I have lived experience of this issue, and I want to tell you a few things.

1. I was diagnosed with Dyslexia whilst at university, but if you looked at my school reports from primary school you’d know now that I had it then. Its not something that developed overtime, its something I coped with, struggled with and then it fell apart at university. Thankfully a tutor spotted the issues and I got diagnosed by the university.

2. I was diagnosed with ADHD just 2 years ago. I was lucky to select on ‘right to choose’ and it took 6 months to start the real diagnosis/assessments. Another 6 to get through that. But again this was my doctor spotting an issue, not me asking for an assessment. They spotted my struggles and matched it directly to ADHD criteria… but 2 years on from assessment, I havent had CBT, i’ve not had titration… and its not for want of asking.

Now the reporting will tell you, in the words of Wes Streeting when he was health minister, young people were over-diagnosed and "written off".

Wes perhaps was talking off-the-cuff but at least the part about ‘could be written off’ rings bells with me, not because I ever had that, but i saw it again and again as a kid. The struggles a child faced in the 90’s were very much, ‘we know something isn’t right but we dont do tests for it’, meaning I never got diagnosed with dyslexia or adhd back then. Many of my friends had similar issues at high school and struggled to get diagnosed… trust me their parents tried.

But what we did see was a small buy growing number of parents who would pay for their child to get privately tested… the school accepted this and well lets be honest, being from a working-class background where ‘tightening our belts’ wasnt abnormal, neither I nor the majority of school friends could go down that path. NHS didn’t routinely test for this kind of thing, and schools didn’t want to pay for it either.

But those who did get diagnosed either went one of two ways, and this I think is what Wes meant by “written off” - either they went far and got great results because they got great support and tools to help them through coursework and exams … or they flunked it, often appearing to use it as an excuse to be lazy, or not study. Its those who are ‘written off’ but it isn’t their fault.

As many clearly stated in the report, that support after diagnosis is still missing. Take my own story that even as an adult I havent got treatment after 2 years of an ADHD diagnosis.

Kids and Parents have it even worse, schools creaking under budget cuts from 14 years of austerity - councils on the brink of collapse for the same reason and well … lets be honest, Wes didn’t help here either.

For me there are some vital things to take from this report, and No it isn’t that ADHD maybe over-diagnosed - because it isn’t:

1. One of the most important changes over recent decades has been the increased recognition of ADHD and autism among girls and women. Research suggests that at least part of the historical sex difference reflected lower rates of recognition rather than true differences in prevalence.

2. The available evidence suggests that the population prevalence of ADHD has remained broadly stable or increased only modestly over recent decades.

3. Similarly to ADHD, there is little evidence of a substantial change in underlying population prevalence.

4. There has also been a marked growth in public awareness of neurodevelopmental differences or traits that can occur to varying degrees across the population on a continuum.

5. This is accompanied by a far richer, more accepting public language for mental health and diversity, shared online and through social media.

6. Self-identification in general and as neurodiverse in particular, usually based on the self-recognition of traits, is increasingly common.

These are all taken directly from the report.

What I am not saying here is that there hasn’t been an increase in demand over the past 20ish years for assessment/diagnosis - but if the above doesnt account for it, then parents willingness to speak up more about something more socially accepted is.

Another is that most workplaces will accept that you are self-diagnosed, but wont give you any ‘real’ support until you get a formal diagnosis. And many will only if you have a NHS diagnosis.

But my real issue here is that I don’t think this report was bourne of a want to understand the WHY of an increase in demand, but a want to lower the cost of assessment and treatment.

The reason I say this is pretty clearly represented by this BBC report. This is a report that tells us of the huge variance in how much NHS trusts pay for diagnosis services to private companies (such as the one I used on Rright to Choose)… its anywhere from £300 to £3000 … and as the BBC says its not like where you need a knee replacement and there is a set tariff a private company can charge…. nope its the wild west.

Right to choose for ADHD appears to have started around 2014. It was at that point a tariff should have been implemented, but it wasn’t and private companies have enjoyed the freedom ever since. At yours and my own expense…

Each NHS trust is paying anywhere from 20 to 50 million a year… that variation is so big because its down to each trust to sign a contract and not have a tariff to rely on.

For me the solution here isn’t to attack those who have or need a diagnosis. Its to support them, and support the NHS. Use pricing tariffs across the NHS for this and for everything else that is ‘right to choose’ - I dont think its rocket science.

But also support those who are waiting, start giving them support in schools or work earlier. And once they are diagnosed, ensure that treatment arrives quickly, and isn’t at the whim of an NHS budget that can’t decide if it should fund something this year or not.

This is truly a story of a health secretary who didn’t get what it was to be neurodivergent, who used the term “written off” when he meant something more nuanced, and who, instead of looking at the NHS bottom line decided those in need, those who were vulnerable in this area should be made to feel alienated after many years of public awareness efforts.

Lately, my mind keeps returning to the prophet Isaiah. We all know the famous moment when the Lord asks, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” and Isaiah boldly replies, “Here am I. Send me!” (Isaiah 6:8).

For a long time, I viewed that response through a specific lens. In our modern context, it is far too easy to treat “Here am I” as a sort of spiritual virtue signalling—a chest-thumping, pride-filled declaration of our own readiness and capability. It can feel like we are shouting, “Look at me, I am stepping up to do this!”

But the reality of answering God’s call is rarely that neat, and it certainly leaves no room for pride. This brings me to the conversation around Matthew 21 and the Parable of the Two Sons.

In the parable, a father asks his two sons to go and work in the vineyard. The second son immediately says, “I will, sir.” He says all the right things, perhaps to look good in the moment or to project a sense of instant obedience, but he never actually goes. His words are empty.

The first son, however, flatly refuses. He tells his father, “I will not.” But later, he changes his mind and goes to do the work.

When I look back on my own journey—particularly when I reflect on my 20-year detour—I know exactly which son I was. I was the boy who said no. I walked away, pursued my own plans, and genuinely thought that was the end of the conversation.

But the profound comfort in this parable, and in my own lived experience, is the realisation that God never lets go if He truly wants you. He doesn’t write you off after your initial refusal. He gave me the time to work through my reluctance, my fears, and my own pride. After two decades of saying no, He was still there, quietly waiting for my mind—and my heart—to change.

Saying “Here am I, send me” hasn’t been a quick, prideful boast for me. It has been a slow, humbling surrender after a very long and stubborn scenic route.

