All women have appealing features. I do not refer to model-type

Host: The chapel courtyard is bathed in the tender light of dusk, where the sky’s gold fades into rose and the air hums softly with the sound of crickets and distant church bells. The fountain at the center murmurs gently, its ripples catching fragments of light — small, transient halos dancing on the water.

Two figures sit on a weathered stone bench nearby. Jack, his coat folded beside him, stares at the fountain as though it carries the weight of a question too heavy to ask. His gray eyes are reflective — skeptical, yet softened by something quieter tonight.

Jeeny sits beside him, her hands clasped lightly in her lap, her dark hair pulled back, her eyes shimmering with both warmth and conviction. She holds a small slip of paper — its edges creased from being read too often.

She looks at it once more before reading aloud, her voice low, reverent, and luminous against the fading light.

“All women have appealing features. I do not refer to model-type appeal, but rather that which comes from your personality, your attitude, and your expressions. I urge you to enhance the natural, God-given, feminine gifts with which you have been so richly blessed.” — James E. Faust

Host: The quote lingers in the air like the soft echo of a hymn — old, tender, and utterly human. The last rays of sunlight fall across Jeeny’s face, making her look almost carved from the light itself.

Jack: [after a pause] “You know, Jeeny… whenever someone uses the words ‘God-given’ and ‘feminine gifts’ in the same sentence, I start preparing for a sermon I don’t want to hear.”

Jeeny: [smiles faintly] “Maybe you should stop preparing to argue and start listening to understand.”

Jack: [turns to her] “Oh, I understand it fine. Faust is trying to say beauty isn’t skin-deep — that it’s spiritual, internal. But when men talk about ‘feminine gifts,’ it always sounds like a polite cage.”

Jeeny: [meeting his gaze] “Maybe it sounds that way because you’ve forgotten what reverence feels like. There’s a difference between worship and objectification, Jack.”

Jack: [leans back, scoffing lightly] “Reverence, huh? That’s just adoration dressed in manners. You say you’re celebrating women, but what you’re really doing is defining them by some divine checklist — gentle, graceful, nurturing, endlessly kind. It’s not reverence. It’s expectation.”

Jeeny: [calmly, but firmly] “You always think truth is a cage because you don’t believe in grace. Faust wasn’t prescribing behavior. He was describing dignity. He was saying every woman carries a kind of beauty that doesn’t depend on comparison or currency. The world worships perfection; he was reminding us of presence.”

Jack: [quiet for a moment, looking at the fountain] “Presence… you mean that invisible quality — the light in someone’s eyes, the way they move through the world.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Personality, attitude, expression — that’s what he meant. You’ve met women like that, Jack. The kind who walk into a room, and suddenly it feels warmer, not because of what they wear, but because of who they are.”

Jack: [softly, almost unwillingly] “Yes.” [a pause] “And yet the world still measures worth in reflections — not radiance. We say ‘inner beauty,’ but we sell mascara. We say ‘attitude,’ but we worship symmetry.”

Jeeny: “Because the world is shallow, but the soul isn’t. Faust wasn’t talking to the crowd; he was talking to the heart. He was asking women to remember who they are beneath the world’s gaze — not to become more beautiful, but to believe they already are.”

Host: The wind shifts, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine and rain. The fountain’s ripples catch the last threads of twilight. Jeeny’s words float between them like a small prayer stitched into the dusk.

Jack: [after a moment] “You think every woman feels that — that kind of sacred confidence?”

Jeeny: [shakes her head] “No. Most of us forget it. We trade it for mirrors. For approval. For the illusion of being enough. But somewhere inside, the truth still burns quietly — that our worth isn’t decoration. It’s design.”

Jack: [studying her] “And men? Do we have our ‘God-given gifts,’ too, or do we just watch from the pews?”

Jeeny: [smiling softly] “Of course you do. But men are taught to prove theirs. Women are taught to prove they’re worthy of theirs. That’s why Faust’s words matter. They remind us that our value isn’t earned. It’s inherent.”

Jack: [quietly] “You really believe that, don’t you? That beauty, grace — all that — isn’t something you build, but something you uncover.”

Jeeny: [nods] “Yes. And the moment you see it, really see it, you stop chasing perfection and start living with purpose. You stop performing and start being.”

Host: The church bell tolls in the distance — slow, deep, resonant. The sound rolls through the courtyard, stirring the air, echoing the rhythm of their conversation.

Jack: [half-smiling] “You know, you make me want to believe in that kind of faith. The kind that doesn’t feel like submission.”

Jeeny: [gently] “That’s because it isn’t. It’s freedom — the freedom that comes from knowing you don’t have to compete with anyone to be valuable.”

Jack: [his voice softens] “And you think that’s what Faust meant by ‘feminine gifts’?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Not charm or obedience, but presence. Not beauty, but light. He was saying: stop apologizing for the radiance that makes you who you are. Let the world see it. Enhance it. Honor it.”

Jack: [quietly, as if to himself] “Enhance the light, not the mirror.”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Exactly.”

Host: The sky darkens fully now, and the first stars appear — faint, trembling, but steady. The fountain’s glow reflects their faces, their words, their stillness. There is something holy about the silence that follows — not religious, but reverent.

Jack: [softly] “Maybe that’s what makes beauty divine — not how it looks, but how it reminds others of what’s sacred in themselves.”

Jeeny: [with warmth] “Yes, Jack. Beauty isn’t vanity; it’s reflection — a mirror that says, ‘You, too, are seen.’”

Host: The camera pulls back, framing the two of them in the courtyard — two silhouettes against the fountain’s light, the sound of water rising and falling like breath.

The world beyond is restless, rushing, demanding — but here, in this quiet corner of twilight, something eternal stirs.

Host: James E. Faust’s words settle not as doctrine, but as reminder — that true beauty is neither crafted nor claimed, but carried.

That what makes a woman radiant is not perfection, but presence —
not surface, but soul —
not decoration, but dignity.

Host: The scene fades to the fountain’s murmur — the music of grace itself —
and Jeeny’s voice lingers like a final benediction:

“The world teaches us to compete for beauty.
God teaches us to remember we already have it.”