We are each one on a road going toward home, but we're not trying

Host: The evening sky burned softly, a vast canvas of violet and gold, as the sun descended slowly behind a field that stretched into forever. A quiet country road wound gently through it, lined with whispering pines that swayed like they, too, were praying. Dust rose in small clouds behind two figures walking side by side — Jack, his hands in his coat pockets, and Jeeny, carrying a small lantern whose faint golden light glowed like faith itself against the deepening dusk.

The world around them was still — the kind of stillness that isn’t silence, but reverence. Fireflies began to gather, blinking like soft reminders that light, however small, never forgets its purpose.

Jeeny: (her voice gentle, but filled with quiet conviction) “Margaret D. Nadauld once said, ‘We are each one on a road going toward home, but we're not trying to get there for Christmas. We're trying to get there for eternity. We want to arrive home safely to our loving Father in Heaven. He wants us to make it safely there, so He has sent a guiding light for us to follow: a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, the perfect example.’”

Jack: (glancing up at the horizon) “Eternity, huh? You make it sound like the road never ends.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Maybe that’s the point. It’s not the length that matters, it’s the direction.”

Host: The light of her lantern wavered slightly as the breeze swept across the fields, carrying with it the scent of earth, grass, and the faint hum of crickets beginning their nightly hymns. Jack’s gray eyes narrowed against the wind, not out of annoyance, but thought — the kind that makes a man quiet because words feel too small.

Jack: “You think there’s really a home waiting for us somewhere beyond this? Some eternal doorstep where all this mess finally makes sense?”

Jeeny: (softly) “I don’t just think it. I hope it — and sometimes, that hope feels like knowing.”

Jack: (with a trace of irony) “And what if the road just… ends? No gate. No Father waiting. Just the dark?”

Jeeny: (turning toward him, her eyes luminous in the lantern glow) “Then I’d still walk like someone expected me. Because belief shapes the steps, even when you can’t see the destination.”

Host: The camera of the moment widened — the two of them small beneath the immense sky, their shadows stretching long behind them like history itself. The road before them wound onward, its pale dust glowing faintly under the first stars of night.

Jack: (kicking at a loose stone) “You know, I envy that kind of faith. You make it sound so… peaceful. For me, faith feels like wandering without a map.”

Jeeny: (nodding gently) “Maybe that’s because you think the map should show you everything. It doesn’t. It just shows you the light — and asks you to trust it.”

Jack: (quietly) “The light, huh? That’s what she meant — the Savior as the guiding light.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Yes. The light that doesn’t blind, but leads.”

Host: The lantern flickered, catching a reflection in Jack’s eyes — two small flames, uncertain but alive. The path beneath them gleamed faintly, a narrow ribbon of pale earth vanishing into the horizon where dusk met eternity.

Jack: “You think He really sent that light for all of us? Even the ones who stopped believing in it?”

Jeeny: (her voice almost a whisper) “Especially for them.”

Host: Her words hung in the cool air, shimmering like prayer. Jack slowed his steps, the weight of them settling somewhere deep inside him — not like a burden, but like remembrance.

Jack: (after a pause) “You ever think maybe we lose faith because we think Heaven’s too far away? That it’s some unreachable star instead of something closer?”

Jeeny: (nodding) “Yes. I think Heaven begins wherever love remembers how to stay.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I do. Every time someone forgives. Every time someone helps another find light in the dark — that’s the road home. Every act of grace is another step toward eternity.”

Host: The lantern light softened, casting gold against her face, her dark hair catching the glow like threads of living flame. Jack looked at her then — not as skeptic or believer, but as someone standing at the edge of something infinite and afraid to step forward alone.

Jack: (after a long silence) “You talk about faith like it’s walking toward something unseen. But what if I’ve forgotten how to move?”

Jeeny: (gently) “Then I’ll walk beside you until you remember.”

Host: The night deepened, stars blossoming across the sky like promises. The road stretched onward, pale under their feet, a ribbon between time and eternity. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled softly, carried by the wind — neither calling nor warning, but reminding.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what the Savior is, then — not the end of the road, but the reason we keep walking it.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Exactly. The light doesn’t pull us — it accompanies us.”

Host: The wind quieted, and in its stillness, the world felt briefly whole. Even the crickets seemed to hush, as if to listen to something larger than sound — the rhythm of hope itself.

Jeeny: (softly, almost as a prayer) “We’re not meant to rush home. We’re meant to grow toward it.”

Jack: (closing his eyes for a moment) “You really think He’s waiting?”

Jeeny: “Yes. And I think He walks with us long before we arrive.”

Host: The lantern’s flame flickered, and for a moment, it looked as if a second light had joined them — faint, unseen, yet undeniably there. Jack glanced around, and a strange peace settled over his features — not certainty, but surrender.

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe that’s what eternity feels like — realizing the journey was never lonely.”

Jeeny: (smiling through tears) “That’s faith finding its home.”

Host: The camera of the heart pulled back, showing two small figures walking into starlight, their path illuminated not by brilliance, but by gentle persistence — one fragile flame, two steady souls.

And as the world turned slowly beneath them, Margaret D. Nadauld’s words echoed like a hymn through the night:

That life is not a race to heaven,
but a pilgrimage of faith —
a journey shaped by love,
lit by the light of grace,
and guided by the perfect example of One
who walked every road before us.

That the destination is eternal,
but the light is already here —
in kindness, in forgiveness,
in the quiet courage to keep walking
even when the way is dim.

Host: The lantern burned steady, its flame small but unwavering, a heartbeat against the infinite dark.

And as the two figures disappeared over the rise of the hill,
the stars above them brightened,
as if Heaven itself had drawn one step closer
to meet them halfway.