As I sit in this current season of open waiting, I am deeply grateful for a God who is patient enough to let us change our minds, and persistent enough to keep asking the question until we are finally stripped of our pride and ready to step into the vineyard.

The truth is, reflecting on your journey is essential, but how you do it is entirely up to you. Journaling isn’t about producing a literary masterpiece; it’s about creating a safe container to notice where God is moving, what brings you peace, and where you feel resistance.

Let’s look at how we can capture our reflections, what we ought to be reflecting on, and how to navigate the balance between what stays private and what we share with the world.

Choosing Your Canvas: Where to Journal?

There is no “right” way to keep a record of your discernment. The best medium is simply the one you will actually use.

• The Physical Journal: There is something incredibly grounding about putting a real pen to real paper. For some of us with dyslexia, this is the most freeing option because there are no red squiggly lines shouting at us about our spelling mistakes. You can doodle, use mind maps, or write in bullet points. The messiness is part of the prayer.

• Private Computer Notes: If writing by hand feels too slow or frustrating, digital notes (like Apple Notes, Word, Google Docs or Notion) are a brilliant alternative. You can use speech-to-text software to capture your stream of consciousness, or you can type quickly without worrying about handwriting legibility. It’s also searchable, which is incredibly helpful when you want to look back over the past few months to spot patterns.

• A Substack or Blog: Setting up a space like I have here on Substack is a completely different beast. Writing for an audience forces you to synthesise your thoughts. It brings clarity. It also builds community, connecting you with others who are walking a similar path.

Public vs. Private

During discernment, you are dealing with the raw, unpolished movements of your heart. So, should your journaling be private or public?

The Case for Private:

Your primary discernment journal should probably be for your eyes (and God’s) only. When you know no one else is reading, you don’t have to perform. You can be brutally honest about your doubts, your fears, and your frustrations. You can misspell the same word four times and it doesn’t matter. Private reflection is the raw material of discernment.

The Case for Public:

Sharing your reflections publicly—perhaps in a Substack newsletter or an open blog—is less about processing in real-time and more about sharing the fruits of your processing. Public reflection invites accountability and allows your journey to encourage someone else.

A good rule of thumb: Process in private, share in public. Give your thoughts time to breathe in a private notebook before deciding if they need to be typed up for a wider audience. AND if you don’t want to share something in public, don’t.

What Actually Goes in a Discernment Journal?

If you are staring at a blank page (or screen) wondering what to write, try focusing on these specific areas rather than just logging the events of the day:

• Consolations and Desolations: (A brilliant concept from Ignatian spirituality). St. Ignatius of Loyola taught that we can interpret the “motions of the soul” to determine what is drawing us closer to God. Where did you feel a sense of peace, life, and an increase of faith and hope today? That is what Ignatius called consolation. Where did you feel drained, anxious, isolated, or turned inward? That is desolation. Reflecting on these daily, often through a reflective prayer called the Examen, is a foundational habit of discernment.

• Recurring Themes: Are there specific phrases, Bible verses, or ideas that keep popping up in your reading, conversations, or prayers? Write them down.

• The “What Ifs”: Give yourself permission to explore different outcomes. “What if I actually pursue this calling? How does my body physically react to that thought?”

• Questions, Not Just Answers: Sometimes a journal entry is just a list of things you don’t understand yet.

Reflecting in Specific Seasons

The blank canvas of everyday life can sometimes feel too vast. Leaning into specific liturgical seasons can provide a much-needed framework for our reflections.

Take Lent, for example. Lent has a built-in rhythm of wilderness, waiting, and stripping back the noise. If you are discerning during Lent, your journaling can take on a specific flavour. You might use the 40 days to reflect daily on what you are being called to “fast” from (perhaps self-doubt or the need for immediate answers) and what you are being invited to “feast” on (trust, patience, quietness).

Other seasons, like Advent, offer themes of hope and preparation, whilst Ordinary Time gives us the space to look for the holy in the mundane, everyday routines. Using these seasons breaks discernment down into manageable chunks.

A Final Note on Dyslexia and Journaling

Please remember: your journal is a tool, not a trap. If writing full sentences feels exhausting, use bullet points. If typing is frustrating, use voice memos. God is not checking your grammar; He is looking at your heart.

Whether you are scribbling in a battered notebook, dictating into your phone, or drafting your next Substack post, your voice and your journey matter.

How do you prefer to process your reflections? Have you found a method that works best for your neurodivergent brain? Let me know in the comments below!

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Dear Diocesan Director of Ordinands,

You are tasked with walking alongside candidates as they discern the quiet, often complex call of God, while simultaneously navigating the structures of the Church of England’s Shared Discernment Process.

This letter isn’t a critique of your work, your patent, loving, god-given work. But to shed light on what feels to many like a disconnect. For those without Neurodiversity things may feel difficult, but with that diversity there are invisible barriers that make things feel impossible. And as someone with ADHD and Dyslexia, I know that all too well.

I don’t pretend to speak on behalf of all who have Neurodiversity, and this letter isn’t intended to even speak to everything ADHD or Dyslexia. But this letter is to enable you to understand more, such that we can all achieve more together.

Often, candidates will not tell you about these struggles. We fear that admitting how difficult the process is will be misinterpreted as an inability to handle the ministry. When that couldn’t be further from reality.

So, here are a few things that you may not see, but that we feel.

Exhaustion and Frustration with the Medium

It sounds odd, but we all know the Church of England Discernment Process is one which is text-heavy. From the initial forms and suggested reading to the vast reading we feel is needed to understand what is wanted at each stage, the medium of communication is heavily weighted toward a very specific, neurotypical academic standard. READING and WRITING.

For a dyslexic candidate, asking us to read a 2,000-word essay does not just test our theological mind; it tests our endurance against a system not built for our brains. The mental energy expended simply understanding and processing texts, battling spelling anxiety if we need to make notes or a summary, and all at a slow pace that makes us feel anger, upset and frustration.

I say all this, and you may think “they are lazy” or “they want us to lower standards” when actually we don’t. We just want you to know that things maybe slower for us to process, that reading or writing can feel painful, and know that we will mask this - because we don’t know any other way, or that we are scared.

Timelines Cause Chaos

The structured pacing of the discernment process causes absolute chaos for an ADHD brain.

We deeply struggle with the waiting and the vast spacing between events. When we feel the call, our natural instinct is to run at it with full momentum. Prolonged periods of silence drain that energy and leave us in a state of paralysis or frustration.

