Let us be sure that those who come after will say of us in our

Host: The Capitol dome gleamed faintly beneath a twilight sky, its marble washed in the solemn colors of dusk — violet fading into gold, the air still heavy with the echo of memory. The flags moved lazily in the chill wind, their fabric whispering the long sentences of a nation’s endurance. Below, the reflecting pool shimmered with the last light, catching the silhouettes of two figures seated on its edge — Jack and Jeeny.

They had been silent for some time. Around them, the city breathed its quiet hum — distant sirens, muffled conversations, footsteps fading into history. Between them sat a worn leather journal, half-filled with quotes, names, and fragments of the human condition.

Jeeny: (reading softly) “Ronald Reagan once said, ‘Let us be sure that those who come after will say of us in our time, that in our time we did everything that could be done. We finished the race; we kept them free; we kept the faith.’”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “A eulogy before the end. Half prayer, half command.”

Jeeny: “And all responsibility.”

Jack: “Responsibility is the heavy word, isn’t it? Everyone loves freedom until it asks for effort.”

Jeeny: “Or sacrifice.”

Jack: (quietly) “Especially sacrifice.”

Host: The wind stirred the pool, breaking the reflection of the Capitol into rippling fragments — order briefly undone, only to restore itself again. The flicker of a passing candlelight vigil on the steps above cast moving halos on the water.

Jeeny: “He was speaking about legacy — about being able to look back and say, ‘We didn’t waste our time.’ But I wonder, Jack… do you think our generation can ever say that?”

Jack: “We can’t even agree on what the race is, let alone whether we’re finishing it.”

Jeeny: “You’re cynical.”

Jack: “I’m realistic. Look around — a world built on division, where faith is an accessory and freedom’s a slogan. Everyone wants the victory speech without running the miles.”

Jeeny: “But Reagan’s words aren’t about perfection. They’re about perseverance — about holding the line when everything else fractures.”

Jack: “And what line are we holding, Jeeny? The line between chaos and decency? Between memory and convenience?”

Jeeny: “Between apathy and hope.”

Host: A gust of air rippled through the trees, shaking loose a few late autumn leaves that floated briefly before settling on the water. The sound of them landing was delicate — like small, quiet agreements with gravity.

Jack: “You make it sound poetic. But I think he was speaking literally — about keeping the country together, about facing down the Cold War, about conviction in action.”

Jeeny: “Yes, but that’s the thing about conviction — it doesn’t belong to any one time. It’s the same struggle in different clothes. In his day, it was the Iron Curtain. In ours, it’s indifference.”

Jack: (after a pause) “Maybe you’re right. Maybe our enemy isn’t tyranny anymore. It’s fatigue.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Fatigue of belief. People are tired of caring — it costs too much. But the moment we stop caring, freedom becomes ornamental.”

Host: The light of the city began to bloom fully now — gold windows igniting across the skyline, glowing softly against the encroaching night. Their faces reflected in the water, faint and wavering.

Jack: “You know what line haunts me most? ‘We kept the faith.’ That’s not political — that’s personal. Faith in what, though? God? Country? Humanity?”

Jeeny: “All of it. Faith that goodness is worth protecting, even when it’s mocked or outnumbered.”

Jack: “And what about when faith falters?”

Jeeny: “Then you borrow it from someone else until it returns. That’s what community is for.”

Jack: “You talk like a preacher.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Maybe I’m just tired of cynicism masquerading as wisdom.”

Host: A long silence. The reflection of the Capitol lights danced across their faces — steady, unwavering, like an old promise refusing to dim.

Jack: “Reagan’s words sound final — like he knew history would judge him. Do you think we still live with that awareness? That sense of accountability to the future?”

Jeeny: “We’ve traded accountability for convenience. We scroll, we post, we rage — but we rarely build. He spoke to builders, not spectators.”

Jack: “And now we live in an age of commentary.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Everyone’s talking about the race, but few are still running it.”

Host: The air grew colder, and the faint hum of traffic from Constitution Avenue became the heartbeat of the scene. Jeeny pulled her coat tighter; Jack leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the dark water.

Jack: “You know, maybe faith isn’t belief that everything will be fine. Maybe it’s commitment to keep going even when you know it won’t be.”

Jeeny: “That’s the kind of faith that keeps civilizations alive. It’s the faith of firefighters, nurses, soldiers, teachers — people who may never be remembered, but whose endurance is the backbone of freedom.”

Jack: “So to ‘keep the faith’ isn’t to hold onto optimism — it’s to hold onto duty.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because duty is faith in motion.”

Host: From the far end of the pool, the reflection of the Washington Monument stretched long and perfect across the surface. The night was quiet now — no sound but the soft shuffle of leaves and the low murmur of two souls grappling with meaning.

Jack: “You know, if history remembers us at all, I hope it says something simple — that we didn’t look away.”

Jeeny: “That’s all legacy really is — attention sustained over time.”

Jack: “Then maybe that’s how we ‘finish the race.’ Not with triumph, but with endurance. With refusal to give up when no one’s cheering.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The most important races are run in silence.”

Host: The first star appeared above the Capitol — faint, but unmistakable. The world around them seemed to hush in its light.

Jeeny: “Reagan’s words sound like something from scripture because they are — a kind of civic psalm. He wasn’t just talking to Americans. He was talking to every generation that forgets how fragile freedom really is.”

Jack: “And how faith — in its purest form — isn’t blind obedience, but brave persistence.”

Jeeny: “Yes. To keep the faith means to remember what we promised to protect — even when it costs us.”

Host: The wind softened, the city exhaled, and the last of the daylight disappeared behind the Lincoln Memorial.

And in that solemn, luminous quiet, Reagan’s words echoed — not as political nostalgia, but as an invocation to conscience:

That to finish the race is to act with honor,
to keep them free is to live with empathy,
and to keep the faith
is to choose hope over fatigue,
duty over ease,
and integrity over noise.

Host: The reflecting pool stilled again, mirroring the Capitol and the stars above it — both human and eternal lights joined in fragile harmony.

Jack: (softly) “You think we’ll be worthy of that sentence someday? That they’ll say of us, we did everything that could be done?”

Jeeny: (after a long pause) “Only if we start meaning the words we say.”

Host: The city lights shimmered on the water, and the night took them gently —
two small figures beneath the endless sky,
still sitting, still believing,
still keeping the faith.