I told myself I wasn’t being judgmental. I convinced myself I was defending something sacred.
When the pastor began his sermon, I tried to listen. He spoke about grace—about welcoming those who seek God with open arms. He mentioned how none of us are perfect and how we all carry visible and invisible marks from our past.
The words felt strangely pointed, though I knew he had no idea what was stirring inside me.
Throughout the sermon, I wrestled with a quiet debate. Maybe she didn’t know how to dress for church. Maybe no one had ever told her. Maybe she simply needed guidance.
Yes, that must be it, I thought. Someone has to speak up.
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