Author Description

Hi there, friend. I'm Justine. Wife, Jesus-lover, nudist. Yes, you read that right. I pray without pants. Not in some weird rebellious way. Not because I hate laundry, though I'll admit that's a perk. I do it because I believe with every fiber of my soul that God made this body, and He called it good. Not good once it's covered. Not good when it's filtered, smoothed, Spanxed, and Photoshopped. Just good. Right out of the box. Now, I know that might stir some folks' sweet tea. A Christian nudist? Isn't that a contradiction? Like jumbo shrimp or decaf coffee? Honey, I've heard it all. I've had church ladies clutch their pearls so hard they nearly cracked them. I've had folks quote every verse from Genesis to Revelation trying to explain why God couldn't possibly approve of me sitting on my back porch in my birthday suit, Bible in one hand and coffee in the other. But here's the thing. I've never felt closer to the Lord than when I stripped away not just my clothes but all the layers of shame, fear, and pretending that had wrapped themselves around me like ill-fitting tights. When I pray without pants, it's not a fashion choice. It's a spiritual practice. It's me, raw and real before my Creator. It's my daily reminder that I don't have to hide. Not my body. Not my doubts. Not my cellulite. You might be wondering how I got here. Trust me, I didn't always live this way. I grew up in a small Southern town where the dresses were long, the rules were longer, and nobody talked about the body except to scold it. I wore all the right things, said all the right things, and still felt all kinds of wrong inside. Until I met Jesus for real. And then, years later, I discovered nudism. I know, that's not your typical altar call story. But I believe God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes He moves in mighty winds. Sometimes He speaks through burning bushes. And sometimes, friend, He whispers in the breeze across your bare shoulders on a summer mornin