These Christian women are done being timid about their conservative beliefs.
Their fierce leader is Allie Beth Stuckey, a conservative Christian influencer, who’s urging them to speak out with boldness in a culture that often treats their beliefs as fringe or countercultural.
On Saturday morning, nearly 6,700 women filled a sprawling hockey arena in Allen, Texas. They carried Bibles and coffee cups, their clear security-approved bags slung over their shoulders.
Most of the women were Christian and conservative — and they flocked to the daylong conference seeking a boost of courage to defend their biblical beliefs on marriage and gender identity, even at the risk of losing social standing and popularity.
At the center of their inspiration is Stuckey, a 33-year-old mom of three from Texas whose podcast Relatable, hosted by Glenn Beck’s Blaze Media, now reaches nearly 700,000 subscribers on YouTube.
Although Stuckey’s podcast has been around since 2018, her clips began popping up on my Instagram feed only this year. When I heard about the conference, I decided to fly to Dallas to better understand Stuckey and the growing energy behind her movement.
Stuckey, who attends a Southern Baptist church, isn’t an ordained preacher — nor does she believe women should teach from the pulpit at church. But through her podcast and social media platforms, she’s built a robust ministry of her own, where she speaks directly to women, and some men, about what she believes the Bible says on the cultural and political issues in the headlines from the rise of Zohran Mamdani, New York City’s mayoral candidate, and climate activism to public education, K-Pop Demon Hunters and Taylor Swift.
By blending conservative theology with sharp takes on feminism, gender roles and family life, Stuckey has positioned herself as a kind of digital apologist for traditional Christian values.
Stuckey entered the stage flanked by security to a triumphant track and cheers from the audience. She wore white jeans and a green corduroy shirt, her blonde hair cascading in a side-swept wave.
“Welcome to the fight, the fight for truth, the fight for our Christian faith, the fight for our children, the fight for the nation,” Stuckey told the crowd.
It was the second year of the event called “Share the Arrows,” a nod to unity amid attacks on Christian beliefs from progressive culture. It’s time for Christian women to step from the sidelines and “into the arena,” Stuckey said.
The “fight” that Stuckey is talking about is a spiritual one, where Christians are called to speak biblical truths amid what she sees as an onslaught of cultural lies. Her mission is to equip women with not only the courage but also the language, arguments and practical tools to do it effectively.
For Stuckey, and her followers, there is no compartmentalizing in being a Christian — not in parenting, health care or politics.
“This is a spiritual battle that is waged in our homes and in our neighborhoods, at school, at your job,” Stuckey declared from the stage. “Every step you take, every decision you make, and every word you say is a declaration of war against the enemy.”
‘We just need to be bold’
Much of the recent coverage of religious revival, especially among Christians, has focused on men returning to traditional churches. But Saturday’s event showcased another surge of energy — among young evangelical women.
Evangelical women have become an increasingly visible and influential force in American politics, shaping both grassroots activism and national debates. White evangelicals have been a steadfast base of support for Donald Trump, with roughly 80% consistently voting for him in both successful elections.
Over the past decade, white Protestant women, including evangelicals, have become more likely to identify as Republicans, while fewer identify as Democrats or independents, according to the Public Religion Research Institute.
Many of the women I spoke with were suburban moms with young children, often homeschooling, who said they were tired of soft-pedaling their pro-life beliefs and views on traditional marriage and gender identity. They were ready to assert their voices about how they want to parent and educate their children, or whether or not to vaccinate them.
“We get so tired of getting lied to and having to say ‘oh, that could be true for you’ or ‘sure, you can believe that if you want,’” said Christine Summers, who traveled to the event from Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
The vibe of the gathering was something between a megachurch service and a women’s wellness conference, occasionally reminiscent of a political rally. Women stood and swayed to the worship songs, singing in unison and lifting their hands in the air. A woman behind me affirmed the more impassioned moments with an audible “Amen.”
Outside the arena, the hallway buzzed with women, some with babies strapped to their chests, shopping in vendor booths for merchandise, natural make-up, subscriptions to locally sourced farm meat, Christian-centered children’s books, and T-shirts with slogans like “Hard is not the same as bad” and “Don’t follow your heart. It says stupid things” (with the reference to Matthew 15:19).
The energy among these women has been building following Charlie Kirk’s assassination in September, when signups for Stuckey’s conference skyrocketed. Samantha Agundes, who traveled to the conference from Mexico, where she’s serving a Christian mission with her family, told me she was on the fence about coming to the conference, but Kirk’s death was the tipping point.
“And then when Charlie died, I was like, ‘Babe, I’m making it 1,000 percent,’” Agundes said she told her husband. “We just need to be bold.”
During a tribute to Kirk, a friend and supporter of Stuckey, she got visibly emotional. Christian author Alisa Childers recounted a man at the airport calling Stuckey a “female Charlie Kirk,” prompting laughter and applause.
“She’s rallied 6,500 Charlie Kirks to come together,” Childers said.
This year felt different to some women.
“There is a fire here this year. Allie’s almost better than she’s ever been,” said Ashley Greene, who also attended the conference last year. She wore a “Share the Arrows” pink sweatshirt, with a Gold VIP pass dangling on her chest. “What happened with Charlie lit every Christian on fire,” she told me.
Differing points of view
Stuckey, of course, has her critics on social media who respond to her message and delivery. In a recent video clip, she compared the aftermath of Charlie Kirk’s assassination and the events following George Floyd’s death as “good” vs “evil.” One commenter wrote: “I worry language like this ends up painting an entire group of people — many of whom also love Jesus — as ‘evil’ or ‘demonic.’ This framing feels really polarizing and dehumanizing."
