Words matter, language matters, and pronouns matter in ways often more subtle than I, at least, realise.
Yesterday, as I was reflecting on my call to The Gathering Place, I became aware just how much I've allowed the way I tell the story to become about 'me'. Partly this is inevitable - these are my spaces to write and reflect about my epxeriences. Partly it's the story I am told, that 'you' (I) am this significant person by dint of what, rather than who, you are: the person whose name is official Baptist history, even as I try my best just to get on with doing my 'job'. Partly, though, it's too narrow, because my story only has meaning as part of our story, whichever 'us' I am thinking about the time - church, denomination etc..
Sometimes - more than sometimes - my fear of fouling up to such an extent that this church would never call another woman, results in a kind of isolating introversion that means I forget this is about 'us', together, making it work.
Sometimes - more than sometimes - my fear of damaging the cause of ordained women in Baptist ministry in Scotland, results in a kind of self-regulation that means I forget that actually this is about another 'us.'
Sometimes - more than sometimes - my inbuilt impostor syndrome causes me to over-reflect on the tiniest errors or misunderstandings, internalising every crticisim or negative comment and forgetting the positives.
Sometimes - more than sometimes - I forget that this is our story, that the church I share also has worries and wounds, and for that I am sorry.
So today, on this Midsummer's Day, as the sky is blue after many days of grey, I will celebrate the 'us' and recommit myself to shape my 'world' with language more plural.