Equally, while the sheer volume of administration is overwhelming, we actually appreciate being given strict, concrete deadlines to complete work like forms or reflective essays. Yes, a hard deadline will stress us out immensely, but it provides the essential external pressure our brains require to lock in focus and get the job done. Without a firm deadline, executive dysfunction sets in, and tasks drift endlessly.

When a candidate appears erratic—champing at the bit one month and struggling with a paperwork window the next—it is not a lack of commitment or a failure of basic organisation required for ministry. It is the reality of navigating a rigid timetable with a brain wired for urgency and momentum. We know that Parish ministry is dynamic and responsive, we want you to see how our drive will serve the Church, rather than just focusing on the friction we experience with the discernment schedule.

The Masking Tax

"Masking" is the conscious or subconscious effort neurodivergent people use to hide their traits to fit into a neurotypical world.

Throughout panels, interviews, and parish placements, many ND candidates are heavily masking. We are trying to sit still, maintain the "correct" amount of eye contact, process questions sequentially, and suppress our natural, non-linear ways of communicating. And let me be honest, in my Stage 2, I got entirely distracted by a squirrel outside the window … the advisors were fantastic and laughed with me as I brought myself back to their question.

I make an active effort in many scenarios to not mask, but that doesn’t mean I am not using every bit of energy to use my work arounds, my building blocks, the things that keep me going through any process.

That masking takes an immense physiological and emotional toll.

When we ask for adjustments—whether that is a quiet space during Stage 2, permission to pace during chats and interviews, or the questions provided in written format during an interview—these are not crutches. They are the tools we need to lower the masking tax so you can meet the real candidate, not just the exhausted version of us trying to act neurotypical.

The ‘Well Rounded’ Myth

Neurodivergent individuals typically have what psychologists call a “spiky profile.” This means we have extraordinary, often above-average strengths in certain areas (such as crisis management, profound empathy, creative preaching, or big-picture problem-solving) alongside significant struggles in others (such as administration, sequential planning, or reading heavy texts).

The discernment process, however, is largely designed to test for a “well-rounded” candidate, someone who is generally competent across all fields. Because the process leans so heavily on administration and traditional academics, our “dips” are constantly highlighted and scrutinised, while our “peaks” are often given little to no platform to shine.

We are capable of incredible ministry, but we need you to evaluate our pastoral and creative gifts with the same weight you give to our administrative friction. That is why we advocate for our needs, it’s why we ask for our disability to be known at each stage. Its not an apology, its being honest about who we are and how God has made us.

A Way Forward

We know that DDOs want to foster diverse vocations, we also know the Church (via synod) also does. To do that, the Church must be willing to shift from expecting candidates to fit the mould of the process, to asking how the process can flex to reveal the true calling of the candidate. Again, we are not asking for different standards, just flexing how you seek those criteria.

Please, ask us what formats work best for our communication. Advocate for alternative ways we can demonstrate our competencies beyond just the written word both during our process and when talking with others about the process. And above all, trust that our non-linear, neurodivergent minds are not a problem for the Church to solve, but a gift the Church desperately needs.

The call is divine. Lets work together to ensure the process does not drown it out.

To help us work together, here are some resources you may find useful to understand more about Neurodiversity and working with us.

1. ADHD UK (adhduk.co.uk) – A brilliant charity created by people with ADHD for people with ADHD. It offers invaluable insights into how the condition impacts daily functioning and executive control.

2. The British Dyslexia Association (bdadyslexia.org.uk) – The foremost UK authority providing guidance on how dyslexia impacts adults in the workplace and education, as well as practical advice on reasonable adjustments.

3. Made By Dyslexia (madebydyslexia.org) – A global charity focused not on the struggles of dyslexia, but on the unique, powerful strengths of “Dyslexic Thinking” (which was recently added as an official skill on LinkedIn).

4. ADDitude Magazine (additudemag.com) – While US-based, this is arguably the most comprehensive online resource for understanding the nuances of ADHD, particularly lesser-known traits like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) and executive dysfunction.

5. Access to Work (gov.uk/access-to-work) – DDOs should be highly familiar with this UK Government scheme. It can provide grants to help pay for practical support (like software or coaching) for neurodivergent candidates once they are in training or ministry.

6. Disability & Jesus (disabilityandjesus.org.uk) – A UK-based, user-led initiative exploring the theology of disability and providing a voice for disabled and neurodivergent people within the Church.

7. Neurodivergent Ministry (neurodivergentministry.com) - I am bias, this is my own website. But its full of resources for those going through the process, and we are building up support guides for DDO’s and Parishes too.

I hope this letter serves not as a criticism, but as an invitation. An invitation to sit down together, look at how we assess candidates, and ensure that no genuine, Spirit-led calling is ever lost in the paperwork.

If you are a DDO or part of a vocations team and would like to have an open, constructive conversation about anything I’ve shared here, please do reach out. You can directly to this email or send me a message—my inbox is always open, and I would genuinely welcome the chance to speak with you.

With every blessing,

Andy

During my Stage 1 panel, I made a conscious choice to speak openly about my neurodiversity. In several conversations with the assessors, I took a brief pause to explain my needs—explaining that I might take a moment longer to process complex or multi-part questions, or outlining how my neurodivergence shapes the way I articulate my thoughts.

I didn’t do this to make excuses. I did it because I genuinely had no idea whether the assessors had read the background notes provided by my Diocesan Director of Ordinands (DDO), or whether they had any real understanding of neurodiversity and what reasonable adjustments or processing spaces actually look like in practice. I was simply setting the room so I could participate fully.

When my Stage 1 report arrived, I was struck by a piece of feedback. Some of the assessors noted that my explanations of my neurodiversity felt “almost apologetic.”

That assessment stayed with me—not because I agreed with it, but because of the fundamental misunderstanding at its heart. What was read as an apology was actually active, deliberate self-advocacy.

The Difference Between Apologising and Advocating

In a formal panel setting, taking 30 seconds to say, “I just need a moment to process that question before I answer,” or asking for a brief pause during an intense interview, is not an admission of weakness. It is taking ownership of your needs.

Yet, within formal structures of the Shared Discernment Process, there is a subtle risk: when a candidate articulates their processing style, assessors who aren’t fully immersed in neurodivergent inclusion can mistake clarity for hesitation, or self-awareness for self-doubt. As explored in All Kinds of Minds, But Are We Providing All Kinds of Support?, structural support within the Church often lags behind the reality of those entering discernment.