Stuckey recently debated 20 progressive Christians on the Jubilee debate platform who vehemently disagree with her. She argued her stance on traditional marriage, that abortion is “grave moral evil,” and progressive culture and Christianity are ultimately at odds. Stuckey has also publicly acknowledged that she does not consider members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to be Christians.
But to these women, Stuckey strikes just the right tone.
“She looks like us, she talks like us — she’s just a mom, trying to raise her kids and make the world a more Christlike place for them,” said Summers. “I just feel really empowered that she doesn’t make apologies for what she says.”
Amy Binder, Johns Hopkins University sociology professor interviewed by the Atlantic last year described the influencer’s appeal this way: “There’s a sophistication with Allie, shot through with knowledge about the Bible, and linking it up to the choices women are making today.”
Same-sex marriage and surrogacy
Childers recalled from the “Share the Arrows” stage that she used to avoid controversial issues because they veered into politics. But issues labeled as cultural and political, like gender and sexuality, are in fact biblical matters, she said.
She cautioned that Christians who shy away from political engagement leave themselves vulnerable.
“If these evangelical leaders can convince us to not get political,” she said, “then guess what front door the devil’s gonna walk right through?”
For these women, the choice is often between two sides: what’s “morally good” and “morally evil,” the truth and the lies. The idea of truth as fluid and evolving is an outgrowth of postmodernism and is now “at the heart of progressivism,” according to Childers.
“The primary way we do spiritual warfare in the world, according to the scripture, is by speaking truth into lies,” said Childers.
Childers continued that these choices come at a cost for Christians, which can include losing relationships and even communities. Affirming a child’s same-sex attraction or gender confusion would be “unloving,” she said, because, in her view, it would harm the child.
“Our relationship to God has to come first, even before our children and our husbands and our friends and our parents,” she said.
All this doesn’t mean that conservatives who believe in traditional marriage hate gay people, said Katy Faust, president of Them Before Us, a global children’s rights nonprofit, in her presentation.
She loves her mother, who after her divorce, has been partnered with a woman for 40 years. Faust framed same-sex marriage as a loss of a biological mother or a father in favor of preferences of adults.
She defended monogamy and criticized no-fault divorce and surrogacy, which she said is a point of “moral confusion” even among Christians on the right. Adoption is a more acceptable solution, she said, because adoptive parents are responding to a loss, not creating it.
Speakers stressed that Christian motherhood isn’t just another version of the secular grind — it finds purpose in hardship, where challenges are sanctifying rather than meaningless. Practical tips ranged from limiting phone use, per Jonathan Haidt’s guidance, and asking teenagers matter-of-fact questions like: “Have you encountered pornography?”
There was also an acknowledgement that motherhood comes in many forms.
“All of us are called to a form of motherhood,” Stuckey said, “That might mean discipleship in the church and that might mean mentorship.”
Parents were also encouraged to affirm that while their children’s “personality, interests and aptitudes are on a spectrum, gender is not,” Hillary Morgan Ferrer, founder of the nonprofit Mama Bear Apologetics
The health panel turned to biohacking, women’s cycles, and hormonal health. When it comes to clean eating, read the labels, said wellness influencer Shawna Holman.
“Stop buying anything that has the word fragrance or parfum in the ingredient list,” she said.
Stuckey was excited to talk about vaccines — reporters from mainstream outlets in the room “would love this,” she said. But the speakers agreed that decision should be left up to the parents, emphasizing “true informed consent.”
“I would just encourage you to do your research and advocate because you are your child’s best advocate,” said Taylor Dukes, a nurse practitioner who has a line of health products.
Feminism and telling truth with love
While waiting in line for lunch, I asked a group of women if they considered themselves feminists. Stuckey has said before that she doesn’t identify as a “Christian feminist,” and that rejecting the label doesn’t mean that women can’t have “equal worth” and “equal dignity” and they can’t be “brilliant” and “hardworking.”
The women in line shared this perspective.
They weren’t trying to be like men, nor were they chasing the unrealistic ideal of “having it all” at the expense of prioritizing their children.
“I’m not a huge fan of feminism at all,” said Samantha Agundes from Mexico. “Do I think women shouldn’t speak, work or vote? Absolutely not. No one is saying that.”
Many women agreed it’s fine if a woman is “called to work” outside the home — or if she wants to stay home and homeschool.
“Society just tries to make you believe it can only be one thing,” Agundes said.
For several of the women I spoke with, the COVID-19 pandemic prompted them to begin sharing their conservative views more openly. Some resisted vaccines and pandemic restrictions and found resonance in voices like Stuckey’s.
Stuckey’s best-selling book “Toxic Empathy” argues that excessive empathy toward someone making choices that clash with Christian teachings can ultimately harm them.
Liz Laniosz has experienced this tension within her family, as she’s been navigating the relationship with her brother, who is married to a man. Fully affirming his choices, from her perspective, would feel inconsistent with her understanding of love, which she believes is inseparable from her belief in divinely-sanctioned marriage between a man and woman.
“This is equipping me more and more,” she said. " I just keep praying about the right opportunity to have that conversation with him."
“We tell truth with love,” said Ashley Greene, who came with Laniosz.
In her closing remarks, Stuckey challenged Christian women to confront controversial cultural issues head-on. These issues, she said, are theological at their core. Christians are called to engage in politics because policy shapes lives.
“It is not primarily about who is in charge of America,” she said. “It’s primarily about who is in charge of the universe.”
As the amphitheatre emptied out, Stephanie Green sat alone in the first row. I asked her if she worried about the country’s direction or the divisions splitting left and right.
“I don’t worry about any of that, because I have such a strong faith and trust in God,” Green said. Jesus was returning soon anyway, another woman told me earlier.
“I don’t know if that peace that surpasses understanding comes from God or if it’s just the way I was made,” Green said. “I don’t know, but I feel no fear.”