Jack. It’s about trusting that even if there’s no reason, you can still make meaning out of it.”

Host: The music stopped. The rain was gone. Only the faint hum of the city remained, carrying the echoes of two people who had, for a brief moment, met somewhere between doubt and faith.

Jack lifted his cup, offering a quiet toast.

Jack: “To meaning, then — wherever we find it.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And to faith — wherever it finds us.”

Host: The light flickered on the table, catching the rising steam from their cups — two trails merging into one. And outside, the sun broke through, painting the wet street in colors only visible after the storm.