Advocating for yourself is not being apologetic. It is being true to how God made you, and giving yourself the space you need to communicate your vocation clearly.

How and Who to Advocate To

Looking back from where I am now as an ordinand, I’ve come to see that how and where you advocate really does matter throughout discernment and training:

Your DDO: Be clear with your DDO from day one about what you need. They are your primary advocate in the system, and ensuring your paperwork and background context accurately reflect your neurodivergence sets the stage for everything that follows (a theme covered in detail in the guide to disclosing your disability).

Panel Leads (Stage 1 & Stage 2): Never assume assessors have thoroughly digested every nuance of your paperwork or that they understand your specific neurotype. Communicating directly with the panel leads beforehand—or stating your needs clearly at the start of an interview—ensures everyone is on the same page.

Theological Colleges: When attending open days or interviews, ask prospective colleges directly about their learning support, how they handle unstructured study time, and how they support neurodivergent ordinands (for practical guidance on this step, see Choosing the Right Theological College for Your Neurodivergent Mind).

Protect Your Peace of Mind

Beyond the administrative steps, there is a personal rule that should guide you through discernment: do whatever gives you peace of mind.

If taking 30 seconds at the start of an interview to set expectations helps you breathe easier and focus on the conversation, do it. If requesting a five-minute break during an intense Stage 2 discussion gives you the reset you need, ask for it. The waiting and pressure of these panels is demanding enough—as discussed in Waiting for Your Stage 2 Report—without adding the burden of masking your processing style.

If an assessor or panel mistranslates your self-advocacy as being ‘apologetic’, that reflects a gap in their training, not a flaw in your approach.

As neurodivergent ministers and ordinands, learning to advocate for ourselves in discernment isn’t just about surviving the selection process; it’s the foundation for how we will safeguard our time, energy, and well-being in future parish ministry (a reality explored in The Neurodivergent Minister’s Survival Guide).

Stand firm in who you are, ask for what you need, and never apologise for ensuring your voice is heard clearly.

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Perhaps it is a sudden, blinding flash of clarity. Or perhaps it is an old, persistent echo you spent years trying to outrun while building a sensible secular career. But when you finally stop running and whisper to a church leader, “I think I might be called,” a strange institutional machine kicks into gear.

Officially, church literature across almost every denomination will describe this discernment journey as a “gentle, prayerful exploration of your calling.”

Unofficially? Anyone who has survived it will tell you it often feels a lot more like intensive therapy.

Suddenly, you are staring at a mountain of safeguarding forms, psychological evaluations, doctrinal interviews, and intense residential assessment panels. You are expected to articulate the deepest, most subjective stirrings of your heart to a committee of strangers with clipboards.

It is exhausting. It is terrifying. And if your brain happens to work a little differently, it can feel like a labyrinth built by people who do not speak your language.

A Field Guide for the Messy Reality of Discernment

That is exactly why I wrote my new book, Called and Tested.

While the book uses the Church of England’s discernment machinery as its landscape, the survival tactics inside are entirely universal. Whether you are navigating an Anglican panel, a Methodist committee, or a Baptist ministry board, institutions are all fundamentally built the same way. They run on administration, they require you to jump through specific hoops, and they unintentionally tempt you to put on a mask to look like the “perfect” pastoral candidate.

I wrote this book because the Church does not need more plastic, uniform leaders. It desperately needs your unique, deeply sensitive, and profoundly resilient mind.

Called and Tested is the exact field guide I wished I had at the start of my own journey. As someone who navigates the world with an ADHD and dyslexic profile, I know what it is like to hit the wall of executive dysfunction when faced with a 5,000-word reflection essay, or to feel the immense sensory drain of a 48-hour residential panel.

Get Your Free Copy of Called & Tested

What You Will Find Inside

This is not a dense theological textbook. It is a practical, ground-level survival manual designed to be picked up, put down, and aggressively dog-eared. It provides you with the “corridor intelligence” you will not find in official church brochures.

Inside the book, we tackle:

• Decoding the Criteria: How to translate the institutional benchmarks into plain language, so you know exactly what the assessors are looking for without second-guessing yourself.

• Conquering the Paperwork Mountain: Practical, neurodivergent-friendly strategies to overcome executive paralysis when faced with daunting administrative forms.

• Surviving the Assessment Panels: How to build a robust strategy for navigating rapid-fire interviews and exhausting residential weekends without burning out from constant masking.

• Protecting Your Basecamp: Crucial advice on setting firm boundaries to manage the emotional toll on your spouse and family, ensuring your household survives the process intact.

• Navigating the Parallel Tracks: Dismantling the panic around the unexpected detours of special psychological assessments, occupational health checks, and institutional red tape.

You Are Enough

The single biggest lie of the discernment process is that you must be a flawless theological scholar with a perfectly ordered life to be chosen.

You do not need to be perfect. You just need a reliable map.

If you are exploring a call to ministry, or if you are already lost in the thick of the paperwork and the panels, this book is for you. It is time to drop the mask, take a breath, and navigate the path ahead with your authentic identity entirely intact.

When we talk about discernment, the conversation almost always steers towards action. We ask ourselves, What am I supposed to do? Where am I being led?

We might feel a vocational tug towards ordained ministry as a Vicar. Perhaps the pull is towards becoming a Lay Reader, leading a young people’s group, or finding unique, creative ways to make and grow disciples. Sometimes, the calling is beautifully simple: standing at the door to welcome people into the church, or simply being a steadfast Christian presence in a secular workplace.

Whatever shape it takes, the journey of discernment requires energy. But in our eagerness to figure out our specific, active calling, we often overlook our most fundamental calling as Christians: the calling to rest in God.

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We Are All Carrying Something

Life is full of ups and downs, and regardless of what God is asking us to do, the reality is that we are all burdened. Some of us carry the heavy weight of anxiety, the physical exhaustion of daily life, the mental fatigue of neurodivergence, or the quiet, unseen struggles we hide behind a Sunday smile.

Jesus knew this. In the Gospel of John, He reminds us, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). Furthermore, He extends that famous, open invitation to anyone carrying a heavy load: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

But what does that rest actually look like?

What True Rest Is (And Isn’t)

When we are completely drained, it is tempting to confuse isolation with rest.

