I’ve lived this life for 57 years. I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs—highs that made me feel alive, and lows that nearly broke me. But with time comes perspective. And sometimes, that perspective is exactly what someone younger needs to hear.
Her name is Jenny.
She was 22 years old, a sweet young woman who moved to Fort Smith, Arkansas, from Austin, Texas and lived as my neighbor for two years. I remember the day she arrived—smiling, full of energy, her little girl holding her hand. She was jolly, spirited, always saying hello with warmness you don’t see often these days.
But lately… I could tell something had changed. That light in her had dimmed.
Her boyfriend Seth wasn’t much of a talker. We’d exchange a few words now and then— “How’s it going?” “Alright, take care.” Just neighborly stuff. But I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. I figured something was going on.
One evening, I was taking out the trash, and Jenny stepped outside her apartment at the same time. We exchanged our usual hellos. I was on my way back inside when she suddenly said, “Hey… wait. Can I ask you a question?”
I stopped. “Of course. What’s up?”
She paused, nervous, almost shy. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
That question caught me off guard. There was a stutter in her voice, a hint of insecurity. I looked at her and said sincerely, “Of course you are. Seth’s a lucky man to have you.”
Her eyes dropped. “Seth and I… we’re not together anymore,” she said. “He left me for someone else. He said I can’t cook, I can’t clean, and I’m always needy.”
I stood there for a second, not sure what to say. I could see the pain in her eyes—raw and heavy. I offered the only thing I knew she needed in that moment.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” I said softly. “I’ll be praying for you, Jenny. I hope God heals your heart.”
She nodded, and then something happened. She kept talking—like a waterfall that had been held back too long. Every drop of her story came pouring out. Everything she had kept inside; she finally let go. I listened. That’s what she needed.
Then she said something that made me pause.
“I attracted Seth because I’m pretty and I’ve got curves,” she said, almost defiantly. “That’s all that should matter.”
I took a step back—not in judgment, just surprise. I looked at her, then spoke as gently and honestly as I could.
“Jenny,” I said, “you’re not wrong — you are pretty. But let me say something, and I want you to hear me all the way through.”
“There are a lot of beautiful women in this world. Kim Kardashian. Nia Long. Angel Reese. Just to name a few. Women who are admired, desired, even idolized. And there are countless others just like them—different shapes, different shades, all beautiful in their own way.”
“But let me ask you something. Has beauty alone ever made a relationship last?”
She stayed quiet.
“I didn’t write the book on beauty. And maybe I’m just an old man who’s seen a few things. Maybe you think I’m naive. But allow me to explain what life has taught me: Beauty might get you in the room, but it won’t keep you there. A pretty face can turn heads. But it’s what’s behind that face that makes a man stay.”
“Substance. That’s what matters.”
“You say you can’t cook? You can learn. You say you’re needy? Maybe you just want to be seen and loved properly. But don’t ever believe that your curves are the only valuable thing about you. That’s a shallow well—and when it runs dry, what’s left?”
She was still. Listening.
“A man who’s been out all day dealing with the world, working, grinding, getting knocked down—when he comes home, he’s not looking for a model on a magazine cover. He’s looking for peace. For warmth. For someone who sees him, hears him, builds with him. A partner.”
“He wants someone to talk to, even if it’s just small talk about nothing. A woman who puts a towel and a clean set of clothes in the bathroom when he walks in. Who cooks a little—burn the toast if you must but do it with love. That means something.”
“Pretty can’t fill your belly. And beauty only lasts as long as someone’s looking. But a good woman, one with substance? She’s unforgettable. She’s needed. She’s loved long after the shine fades.”
Jenny looked at me—softly now, not as defensive. Something shifted in her expression. But I wasn’t done.
I asked her, “Jenny… have you ever had men flirt with you, and you turned your nose up at them? Walked past them, annoyed that they even dared to speak to you?”
She looked down, smiling a little. “Yeah,” she admitted.
“I can tell,” I said. “And that man you turned away because you didn’t think he was attractive? Let me tell you something. He has options. And he’ll have options until the day he dies.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Women have options too,” she said, almost defiantly.
“Do they? Really? Let me explain something to you.”
“Let’s say three men approach you. The first one is completely out of your league, physically. You find him unattractive. You blow him off immediately. The second guy? Not ugly, but not quite your type. Maybe his car is a little older, not impressive. You brush him off too. Now the third guy? Oh, he’s a knockout. Looks like a movie star. You fall for him at first sight. It doesn’tmatter that he doesn’t have a car, doesn’t work, has no goals. He looks good. A heartthrob. And you want the world to see you with him.”
“But there’s a problem. He’s not only yours. He gets attention from other women, too. And before long, you have a child with him… and then you find out he’s been cheating on you the whole time. Now he’s got kids with multiple women. And he leaves you. Now you’re one of his baby mamas.”
“You feel lonely. You feel vulnerable. And then that second guy, the decent one—you give him a shot. But it turns out, he’s got issues too. He drinks too much. He’s mentally and physically abusive. Your friends and family tell you to leave. But you stay. You have another child. And now you’re scared—scared for your life and scared for your children.”
“Eventually, you do leave the second guy. But by now, even more has changed in you since you were 22. You’re 39 years old. Life has worn on you. You’ve been through heartache, betrayal, fear. You’re older now, wiser in some ways, but still aching for real love.”
“And then… one day, you see that first guy again—the one you ignored at the gas station years ago. And suddenly, he doesn’t look so bad anymore. You try to talk to him. But now he’s the one who looks at you with annoyance. He remembers how you treated him. And now? You’ve changed. You’ve picked up weight. You have two kids, and none of them are his.”
“He tells you straight up: ‘I’d rather pay for a woman than deal with your issues, your baby daddies, and your past.’ Harsh, right? But that’s real.”
I looked at her and said, “Jenny, the world teaches us to be shallow. But not everything that looks good is good. And if you had looked past the surface when you were younger, maybe someone real—someone with true love—could’ve walked into your life.”
“Do not live your life like the woman I just told you about. Don’t spend your energy thinking about a man. Find yourself. Find what makes you happy. Be there for your child. True love will find you—you don’t have to chase it.”
Jenny stared at me for a moment, and then suddenly stepped forward, gave me a big hug, and kissed me on the cheek.
“Old man,” she said with a wink, “you made me feel good. Thank you for your wise words. What you told me today… it hurt, but it was the truth. And it’s what I needed to hear.”
We said our goodnights. I didn’t see Jenny again for three years.
Then one afternoon, I saw her at Walmart. She had another child with her and was pregnant again—but this time, she wasn’t alone. She was with someone, a man.
She smiled and rushed over to introduce me. “Ray, this is the man I told you about. He gave me the best advice anyone has ever given me.”
Ray and I shook hands. Mutual thanks were exchanged, and we went our separate ways.
As I walked out into the parking lot, I thought about her journey. Jenny didn’t wait around hoping life would get better. She sought joy and peace. She faced the truth and made a decision: to stop living for what others thought, and to start finding peace in who she was. She realized life would always be complicated, but she didn’t let that steal her happiness.
She learned to be happy with herself—not someday, but right now—because she knew that if she didn’t, she might run out of time.
I looked up and quietly whispered, “Thank You, God… for Your words moving through me to lift someone up when they felt like they had no one.”
God is great. And He is real. He is with us—even when we don’t know it.