Founder's Letter

Very few of us wanted to be heirs.

It cost too much. The world may like you — but they won't accept you. They will never welcome you in.  So we go quiet. We learn to adapt. We learn to abide in the shadows.

I found my footing in this sacred isolation. Okinawa. Base to base, a bus with no one and nowhere permanent to belong. No one to play the part for. Out here, just headphones, Fred Hammond, and a blank page — sketching clothes nobody would ever see.

I spent years trying to appease the masses. Hoping someone would hear me. Someone could eventually see me. Longing to be found. 

But I was never lost. He saw me on that bus the whole time.

Set apart was never meant to be set alone. It was so we could find each other. The brilliant ones. The peculiar ones. The called out ones. Christ-like ones.

For nearly three hundred years “The Name” could cost you everything.

They wore it anyway — not to rebel. To be recognized, as heirs. As light to the world.

We don’t wear black. For we neither mourn nor hide in darkness.

We wear gold. Because our testimony is light and The tomb is empty. “The Name” remains.

This is not a sermon. It’s a signal.

I am not better than you. I made a choice. I want you to make it too.

☧ In this sign.