Man finds it hard to get what he wants, because he does not want

Host: The night was cold, wrapped in a thin fog that crawled through the streets like memory. A single lamppost flickered near the edge of an empty park, its light spilling onto the bench where Jack and Jeeny sat. The city behind them was muted, a hum of distant cars, muffled laughter, and rain beginning to fall — a soft, hesitant drizzle. Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a half-burnt cigarette glowing between his fingers. Jeeny sat beside him, her hands clasped around a paper cup, steam rising like a ghost between them.

Jack: “You ever think, Jeeny, that maybe God doesn’t give people what they want because He knows they won’t take it?”

Jeeny: “That’s not what George MacDonald meant. He said, ‘Man finds it hard to get what he wants because he does not want the best; God finds it hard to give because He would give the best, and man will not take it.’ It’s not about God withholding — it’s about us settling.”

Host: The rain thickened, beating softly on the metal bench. Jack glanced upward, a small smile curving one corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t joy — it was the tired kind, the kind that’s learned too much.

Jack: “Settling? No. It’s survival. People don’t want the best because they can’t afford to. The best comes with a price, and most folks are already drowning trying to pay for what they’ve got. You call it ‘settling,’ I call it being realistic.”

Jeeny: “But what’s the point of surviving without wanting something better? That’s what he meant — that human hearts stop believing they’re worthy of the best. It’s like… we lose the taste for what’s divine.”

Host: A gust of wind cut through the trees, sending leaves scattering across the wet pavement. The lamplight trembled. The sound of distant thunder rumbled like a murmur of fate.

Jack: “Divine. That’s a nice word. But try saying it to a father who’s just lost his job, or a woman who can’t pay rent. You think they’ve ‘lost their taste for the divine’? No. They’ve seen what wanting the best gets you — disappointment. People learn to want only what they can reach.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that the tragedy, Jack? That we’ve shrunk our souls to fit our circumstances? Look at the world — the wars, the greed, the numbness — it’s not because we asked for too much. It’s because we’ve stopped asking for what’s truly good.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice was soft, but it carried, even through the rain. Her eyes, deep and steady, met Jack’s like two flames refusing to go out in the storm.

Jack: “You sound like those preachers who say God is just waiting to bless everyone if they’d just open their hearts. But if He’s so eager to give, why make it so damn hard to take?”

Jeeny: “Because freedom makes it hard. He won’t force us to accept what we’re not ready for. You ever try to give a child something they don’t understand yet? They’ll throw it away. We’re that child, Jack.”

Jack: “So He just sits back and watches us suffer?”

Jeeny: “Maybe He’s waiting. Not watching, but waiting — like a gardener waits for the soil to soften before planting the seed.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. He crushed the cigarette under his boot, the ember hissing out in the puddle. The light from the lamp caught the edges of his face, carved in shadows, all angles and tension.

Jack: “You talk about waiting and seeds like pain is a process, like loss has a lesson built into it. Tell that to the people who pray and still bury their children.”

Jeeny: “You think I haven’t asked that? I’ve cried the same questions. But maybe the point isn’t that God keeps taking — maybe it’s that we keep holding on to the wrong things. What if the best He wants to give is something beyond what we can even name?”

Jack: “Like what? Faith? Peace? Those are just words people use when they’ve run out of answers.”

Jeeny: “No. They’re doors. You just don’t want to walk through them.”

Host: The rain had slowed, turning into a fine mist. The bench was slick, and the air smelled of wet earth and iron. Jack looked down, frowning, rubbing his hands together as if warming something invisible.

Jack: “You know what I think? People don’t want the best because the best usually hurts. You have to let go, you have to change, you have to trust — and that’s the hardest damn thing in the world. Most of us just want to be safe.”

Jeeny: “Safety is a cage when it costs you your soul.”

Jack: “And idealism is a knife when it cuts you from reality.”

Host: The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the echo of their words. The park was almost empty now — only a stray dog moved through the shadows, sniffing, searching, disappearing again.

Jeeny: “You remember the story of the rich young ruler in the Bible? The one who asked Jesus what he should do to have eternal life? Jesus told him to give away everything and follow Him. But the man walked away. Not because Jesus asked for too much — but because he couldn’t take what was truly good.”

Jack: “And you think I’m that man.”

Jeeny: “We all are, sometimes.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, delicate but piercing. Jack’s breath was visible, the cold making it rise like smoke. For a moment, his eyes softened — something cracked behind them, like a wall giving way.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t want the best. Maybe I’m just afraid I wouldn’t recognize it if it was right in front of me.”

Jeeny: “That’s the beginning, Jack. Admitting that fear — that’s when the heart starts to open.”

Host: A pause. A long, gentle silence stretched between them. The rain had stopped now, leaving a soft glimmer on the pathway, reflecting the lamp’s glow like liquid glass.

Jack: “You ever wonder if God feels the same way? If He’s up there thinking, ‘I’d give them everything if they’d just take it.’”

Jeeny: “I think He weeps for it.”

Jack: “That’s a strange image — a weeping God.”

Jeeny: “Strange… but beautiful. Because it means He still cares.”

Host: Jack nodded, slowly, as if testing the weight of the thought. The city lights were brighter now, the fog beginning to lift. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolled midnight.

Jack: “You know, I once read that during the Great Depression, people kept buying cheap things they didn’t need instead of saving for what mattered — not because they were stupid, but because they needed something they could hold now. Something that made them feel in control. Maybe that’s what this quote means — that we keep grabbing the nearest thing, while the best waits just beyond our reach.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And maybe faith isn’t about believing blindly — it’s about waiting long enough to see that what’s beyond is worth it.”

Host: A smile crept across Jeeny’s face, soft as dawnlight. Jack looked at her, then at the sky — grey but clearing, a hint of blue emerging like forgiveness after anger.

Jack: “So… you think God’s still trying to give us something?”

Jeeny: “Always. We just have to want the best enough to take it.”

Host: Jack leaned back, resting against the bench, exhaling. The clouds were breaking, and the first star appeared, faint but steady. The world felt, for a fleeting moment, quiet and balanced, as if both heaven and earth had stopped to listen.

Jeeny: “What do you see up there?”

Jack: “A star. Just one.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes one is enough.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back then — the two figures under the lamp, the wet pavement shining like silver, the sky beginning to open. And in that fragile light, the truth of MacDonald’s words lingered: that man fears the best because it asks too much of him — and God, in His patience, keeps offering it anyway.