• What rest isn’t: It isn’t pulling the duvet over our heads and lying in bed for days on end, hoping the world will stop spinning. It isn’t shutting everyone out and struggling alone in the dark. That is survival mode, and while God has immense grace for us in those moments, it is not the true rest He designed for us.

• What rest is: True rest is found at the feet of Jesus. It is an active surrender. It is the conscious decision to take the chaotic, heavy, and confusing issues we are harbouring and physically, mentally, and spiritually lay them down before Him.

Remember, True rest is not the absence of struggle or hurt; it is the presence of Jesus in the midst of your entire life.

Laying It Down

If you are currently wrestling with your calling, or simply exhausted by the demands of the week, remember that you do not have to carry it all yourself. You do not need to have your vocation perfectly mapped out before you are allowed to sit at His feet.

Before He calls you to lead, to speak, to welcome, or to serve, He calls you to simply be with Him.

Take a moment today to stop striving. Bring your burdens, your dyslexia, your confusion, and your exhaustion to Jesus. Lay them at His feet, and let Him give you the true, restorative rest that your soul is longing for.

A Reflection for the Week: What is one heavy burden you have been trying to carry on your own this week? How can you consciously lay it at the feet of Jesus today?

Over the last two years, the Church of England has attempted to rebrand its approach to funding ordinands. As the new Ministry Training Fund (MTF) prepares to roll out for the 2026/27 academic year, the institutional language has heavily leaned on words like “consistent,” “simpler,” and above all, “generous.”

But consistency does not pay the rent, keep the lights on, or heat a home.

And a standard, flat-rate grant does not equate to true affordability for those who enter training without a financial safety net. If the Church truly wants to champion working-class vocations, it must stop managing its budget with middle-class assumptions and start funding the reality of working-class life.

Building Better

The fight for better working-class ordinand funding is not a new fight. To understand how we can build better must actively build upon the foundations laid by those who have already forced this conversation onto the synodical floor.

In 2025, Fr Alex Frost (Blackburn) powerfully called out a Church that prizes academic achievement over life skills, speaking in a “language of snobbery and elitism.” He rightly demanded a bold, national strategy that does not require working-class people to be “interrogated for validation.”

Bishop Lynne Cullens (Barking) laid bare the institutional prejudice that “leaves a stain on the Church,” highlighting the grueling journey of single mothers navigating structural barriers.

AND Crucially, Bishop Mark Tanner (Chester) explicitly warned against trying to fix systemic inequalities by imposing “middle-class solutions” on working-class realities.

Yet, a look at the structural mechanics of the newly defended MTF reveals an institution doing exactly that.

The Myth of the “Property Fix” and the Out-of-Term Gap

When challenged on the fact that the flat-rate grant is insufficient to cover living costs, the official institutional guidance offered a staggering piece of advice: take “personal responsibility” for your finances, which might include renting out a house while living in another location.

This is the ultimate middle-class solution, completely detached from reality. Firstly, it fundamentally assumes the presence of property and capital. Secondly, even for those who do own a home, mortgage restrictions often completely prohibit renting it out. And even if they manage it, you cannot just kick a tenant out of their home for two months over the summer so you have somewhere to stay between terms. That simply is not how renting works. So, what are those people meant to do?

This highlights the massive out-of-term gap. For residential students, heavy deductions are taken from the grant to cover term-time accommodation (£8400 for on-site fulltime residential students and £1500 for other fulltime students, this for meals and facilities access). But the system seemingly operates on the assumption that when summer hits, ordinands can just fall back on their parents or friends.

The reality is entirely different. Take a family I know who recently sold their home to move to a Theological Education Institution (TEI). They now face additional childcare costs, out-of-term living expenses, and absolutely no home to return to when the academic year pauses. When you have uprooted your life and moved away from your hometown, you cannot simply move an entire household back for two months, nor can you just turn up on a relative’s doorstep with your family in tow. The working-class penalty here is the total absence of a structural safety net.

The Discretionary “Begging Bowl”

To cover the glaring holes in this standard grant, the Church points to its discretionary fund. In theory, this is available to everyone. In practice, it disproportionately impacts those with disabilities, neurodivergencies, childcare needs, and those facing unexpected emergencies. It really feels a little like something from Oliver Twist…

The problem is that there is no solid policy protecting the applicant. It is a precarious system of “apply and find out,” with no fixed deadlines on how soon you will receive a response. It is impossible to claim a system is supportive when the funding is not fixed; it is not structural.

Instead, it forces ordinands to continually return with a begging bowl to ask for essential needs—like disability support or childcare—that the Church should inherently cover. Forcing vulnerable candidates to repeatedly justify their existence and prove their hardship is exhausting and degrading. It provides a safety net made of red tape, not structural security.

True Affordability

The National Ministry Team must stop hiding behind defensive clauses guaranteeing that “no one is worse off” than the previous, already-broken system. Merely preventing further decline is not a strategy for growth.

We (DwD) call on the Church of England to move beyond the illusion that bureaucratic consistency equals fairness. We need a funding model built on true affordability—one that calculates grants based on the real-world cost of living for those who do not have personal capital, accounting for the entire calendar year and all individual & family circumstances.

A unanimous vote for working-class vocations is a great headline. It is time for the Church to write the cheque.

For those of us navigating discernment and ministry with dyslexia or other neurodivergences, seeing this topic placed front and centre of the national conversation is a genuinely encouraging milestone.

We should absolutely celebrate the work that has gone into bringing this paper forward. It signals a Church that is increasingly waking up to the reality that neurodivergent individuals are not a problem to be solved, but a vital, gifted part of the body of Christ.

However, as we read through the report, we have to ask a difficult but necessary question: does it actually go far enough to support those stepping forward for ministry?

The Danger of Gatekeeping

One of the most critical issues when establishing any institutional framework for neurodiversity is how we define it—and, more importantly, how that definition is used in practice.

Affirming neurodiversity is a beautiful theological sentiment, but we must be incredibly careful that the definitions we adopt do not inadvertently become gates that lock people out. If the Church’s support structures rely too heavily on someone producing a formal medical or educational assessment to “prove” their neurodivergence, we risk creating a deeply unfair system.

Getting a formal assessment for dyslexia, ADHD, or autism as an adult is notoriously difficult, hampered by long waiting lists, and often prohibitively expensive. If a formal diagnosis becomes the unspoken passport required to claim help and reasonable adjustments during discernment, many talented individuals will fall through the cracks. We must ensure that the Church’s approach allows people to access the support they need based on their lived reality and practical needs, rather than the paperwork they can afford to produce.

