Mum and Dad had waited 16 years for adoption laws to change in

Host: The rain whispered softly over the quiet Tasmanian countryside, where the mist hugged the hills like memory. Inside a small wooden house — paint chipped, fire crackling — warmth pulsed through the living room like an old heartbeat. Photographs filled the mantle: a young boy smiling between two proud parents, a family stitched together not by blood, but by choice.

Jack sat near the fireplace, the flames reflecting in his grey eyes. In his hands, a photograph — creased, well-loved — of a family not unlike his own. Jeeny sat across from him, legs tucked under her, holding a thin paperback: A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierley. She had just finished reading aloud a passage that seemed to still the air.

“Mum and Dad had waited 16 years for adoption laws to change in their home state, Tasmania, so that they could apply to the authorities to create the family of their dreams. I am so thankful for their endurance and patience. Who knows what would have happened to me if they hadn't miraculously appeared when I needed them most?”
— Saroo Brierley

The quote lingered like an ember in the room. Neither spoke for a long moment. The rain pressed gently against the glass, the kind of silence that feels sacred.

Jeeny: [softly] “Sixteen years. Can you imagine that kind of waiting?”

Jack: [shaking his head] “Most people can’t wait sixteen minutes anymore.”

Jeeny: [smiling sadly] “That’s because we live in a world that confuses delay with denial. But real love waits. It doesn’t demand timing. It becomes timing.”

Jack: “That’s not patience. That’s faith disguised as endurance.”

Jeeny: [thoughtful] “Faith and love — maybe they’re the same thing when tested.”

Host: The firelight flickered, painting their faces in gold. The photograph in Jack’s hand trembled slightly as he set it down.

Jack: “You know, when I first saw the film Lion, I thought it was about loss. About being found again. But reading that quote…” [he gestures toward her book] “…it feels more like a hymn to waiting. To the quiet courage of people who refuse to give up on connection.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Saroo’s story isn’t just about a child finding home — it’s about two souls finding the one they were meant to hold.”

Jack: [nodding] “That’s the miracle of it — how patience itself becomes love in motion.”

Host: The wind outside rose, brushing the trees like a sigh. Jeeny closed the book and looked toward the fire.

Jeeny: “Think about it — sixteen years of hoping for a law to change, with no guarantee it ever would. Most people give up when the world doesn’t move fast enough for their dreams.”

Jack: “But they didn’t. They believed a door would open even if it wasn’t built yet.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And when it finally did, the timing wasn’t late — it was perfect. He was waiting, lost, and they were waiting, ready.”

Jack: [leaning forward] “You’re saying fate and faith met halfway.”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Yes. The universe is punctual like that — just not by our clock.”

Host: The fire popped, throwing tiny sparks into the air. The room filled with a smell of woodsmoke and quiet gratitude.

Jack: “You know what hits me the hardest about his words? The humility. ‘Who knows what would have happened to me if they hadn’t appeared.’ He doesn’t romanticize it — he’s just thankful. That’s real grace.”

Jeeny: “Gratitude like that changes everything. It turns tragedy into testimony.”

Jack: “And waiting into worth.”

Jeeny: [gazing at the photograph on the mantle] “I think that’s what adoption really is — proof that love isn’t always born, sometimes it’s chosen, and sometimes it’s earned through patience.”

Jack: [quietly] “Through endurance.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Endurance that’s not about surviving — but about believing in something invisible until it becomes visible.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, streaking the windows, filling the silence with rhythm. Jeeny’s voice softened, almost reverent.

Jeeny: “When Saroo said they miraculously appeared, it wasn’t luck — it was alignment. Two worlds that waited long enough to meet where love needed them.”

Jack: “So, miracles are just patience rewarded.”

Jeeny: [nodding] “Exactly. Love is the universe’s longest game of endurance.”

Jack: “But most people give up before they’re found.”

Jeeny: “Because finding feels passive. But really, being found takes faith too — the courage to stay visible long enough for love to recognize you.”

Host: The firelight cast shadows of their faces on the wall — twin silhouettes framed by warmth.

Jack reached for his mug, the steam rising like breath in the cold room.

Jack: [softly] “It’s strange, isn’t it? How the best stories are about waiting — Abraham, Penelope, Saroo’s parents. It’s like humanity keeps being taught the same lesson: love isn’t fast.”

Jeeny: “Because fast things don’t last. Love that hurries burns out before it becomes home.”

Jack: “And home isn’t a place — it’s patience that pays off.”

Jeeny: [looking into the fire] “You know, my mother used to say love’s not found in the lightning. It’s found in the candle that refuses to go out.”

Jack: “That’s beautiful. That’s what they were — Saroo’s parents — two candles that didn’t stop burning.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Sixteen years of light in the dark. That’s what family looks like.”

Host: The rain eased, replaced by the distant sound of a river winding its way through the valley. The world outside felt washed clean, baptized by time.

Jack: [after a pause] “Do you think destiny owes us that kind of reunion — the one where everything finally makes sense?”

Jeeny: “No. Destiny doesn’t owe us anything. But grace offers it anyway.”

Jack: “And faith makes you wait long enough to notice.”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Exactly. Maybe the whole point isn’t that they waited sixteen years — it’s that they kept loving through sixteen years. That’s rarer than miracles.”

Jack: [quietly] “It’s the kind of love that doesn’t age, just deepens.”

Jeeny: “The kind that rescues even before it arrives.”

Host: The fire was dying now, embers glowing red like sleeping hearts. The room dimmed into softness — half-light, half-memory.

Jeeny stood and walked to the window, watching the last of the rain fade into mist.

Jeeny: “You know, when he says, ‘Who knows what would have happened to me if they hadn’t appeared,’ it reminds me that sometimes salvation doesn’t look divine. It looks human — it looks like people who just don’t give up.”

Jack: “The saints of the ordinary.”

Jeeny: [turning to him] “Exactly. The ones who wait quietly until love needs them.”

Host: The clock ticked once, steady and slow.

Jack reached for the photograph again — the one of the family smiling in front of the fire — and set it back on the mantle. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Jack: “Maybe that’s the truest miracle — when endurance and grace finally recognize each other.”

Jeeny: “And call it family.”

Host: The fire went out, leaving only the glow of the dying coals — a soft pulse of light, breathing warmth into the night.

Outside, the world exhaled, the storm spent, the earth renewed.

And as the house settled into silence, Saroo Brierley’s words seemed to echo through the room like a blessing — not loud, not grand, but enduring:

“I am so thankful for their endurance and patience. Who knows what would have happened to me if they hadn’t miraculously appeared when I needed them most?”

Host: Because love, they now knew,
isn’t always about finding —
sometimes it’s about waiting to be found.

And miracles aren’t always sudden —
sometimes they take sixteen years to arrive,
exactly on time.