Even more amazing than modern technology is our opportunity to

Title: “Signal Without Wires”

Host: The night hummed with the quiet electricity of modern life. The skyline shimmered with neon and glass, a thousand windows glowing like circuitry beneath a starless sky. Somewhere high above the city — thirty floors up — a single office remained lit.

Host: Inside, the room was filled with the soft glow of screens and the muted buzz of machines. Rows of servers blinked like metallic fireflies, whispering in coded pulses. Jack sat before them, his face lit blue by the monitor’s light, eyes sharp, tired, unblinking.

Host: Jeeny entered silently, carrying two cups of steaming coffee, her steps light but deliberate. She paused beside him, watching the endless lines of data flow across the screen like waves of digital prayer.

Jeeny: “Russell M. Nelson once said — ‘Even more amazing than modern technology is our opportunity to access information directly from Heaven, without hardware, software, or monthly service fees.’”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “You ever think about that, Jack? How strange it is — we’ve built machines that can talk to satellites, decode genomes, simulate galaxies — and yet, some people still believe truth can come as a whisper in the dark?”

Jack: without looking up “A whisper in the dark is just the brain misfiring. People romanticize coincidence and call it divine.”

Jeeny: sitting across from him “You really think everything’s just circuitry and impulse?”

Jack: “Everything I can measure is. And if I can’t measure it — I don’t build my life around it.”

Jeeny: “That sounds safe. And empty.”

Jack: glancing at her now, his tone sharp “It’s honest. The universe doesn’t need to text us from Heaven, Jeeny. We’ve got enough unanswered emails down here.”

Host: The air between them flickered — tension meeting warmth. The servers blinked steadily, their rhythm like a mechanical heartbeat. Outside, a flash of lightning illuminated the skyline, briefly painting Jack’s face in silver — a man built from logic, staring into mystery.

Jeeny: “You know, I envy your certainty. Most people spend their lives begging for answers — and you’ve decided there are none worth asking.”

Jack: “There are answers. They just come from work, not prayer. From experiments, not faith.”

Jeeny: “And yet, every time science answers one question, it gives birth to ten more. Doesn’t that sound a little… heavenly?”

Jack: smirking “No, that sounds like job security.”

Jeeny: laughs softly “You think you’re clever. But don’t you ever feel it — that something beyond logic? That pull? Like when you hear music that hits you in the chest, or when someone you love says your name and the world just… shifts?”

Jack: “That’s biology. Dopamine, memory, pattern recognition. We evolved to find meaning in noise.”

Jeeny: “And maybe Heaven speaks through that noise. Maybe the miracle isn’t the message — it’s that we can hear it at all.”

Host: The rain began again, soft against the tall glass windows — a thousand tiny signals tapping, tapping, tapping, like Morse code from the stars.

Host: Jeeny leaned forward, her reflection merging with Jack’s in the window. Her eyes glowed with belief; his with exhaustion.

Jack: “You sound like my grandmother. She used to pray over her toaster when it broke.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it worked.”

Jack: “No, she got electrocuted.”

Jeeny: smiling through the tragedy “Maybe Heaven was trying to teach her a different lesson.”

Jack: “That prayer doesn’t replace circuit breakers?”

Jeeny: “That faith isn’t about controlling the world — it’s about surviving it.”

Host: A pause hung between them — not of disagreement, but of weariness. The kind of silence that fills a room when two opposing truths stand too close to each other.

Jeeny: “You build machines that process information faster than the human brain, Jack. But you can’t teach them why to care about what they learn. That’s the difference. That’s the signal I think Nelson was talking about — that instinct that hums beneath reason. The one you can’t code.”

Jack: staring at his monitor “Maybe not yet.”

Jeeny: “You really think you can teach a computer to love?”

Jack: “Give me time.”

Jeeny: “And when you do — who do you think it’ll love? Its creator?”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “If it’s anything like us — it’ll worship the mirror.”

Host: The lights in the room dimmed as a storm surge rolled over the city. The servers flickered, momentarily dark, before restarting with a hum. Jeeny looked up — for a moment, the silence felt cosmic.

Jeeny: “You see that? A power surge. The machines blink, reboot, forget what they were doing. But us — we keep thinking, keep feeling. Isn’t that its own miracle? A kind of divine uptime?”

Jack: “You call it divine. I call it persistence. Survival instinct. Code written in blood.”

Jeeny: “Maybe Heaven wrote that code.”

Jack: “Or maybe the universe just stumbled into consciousness and called it a blessing.”

Jeeny: leaning closer, voice softer now “You ever think those might be the same thing?”

Host: The thunder rolled — deep, resonant, shaking the glass. The screens around them flickered, briefly replaced by static, white noise — pure, chaotic light. Jeeny stared at it with wonder; Jack, with frustration.

Jeeny: “You know, ancient prophets called it revelation. Scientists call it discovery. Different languages, same miracle: the universe speaking — and someone listening.”

Jack: “Or projecting.”

Jeeny: “Maybe faith is just the courage to listen before you dismiss.”

Jack: “And reason is the courage to question before you surrender.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Then maybe we’re both halfway to Heaven.”

Host: Jack stared at her — her face lit by the blue glow of the monitors, her eyes reflecting data like constellations. Something inside him shifted, almost imperceptibly — a small, human glitch in the circuitry of skepticism.

Jack: after a long silence “When I was a kid, my mother told me God listens to every thought. I used to whisper secrets to the ceiling — about things I was too ashamed to say out loud. I stopped when I realized no one whispered back.”

Jeeny: gently “Maybe He was listening. Maybe the silence was the answer.”

Jack: shakes his head “Silence is just absence.”

Jeeny: “Or space — the kind where meaning grows.”

Jack: pausing “You really believe Heaven’s got open bandwidth for all of us?”

Jeeny: “I think Heaven’s less a place, more a frequency. Always there — we just forget to tune in.”

Jack: half-smiling “Without hardware, software, or monthly fees, right?”

Jeeny: smiling back “Exactly. Just a willing heart and a quiet moment.”

Host: The storm began to fade. The city below shimmered anew — wet streets reflecting light like molten circuits. Inside, the hum of machines softened to a steady rhythm, a low, living pulse.

Host: Jack leaned back, exhaling, his gaze distant but less cold. Jeeny reached for her coffee, now lukewarm, and lifted it toward him in a quiet toast.

Jeeny: “To the signal beyond the static.”

Jack: “To finding it.”

Jeeny: “To listening for it.”

Jack: after a pause, softly “Maybe tonight, I’ll try.”

Host: She smiled — not triumphant, just tender. Outside, the clouds began to part, and the first faint stars reappeared — scattered, uncertain, but shining.

Host: The servers blinked quietly, their coded lights pulsing like tiny prayers in binary, while above them, the sky hummed with the unspoken rhythm of something infinite, unseen, waiting to be heard.

Host: And for the first time in years, Jack looked up — not at his screens, but at the stars — and wondered if maybe, just maybe, they were blinking back.

End.