This little light of mine
Photograph by David Monje via Unsplash
Madison McClendon
I open my dating app, and my finger hovers above that phrase – “I am a trans woman.” Do I delete it?
It could be dangerous to delete it. If I take the risk to have a date with someone I thought I could trust with this secret, it might turn out that they could not be trusted at all.
Maybe after surgery — perhaps then it will be safe to delete that one word, “trans,” and hide away. No one has to know if I don’t tell them, right?
I tell myself that I want to do this for good and noble reasons: I want to be able to choose who I come out to. I am a woman first, a trans woman second. I deserve to date without complications.
But they are all lies I tell myself to justify the temptation.
I want to do this because I am scared.
I do not have words to tell you the terror people like me are under right now. We need you. We need you to insist that we matter. We need you to say that we should be able to work, find shelter, be housed and fed, and access government and social services. We need you to stand up and proclaim that we should be able to access the healthcare that keeps the light in our eyes shining.
And so I want to hide. I want to run. On the Trans Day of Visibility, I often prefer to be invisible, uncomplicated, hidden, quiet, and blessedly obscure.
When traveling abroad in 2023 — perhaps one of the last international trips I took now that the State Department has issued guidance that might invalidate my passport and cause it to be confiscated it at an airport — I commented to my traveling companion that I hated giving over my passport to a gate agent.
“Are you worried they will challenge you because of your photo?” He asked, alert to the concern that I might get detained or mistreated for wearing a dress and no longer having the full beard in my old photograph.
But that wasn’t it. The answer was deeper than fear of others. It was about the pain I felt having to see my face.
Because whenever I saw it, I could see the deep sadness in my eyes.
My passport has now been updated. It has all the hallmarks of a lousy ID photo. Bad lighting, bad positioning, and an expression that’s a snapshot of whenever the photo-taker decided to snap the picture and get on with it.
When we find ourselves, we find joy. We discover a testimony of grace planted in our hearts by the living God. When we find the little lights of ours, we cannot but let them shine. On this Trans Day of Visibility, find that light, and let it shine.
And yet that photo glimmers, because now there is light in my eyes.
The same is true for many trans people: when we find ourselves, we find joy. We discover a testimony of grace planted in our hearts by the living God.
When we find the little lights of ours, we cannot but let them shine.
But now, in the climate of fear promoted by an administration that has ruled us — against biological and scientific evidence — as non-existent, executive orders that say we lack the essential honesty and integrity to be in the armed forces, the rollback of our protection against discrimination in hiring and housing in Iowa, and Texas threatening a ban on gender-affirming care for trans adults, I find myself wondering:
Should I hide that light?
But what stops me each time I hover my finger over that phrase in my profile and decide if I want to delete it is the picture that stares me back, eyes bright and daring, challenging me with gentle grace.
And when I see her face, I know the answer to my struggle. Hide it under a bushel?
No!
I’m gonna let it shine.
Because that light does not belong to me. On the contrary, it is the divine light of God’s grace and fullness; the flame of heavenly hope and inexhaustible dignity God has placed into the depths of my heart. It belongs to Him, and it is Hers. That flame will not be obscured beneath a bushel basket. I could not hide it if I tried.
God has given me that little light. And if Satan cannot blow it out, then neither can any human being that stands against me. Compared to the power of Christ in my heart, Donald Trump is a weak opponent indeed.
We need these things because they nurture the flame that burns in our eyes. When we access and receive them, they are like tinder to a flame, kindling to a spark ready to light the world aglow with warmth and holiness.
You do not need to be transgender to find that light in your eyes: you need to be yourself, boldly and authentically holy and free.
On this Trans Day of Visibility, find that light, and let it shine.
Madison McClendon obtained her M.Div. from the University of Chicago Divinity School in 2012. She is the Moderator of North Shore Baptist Church in Chicago, Illinois, and serves on the board of the Baptist Peace Fellowship of North America/Bautistas por la Paz, in addition to previous service on the board of the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists and BJC. She lives in Chicago with her queer family, most especially Todd, and a sweet pit bull terrier, Moira.
The views expressed are those of the author and not necessarily those of American Baptist Home Mission Societies.
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