Institutional Progress vs. Direct Training Support

This brings us to what feels like a significant gap in the All Kinds of Minds report. While it does an admirable job of facing macro-level, institutional issues, it seems distinctly quiet on the practicalities of ministry training and vocations.

Whether you are exploring ordained ministry, training as a Reader, or pursuing recognised lay leadership, the structural barriers for a dyslexic candidate are immediate and very real. Unless we are missing something in the small print, the report does not seem to offer a clear roadmap for direct support in these training pathways.

It is one thing for the Church to say, “Look, we are improving the institution and affirming neurodiversity,” but it is quite another for a dyslexic ordinand or lay trainee to actually receive the tailored academic support, accessible study materials, and mentoring they desperately need right now.

We needed this report to do more than just affirm us. We needed it to bridge the gap between grand institutional statements and the lived reality of those in the training pipeline. Affirming neurodiversity at an institutional level means very little if neurodivergent candidates are still left to battle for basic direct support during their training.

Moving from Affirmation to Action

GS 2444 is a great step, and we should commend the working group for putting neurodiversity firmly on the Synod agenda. But affirmation is only the beginning.

As this paper is debated in July, our prayer is that Synod members will push the conversation further. We need to move beyond simply affirming neurodivergent people, and start asking how we are going to practically, financially, and tangibly support the neurodivergent individuals who are answering God’s call to serve.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” — John 1:5

I spent some time this morning looking at the news, and as is so often the case lately, I had to physically put my phone down and walk away. The sheer volume of human suffering is entirely overwhelming. Wars wage on multiple fronts, systemic injustice feels deeply entrenched, and the global cost of living leaves the most vulnerable in our communities terrified of what tomorrow brings.

It is incredibly easy to look at the state of the world—the fractured politics, the violence, the relentless noise—and wonder what difference we can make. Society often treats the Church as a quaint, fading relic; a nice place for a christening or a carol service, but irrelevant to the ‘real’ issues of the day.

Sitting with John’s Gospel this morning, I am struck by a completely different reality. The world does not need the Church less than it used to. It needs us now as much as it ever has—perhaps even more.

Because when the world is plunged into darkness, the only logical response is to be the light.

Being that light, however, does not mean retreating behind the safety of stained-glass windows to sing hymns while the world outside burns. If we are to take the Gospel seriously, we have to step out into the public square. We are called to speak truth to power. Like the prophets of the Old Testament, the Church must be a voice that challenges unjust structures, defends the marginalised, and reminds those in authority of their moral obligations. We cannot be a comfortable, passive presence. We have to be the grit in the oyster of an unjust society.

Yet, to sustain that kind of prophetic voice, we need deep roots. This is where I feel a profound dual calling for the Church right now. We need to grow in number, yes—but we also desperately need to deepen the faith of those already sitting in the pews.

A shallow faith will not survive the storms of this current age. We need to equip our congregations to understand why they believe what they believe, building a resilience that can withstand the anxiety of modern life. And crucially, it is exactly this kind of deep, radical, outward-looking faith that will actually grow our numbers. People are not looking for a watered-down social club. They are starved of meaning. They are looking for authenticity. When the world sees a Church that is willing to stand up for the oppressed and live entirely differently from the culture around it, they will be drawn to that light.

Wars will continue to be waged. Economies will falter. Injustice will persistently try to take root. But amidst all of this chaos, the Church is called to be the steadfast, unshakeable presence of our Lord. We are the hands and feet of Christ in a hurting world.

The darkness is heavy right now; there is no denying that. But John 1:5 does not say the darkness will not try to extinguish the light; it simply promises that the darkness will not overcome it. Our job is not to fix the entire world by tomorrow morning. Our job is simply to keep the light burning, to speak the truth boldly, and to stand steadfast in the hope of Christ.

When you write about the realities of faith, challenges, and the intersections of life and dyslexia, you never quite know how it will land. You press ‘publish’ and leave it in God’s hands. But the response to my recent posts on Discernwithdyslexia has been a profound reminder of why this space exists.

To the Community Who Reached Out

To everyone who has taken the time to reach out recently: thank you. Your messages, your shared stories, and your quiet words of encouragement have been a soothing balm.

It is a deeply humbling experience to realise that my own wrestlings and reflections resonate with yours. You remind me that none of us are walking this path in isolation. The digital world can sometimes feel disconnected, but the warmth and sincerity of this community prove otherwise. Your engagement is a gift I do not take for granted.

The Bedrock of Friends and Family

Beyond the screen, this journey of discernment is sustained by the people who see the messy, everyday reality of it. I am overwhelmingly thankful for my friends and my family. They are the ones who offer grace when I am tired and perspective when I am overwhelmed.

It is often in the quietest, most ordinary moments—perhaps just sharing a cup of tea and a conversation with Vicky, or feeling the simple, grounding comfort of our Westie resting nearby—that the weight of this calling is made lighter.

To have a foundation of people who love you not for what you are producing, but simply for who you are, is an extraordinary blessing. They are the anchor that allows me to safely explore the deep waters of where God is leading.

The Cheerleaders Who Have Gone Before

As I reflect on those who support me, my thoughts inevitably turn to those who are no longer sitting at the table with us. There are beautiful souls who have passed on but whose voices still echo loudly in my heart. They were the early cheerleaders for my discernment.

They saw glimpses of a calling in me before I had the courage to see it myself. They prayed for me, challenged me, and loved me fiercely. While they may not be here to read these posts or see the next steps unfold in late 2026 and beyond, their legacy is woven into the very fabric of my journey. In the Christian tradition, we speak of a “great cloud of witnesses,” and I take immense comfort in knowing they are still cheering from the stands. I carry their wisdom and their belief in me every single day.

Looking Forward

Gratitude has a way of shifting our perspective.

It moves our eyes from the mountains we still have to climb to the people holding the ropes alongside us.

To the readers of Discernwithdyslexia, to my family, and to the saints who have gone before: thank you for being part of this story.

But it is precisely in these times of trouble that we are called to do the opposite. We are called to lean in.

The Reality of the Attack

It is vital to recognise that our struggles are not always just biological or circumstantial; they are often spiritual. Sometimes, the church community we call home comes under heavy spiritual attack. Sometimes, those crosshairs are placed squarely on our own backs as individuals.

