Without question, we need to be informed of the happenings in the

Host: The scene opens in a small mountain cabin tucked deep within a forest after rain. The air is clear, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and smoke from the woodstove that crackles quietly inside. Outside, mist drifts between the trees — slow, gentle, unhurried. The world feels suspended, as though time itself has stopped to breathe.

Inside the cabin, a single lamp glows on a wooden table beside a stack of newspapers, their headlines a storm of tragedy and chaos. The television in the corner hums faintly, flashing scenes of conflict, disaster, and endless debate — the sound turned low, but still suffocating.

Jack sits at the table, his gray eyes tired, his thumb scrolling idly through news updates on his phone — the light of it cold against his face. Across from him, Jeeny sits cross-legged on a worn rug, a steaming mug of tea in her hands, her dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The room hums softly — the sound of the fire, the distant rain, and a silence filled with the ache of overstimulation.

Between them, on the table, lies a piece of paper where Jeeny has written in simple black ink:

“Without question, we need to be informed of the happenings in the world. But modern communication brings into our homes a drowning cascade of the violence and misery of the worldwide human race. There comes a time when we need to find some peaceful spiritual renewal.” — James E. Faust

Host: The light flickers, and the sound of the wind brushes gently against the cabin walls, like a whisper from another world — one without screens, without noise, without the endless fatigue of knowing everything and understanding nothing.

Jack: [quietly, staring at the paper] “A drowning cascade. That’s exactly what it feels like. Every morning, every night — another war, another tragedy, another face you can’t help but forget by tomorrow.”

Jeeny: [softly] “And yet we keep scrolling. We mistake awareness for empathy — but sometimes it’s just exhaustion in disguise.”

Jack: [leans back, sighing] “You can’t turn away, though. That’s the thing. If you stop paying attention, you feel guilty. Like you’ve abandoned the world.”

Jeeny: [looking at him gently] “But Faust wasn’t asking us to abandon the world. He was asking us to breathe — to remember that compassion dies when it’s drowned.”

Jack: [glances at her] “So you’re saying peace isn’t escape. It’s preservation.”

Jeeny: [nodding] “Yes. If you don’t protect your spirit, the noise will devour your humanity.”

Host: The fire pops, sending sparks into the air that fade before they touch the floor — like tiny reminders of how fleeting light can be when not tended.

Jack: [his voice low, reflective] “You ever notice how the news feels addictive? Like it feeds the worst parts of us — the fear, the anger, the need to know who’s to blame.”

Jeeny: [softly] “It’s because fear feels like control. When the world seems cruel, knowing about it makes you feel like you have power. But it’s an illusion — we carry knowledge we can’t use, pain we can’t heal.”

Jack: [half-smiling sadly] “So what are we supposed to do? Unplug? Pretend it’s not happening?”

Jeeny: [shakes her head] “No. We stay informed — but we don’t let information become infection. We learn when to stop absorbing pain that isn’t ours to solve. Faust called it spiritual renewal — stepping away not to forget, but to remember who we are without the noise.”

Host: The camera lingers on the firelight dancing across their faces — Jeeny’s calm, Jack’s conflicted. The cabin feels like a fragile sanctuary carved out of a collapsing world.

Jack: [after a long pause] “You know what scares me? That people are starting to confuse being online with being alive. That outrage has replaced action.”

Jeeny: [gently] “Outrage is easy. Renewal takes courage.”

Jack: [looks up] “Courage?”

Jeeny: [nods] “Yes. It takes courage to step away from the crowd, from the endless stream of suffering, and choose stillness. It feels selfish at first, but it’s not. You can’t pour from an empty soul.”

Host: The wind presses against the windows, and for a moment the sound of the outside world feels distant — muffled by the soft rhythm of rain and the crackle of the fire.

Jack: [leans forward, voice softer now] “You think peace is something you find, Jeeny? Or something you make?”

Jeeny: [smiles faintly] “Both. The world gives you moments of peace — a morning breeze, a kind word, a quiet sky — but it’s your job to recognize them before they disappear. To make room for them.”

Jack: [looking down at his phone, turning it off] “Maybe that’s what Faust was warning us about. That being constantly informed doesn’t make us wiser — just weary.”

Jeeny: [softly] “And when we’re weary, we forget grace.”

Host: The camera drifts slowly around the room, circling the two of them as the firelight warms their faces. The phone on the table lies dark now — a small act of rebellion against the endless noise outside.

Jack: [after a pause] “You know, it’s strange. When I disconnect, I feel guilty. But when I stay connected, I feel numb. It’s like there’s no balance left.”

Jeeny: [reaching across the table] “Then maybe the balance isn’t between knowing and ignoring — it’s between listening to the world and listening to your soul.”

Jack: [quietly, smiling faintly] “Listening to my soul… Haven’t done that in a while.”

Jeeny: [softly] “Start tonight.”

Host: The fire burns lower, turning to a soft orange glow. The sound of rain begins to fade, leaving behind a silence that feels alive — not empty, but restorative.

Jeeny stands, walks to the window, and looks out at the mist moving through the pines.

Jeeny: [without turning] “You see that? The world’s still beautiful, Jack. Even with all its noise. We just forget to look.”

Jack: [after a pause] “Maybe that’s the renewal Faust meant — to remember beauty again.”

Jeeny: [nods] “Yes. To see peace not as an escape from the world, but as a return to it — without the distortion.”

Host: The camera pans toward the window, catching the reflection of the two of them in the glass — their figures framed by the glow of the fire and the gray calm of the forest beyond.

Host: James E. Faust’s words echo softly in the quiet, as though spoken by the mist itself:

“Without question, we need to be informed of the happenings in the world. But modern communication brings into our homes a drowning cascade of the violence and misery of the worldwide human race. There comes a time when we need to find some peaceful spiritual renewal.”

Host: And in that truth lies the gentlest kind of rebellion —

That peace is not ignorance, but resistance to despair.
That renewal is not withdrawal, but reconnection to what is real.
And that in a world that never stops speaking,
silence may be the last sacred language left.

Host: The final shot:
The camera drifts toward the window — mist curling, forest breathing, world healing.
The light fades to gray-blue as the fire burns low.
The cabin grows quiet — the sound of two hearts remembering stillness.

Fade to black.