I stand before you today not to ask for your permission, your approval, or your validation. I stand before you as a daughter of God, a mother, and a keeper of covenants — not the covenants you impose by tradition, but the ones made before the foundations of this earth, renewed in baptism, and sealed by the blood of Christ Himself.

We proclaim in our Articles of Faith that:

“We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may.”

Yet how often do we forget that this privilege is sacred? That choice is not merely allowed — it is commanded. Agency is the cornerstone of the Plan of Salvation. No man or woman here has been given authority to take it away, nor to burden another’s path with the traditions of men dressed up as commandments of God.

I stand here in my boots and pants as I stood at my father’s funeral — not in defiance, but in remembrance. In reverence. In authenticity. God looks not on outward appearances but on the heart, and I have no fear to show Him mine.

I stand here not just for myself, but for my son — the one you baptized into a covenant he never betrayed, though many have betrayed him. You baptized him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost — into Christ’s covenant, not your covenant of culture and conformity. If you could not stand by him in his trial, if you could not see the saving work the Lord had begun in his heart, then I ask you plainly:

Why baptize him at all?

Was it for Christ, or was it for appearances?

I have seen him saved in Jesus’ name — with true heart, with broken heart, with a heart willing to be whole. And that is enough for me. It will always be enough for me. And, more importantly, it will always be enough for the Lord.

I will not bow to false traditions. I will not apologize for standing in the covenant I made — and that he made — with Christ Himself. I will not surrender my agency, nor will I teach my son to surrender his.

If you cannot stand beside him — or beside me — know this: God still does. Christ still does. And in the end, it is His judgment that will matter, not yours.

I forgive your weakness. I forgive your blindness. But I will not partake in it. I will stand — as I have always stood — with Jesus Christ. And with my son.

And I will do so whether clothed in robes or rags, skirts or boots — for it is not the clothing that defines us, but the covenant, and the heart that keeps it.

Thank you.