When you feel a distinct calling on your life—a purpose you are meant to step into—you can almost guarantee that the enemy will try to stand between you and that calling. The devil thrives in the space between our current reality and our God-given purpose, using poor health, familial strife, and sheer exhaustion as roadblocks to keep us from moving forward. The goal of these attacks is simple: to make you doubt your faith and distance yourself from your Creator.

His Grace is Sufficient

When the attacks come, the modern world often tells us to look inward, shouting the mantra: “You are enough!” But when you are drained by illness and spiritual warfare, looking inward only reveals an empty tank.

The beautiful, biblical truth is far more relieving: You don’t have to be enough on your own, because His grace is enough for you.

When the Apostle Paul begged God to remove a painful physical ailment—his “thorn in the flesh”—Christ responded with a promise that anchors us in our darkest moments:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Faith will see you through, not because you have the strength to weather the storm, but because faith connects you to the One who controls the wind and the waves. When we are weak, navigating hospital appointments, familial heartache, or a church in turmoil, Christ’s power rests upon us.

The Gift of Grace

Faith does not guarantee a life free from trouble, but it does guarantee grace. It gives us the grace to wake up and face another difficult day. It gives us the grace to forgive those who hurt us. It gives us the grace to keep walking toward our calling, even when the devil is trying to barricade the road.

If you are in a season of anguish today, do not step back. Do not let the enemy convince you that isolation is the answer. Lean into Christ. Bring Him your exhaustion, your physical pain, and your battered spirit. In the spaces where you feel you are not enough, His grace will fill the gaps.

Note: I recently wrote a piece about The Mission of Fairness in the CofE and society, of paying a fair wage for a fair days work. This piece almost follows on too neatly, as we talk about the inequalities of the new ordinand training fund framework (as it exists today, mid-May 2026).

A New ‘Fairer’ Framework?

For years, the old funding system left many ordinands facing poverty, culminating in the Church having to issue a £3,000 uplift last year just to help candidates survive the cost of living crisis. The new framework for the 2026–2027 academic year was supposed to fix this. It claims to be a fairer system designed to reduce barriers to ordained ministry, particularly for working-class candidates following Fr Alex Frost's widely supported motion at General Synod.

Unfortunately, the new framework fails to deliver on this promise. Instead of lifting people out of financial hardship, the current model risks driving them into debt—something inherently incompatible with ordination.

The system relies on a ‘Standard Grant’ based on geographical zones: £26,000 for Zone 1 (London), £20,000 for Zone 2 (the South East and Bristol), and £17,000 for Zone 3 (everywhere else). The fundamental issue is that these figures are entirely detached from the reality of private housing, council tax, and energy bills.

Furthermore, the new framework implicitly expects candidates to rely on personal savings or sell their homes to afford training. This is a direct attack on working-class ordinands, who rarely have these financial safety nets. By grouping people into arbitrary, formulaic brackets, the Ministry Funding Team (MFT) has removed the personal context of an ordinand’s life, heavily penalising those with children or marriages that require off-site living.

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What Could Be Improved Right Now?

Whilst the shift towards a more predictable national grant system is positive in principle, the execution requires immediate correction. Here is how the system can be fixed today, in my view:

1. Reassess and Adjust the Zoning System

The current zones are financially unrealistic and exhibit a clear southern bias. The MFT must immediately review the geographical boundaries and financial allowances:

• Zone 1 (£26k) is insufficient for London and must be increased to make training there genuinely accessible.

• Cambridge and Oxford need to be moved into Zone 1.

• Manchester and Liverpool must be elevated to Zone 2, as their living costs are just as high as those in areas like Bristol.

2. Broaden the Enhanced Grant.

The Enhanced Grant is a lifeline for candidates with children, but it needs to be expanded. It should explicitly cover unavoidable fixed costs tied to an individual’s/married couple’s personal circumstances to ensure nobody is penalised for their family situation and existing commitments.

3. Devolve the Discretionary Fund to Dioceses.

Currently, there is no clear policy regarding how the discretionary fund supports disabled ordinands, families, or emergencies. Control of this fund should be handed back to the sponsoring dioceses. Local dioceses understand their ordinands’ unique stories and can deploy funds much more rapidly and smoothly than a centralised body.

4. Reintroduce Personal Context.

A predictable standard grant is a good starting point, but the MFT must implement a mechanism that treats ordinands as individuals rather than uniform statistics. The framework must account for the reality of those taking severe pay cuts without the cushion of personal savings, ensuring no candidate is forced to put their financial security on the line to follow their calling.

Making Your Voice Count

If you share these concerns, there is something practical you can do right now.

I urge anyone within the Church to raise this flag with your local ministers, Diocesan Directors of Ordinands (DDOs), and particularly your bishops and General Synod representatives.

The more this issue is challenged at a local level, the louder the message becomes. We need the MFT to hear a unified, undeniable shout about just how unfair this framework is—because it is only through collective pressure that we can ensure working-class ordinands are not priced out of their calling.

You can also support our call for action and change by sharing this article using the button below.

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Related Resources:

• Church of England - Tackling Working Classism in the Church (including links to Fr Alex Frost motion and response.

• Church of England - Current MFT Funding for Ordinands (2026) - Funding / Grant Details for Ordinands

• ChurchTimes - Fr Alex Forst Speaks Up For The Working Class

For those of us navigating life with dyslexia or other disabilities, the workplace is often a battlefield of “reasonable adjustments” and invisible hurdles. But there is a broader, systemic issue that requires our urgent discernment as people of faith: The fight for pay equality.

Whether it is based on sex, disability, race, or neurodivergence, pay inequality is not just a policy failure—it is a mission failure.

A Mission-Rooted Mandate

From a mission point of view, the Church is called to be a “herald of the Kingdom.” If the Kingdom of God is a place where the last are first and the humble are exalted, then our earthly missions must reflect that radical equity.

Scripture is unapologetic about the sanctity of labor and the sin of withholding fair wages. In James 5:4, the warning is stark:

“Look! The wages you failed to pay the workers who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty.”

When a woman is paid less than a man for the same value of work, or when a disabled employee’s expertise is “discounted” because of their support needs, the “cries of the harvesters” are still rising. Our mission is not just to save souls, but to honor the Imago Dei—the Image of God—in every worker. That image is tarnished when we assign a lower price tag to a human being based on their identity.

A Modern Parable

As we write this in May 2026, we see these tensions boiling over in the AQA strike. Staff at England’s largest exam board—the very people responsible for the credentials that shape our children’s futures—have walked out in a dispute over pay.

