Before the formal application process, before the forms, and before the panels, there is the Vicar’s Office. This initial period of pre-formal discernment — the quiet work with your minister — is crucial, and for me, it was blocked by my own brain.
I look back now, having recently learned about my ADHD, and realise the long delay wasn’t a spiritual issue; it was decision paralysis at its finest.
The Call, Blocked by My Own Mind
For months, I felt God wasn’t just speaking to me in sermons or at Bible study groups — He was prodding and shouting. It built and built until I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I should speak with my rector and my wife.
The problem? My mind was too busy to make the simple choice to speak. Sometimes I can just sit mute as my mind feels like it’s racing but is taking its time to process simple instructions. The momentum required to break that silence felt insurmountable.
Then came the moment in a Bible study group. Another proverbial “smack around the head,” and suddenly the words were clear: I needed to speak to my wife and my rector.
The Spousal Push (The Divine Intervention)
On the way home, my wife told me she felt she was being called, though she wasn’t sure what to. This was the opening I needed. I confessed that for months I’d felt the clear call to ordained ministry — a call I hadn’t felt for around 20 years. It’s true what they say: once God has you, He has you forever.
My wife, confused but insistent, agreed and pushed me to speak to our rector immediately.
Key Tip & A Neurodivergent Hack: This was the push I needed. I could have sat on those thoughts for another few weeks, waiting for my brain to process the commitment, but instead, my wife made the choice for me. Permission to act, delivered. Sometimes, your best support network acts as your external Executive Function.
The Fear of First Contact
When I reached out to my rector, I expected a soft-pedaled “Oh, maybe,” or “Maybe try this first.” Instead, I received a thoroughly warm greeting for the call.
We spoke for two hours about how I felt the call was shaped — a clear sense of ordained ministry, not as a Reader or otherwise. It was a scary conversation, but ministers have a way of calming the waves. Our rector was supportive as could be, organising for me to do a little bit of leading, and then writing and giving sermons.
This experience — to lead, to educate, to be at one with the community — was what ultimately cemented my calling.
Setting the Stage for Accessibility
Crucially, my minister already knew I had dyslexia. We were able to address it right then and there:
We arranged for our service booklet to be printed on green paper for me.
We tweaked the font used.
These are small things that made a massive difference. While yes, during almost all of my leading I’ve stumbled over words, got flustered, or even forgotten a part of the service (it happens, and you just move on!), I’ve learned that my congregation accepts me, flaws and all. They are there for the worship and the message. I shouldn’t have been scared that they would care if I stumble here or there.
The lesson: Be honest about your needs from the beginning. It sets the tone for your entire journey.
Discern with Dyslexia is a dedicated resource for neurodivergent candidates navigating the Church of England’s ordination discernment process. Built on personal experience, we offer practical roadmaps, candid reflections, and the theological assurance that your unique wiring is a spiritual gift. We are here to help you advocate for the support you need, proving that your authentic capacity to serve is valid.