Thank God I'm very satisfied with the way God created me, and I

Host: The beach stretched wide under a lavender sunset, the horizon blurring where sea met sky. The air carried that tender mix of salt, wind, and quiet gratitude that belongs only to late evenings when the day is almost over, and the world seems to pause long enough for reflection.

Waves rolled in steady rhythm — strong but gentle, echoing the heartbeat of something eternal.

Jeeny walked barefoot along the water’s edge, her hair wild from the wind, a small notebook in her hand. Jack followed a few steps behind, his shoes slung over his shoulder, his expression contemplative — the look of a man who had spent years trying to fix what maybe was never broken.

Jeeny stopped, turned toward the sea, and spoke softly — her voice half-lost in the wind.

Jeeny: “Leila Lopes once said, ‘Thank God I’m very satisfied with the way God created me, and I wouldn’t change a thing.’”
She smiled faintly, closing her notebook. “It’s simple, isn’t it? But it feels revolutionary.”

Jack: grinning slightly “You think loving yourself’s revolutionary?”

Jeeny: “In this world? Absolutely. Self-hate’s the economy now. Loving yourself — that’s rebellion.”

Host: The wind played through her hair, the orange light wrapping her in quiet radiance. She looked like someone mid-conversation with the divine.

Jack: “You ever really met someone who didn’t want to change something about themselves?”

Jeeny: “Only children. Before the world tells them they should.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. Somewhere along the line we confuse improvement with erasure.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Everyone’s busy editing themselves to fit other people’s comfort.”

Host: The waves crashed a little harder, the tide slowly inching closer. Jack picked up a stone, turned it in his hand, and tossed it into the surf.

Jack: “You know what’s strange? We admire confidence in others but call it arrogance when we try to feel it ourselves.”

Jeeny: “Because we’ve been taught humility means shrinking, not standing.”

Jack: “And Leila refused to shrink.”

Jeeny: “Yes. That’s what makes her words beautiful — they’re not vanity. They’re gratitude.”

Host: The light shifted — softening, deepening — painting the ocean in gold and indigo.

Jack: “You think self-acceptance comes from faith?”

Jeeny: “It can. Faith in God. Faith in purpose. Faith in the fact that you were made with intention, not error.”

Jack: “And what if you don’t believe in God?”

Jeeny: “Then believe in design. Believe that existence itself chose you, that the odds were impossible, and you still made it here. That’s sacred enough.”

Host: He smiled faintly, half at her, half at the horizon. “You really think people can get to that place — ‘I wouldn’t change a thing’?”

Jeeny: “Not overnight. It takes unlearning — every insult, every expectation, every comparison.”

Jack: “That’s a lifetime’s work.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the point. Acceptance isn’t a finish line — it’s a practice.”

Host: She walked toward the shoreline, the water catching her ankles, the waves folding around her like silk. The sea reflected the first stars of evening.

Jack: “You know,” he said softly, “we spend our lives chasing perfection, but maybe perfection’s just peace — the moment you stop fighting who you are.”

Jeeny: “Yes,” she whispered. “Peace is the truest form of beauty.”

Host: The sky darkened, shades of violet swallowing the last of the gold. Jeeny turned to him, eyes calm, voice quiet but sure.

Jeeny: “You ever realize how self-love always sounds like arrogance to people who haven’t found it yet?”

Jack: “Yeah. Because confidence exposes insecurity.”

Jeeny: “And gratitude exposes longing.”

Host: The waves broke softly, steady as breath.

Jack: “You ever get there yourself?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes. On nights like this. When the world feels enough, and so do I.”

Jack: “And the rest of the time?”

Jeeny: smiling “I remind myself I’m a work of divine art — still drying.”

Host: He laughed quietly, the sound swallowed by the sea. Then he looked at her — not with awe, but with understanding.

Jack: “You know, I used to think confidence meant believing you were better than everyone else. Now I think it just means you’ve stopped asking for permission to exist.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Jack: “So, thank God, huh?”

Jeeny: “Always.”

Host: She knelt down, dipping her fingers into the water, then touched her reflection. The ripples moved outward, fracturing her image but not erasing it.

Jeeny: “You know,” she said softly, “we keep trying to fix what was never broken. The real miracle isn’t becoming someone else — it’s becoming at peace with who you already are.”

Jack: “That’s harder than it sounds.”

Jeeny: “All real prayers are.”

Host: The moon rose — full, patient, casting its silver over the waves. The two of them stood side by side, watching the tide fold into the sand, quiet and infinite.

Jack: “You think God looks at us the way we look at ourselves?”

Jeeny: “No. God sees what we keep forgetting — that we were already enough.”

Jack: “And Leila remembered.”

Jeeny: “Yes,” she said, her eyes glowing in the moonlight. “She remembered to thank Him — not for what she could become, but for what she already was.”

Host: The camera would pull back now — the two of them small figures against the vast, luminous ocean. The sound of the tide would fill the air, merging with the hush of the wind and the pulse of eternity.

And as the scene faded to silver, Leila Lopes’s words lingered like a prayer made of self-recognition and peace:

“Thank God I’m very satisfied with the way God created me, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Because self-love isn’t arrogance —
it’s alignment.

To accept yourself is to worship creation —
to see your reflection and whisper,
“I am enough.”

And in that quiet knowing,
in that sacred stillness of gratitude,
you meet the divine —
and finally, yourself.