While AQA operates as a charity, the UNISON-led strike highlights a profound disconnect: real-term pay cuts of 10% since 2021 for the frontline workers, while high-level reserves remain untouched.

For the person of faith, this strike is a “sign of the times.” It asks us:

• Do we value the “low-paid” staff who do the essential, heavy lifting of our society?

• Does our “charitable” status excuse us from the obligation of a Living Wage?

Supporting fair pay isn’t just about the numbers on a payslip; it’s about dignity. For those with dyslexia or disabilities at AQA and beyond, the struggle is doubled. We aren’t just fighting for the same pay; we are fighting to prove our “equal value” in a system that often equates “speed” or “standardised processing” with worth.

And of course, AQA staff aren’t the only ones who are lifting their voices to be heard over inequalities and to be treated fairly. Over the past year we’ve seen university staff strike, nhs strikes, bin men striking and many others. This is a growing issue that unfortunately, isn’t being tackled.

Equality as an Act of Worship

Fighting for equality—especially the Equality (Race and Disability) Bill currently moving through Parliament—is an act of worship. It is a way of saying that we refuse to accept a world where some are “more equal” than others.

As readers know, our brains work differently. We know that “fair” does not always mean “the same,” but it always means “just.”

How the Church Can Fight:

1. Transparency: Churches and charities should lead by example, publishing their own pay gap data across all equality matters(even if below the 250-employee threshold).

2. Advocacy: Using the pulpit and the community square to support workers like those at AQA, recognising that “fair pay for fair work” is a biblical principle.

3. Theology of Worth: Reminding employers that a person’s value is inherent, not a variable of their gender, skin colour, or the way their brain processes text.

Our mission is to seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly. But we cannot walk humbly if we are walking over the rights of our neighbours to earn a dignified living.

This May, as the exam season begins and the picket lines form, let’s discern what it truly means to be a person of faith in 2026. Let’s fight for a world where every worker is paid what they are worth: a price that reflects their infinite value in the eyes of the Creator.

What do you think? Does your faith influence how you view your paycheck—or your colleague’s? Can you do more to support equality?

Join the conversation in the comments.

Disclaimer: While this space is primarily dedicated to thought, reflection, and driving the mission of the Church of England, there are moments when the broader national climate demands our attention.

Last week’s local elections—contests meant to decide who manages our bins, potholes, and local environment—were hijacked. Driven by the media and parties like Reform UK, these local issues were deliberately framed as a referendum on the national government.

This is not just a lazy campaign slogan; it is a deliberate tactic to muddy the waters. It confuses voters and replaces the sensible, robust debate we actually want with the vitriolic, tit-for-tat dirty politics we despise.

Which leads to a pressing question: Is the UK becoming ungovernable?

The instability we see today—a revolving door of Prime Ministers and constant government reshuffles since the Brexit referendum—stems from a profound collapse of trust. Before 2010, the British public generally understood that fixing the NHS or improving schools took time. Today, that civic patience has been entirely replaced by clickbait and media-driven rage.

If our politicians are terrified into changing course at every media outcry, they will never make the difficult, long-term decisions required to rebuild our infrastructure and improve our working lives. Without trust, a nation is essentially ungovernable.

Why does this matter here? Because the Church faces the exact same crisis.

Battered by historical scandals, the Church suffers from a similar deficit of public trust and understanding. People no longer believe our institutions act for the greater good.

Whether in Westminster or the parish, the challenge is identical: we desperately need to rebuild faith in our civic and religious establishments. Above all, we need leaders with the courage to ignore the short-term outrage and govern for the benefit of everyone, not just the vocal few.

We, as a nation, can stop these dominoes from tumbling. We can say enough is enough. We can say let this government (and church) get on and do what is right.

We are at a turning point, which way will you go?

But before I dive into the Stage 2 experience itself, I want to talk about the “in-between.” Specifically, that stomach-churning anxiety that sets in once you leave the residential. After those intense 36 to 48 hours, you’re left with a two-week wait for news—though, depending on the season and how busy your diocese is, it can feel much longer. You ponder daily on how you did in your interviews, how the group exercise went, and whether that reflection you wrote was targeted correctly.

Luckily for me, I quickly found solace in a friend who is also in the discernment process. We debriefed on my Stage 2, whilst they prepared for their own. It was truly a lovely experience mixed with high levels of anxiety.

Now, two weeks might not sound like a vast amount of time to some, but for those of us with a neurodivergent streak, it’s an absolute age. With my ADHD, the first few days of waiting were manageable. But soon enough, I found myself in a loop—refreshing my emails over and over, vaguely hoping the Diocesan Director of Ordinands (DDO) would send me something, anything, of note.

It didn’t happen.

Then, exactly ten working days after my Stage 2 Panel, my phone rang. It was the Bishop.

“Andy, this is Bishop ********** here. Do you have a few moments to talk through your Stage 2 with me?”

In that split second, my heart managed to jump and sink simultaneously. For a fortnight, I’d been a bundle of nerves. What if the panel didn’t see what others had? What if my neurodiversity had tripped me up at the final hurdle? What if I’d said something completely amiss? All those “what-if” monsters I’d been battling came rushing back at once.

“Yes, of course,” I replied, completely ignoring the fact that I was actually in the middle of a work meeting at the time.

The Bishop got straight to the point: the report was back, and congratulations were in order. I breathed a massive sigh of relief and beamed to myself. “That’s wonderful news, thank you. That’s really lovely to hear,” I stammered. It turns out that in the heat of the moment, I didn’t quite have the words to express how I actually felt.

During that call, we covered a lot of ground. He answered questions I hadn’t even thought of yet, and he asked me a few that I still don’t quite have the answers to. But I’m becoming used to that now. I’ve spoken before about how my anxiety can either swallow me whole (as it tried to during those two weeks) or I can simply learn to accept the “space” of the unknown. That’s where I am now with the questions he and my DDO have posed.

Looking back today, I can still see the “golden thread” of my journey over the last twenty years. I see it in the way God moved the pieces to allow me to serve in different ways, always keeping my Christian values at the forefront. I see it with such clarity in the way He responded when I returned to church, surrounding me with incredible people to support me.

So, as I take these first steps towards the ‘vicar academy’ (as the BBC once famously put it), I am truly aware of who I am. That’s something I never thought I’d say. The discernment process gave me that clarity; it gave me the confidence to truly own my disability. And how to be an advocate for myself and my disability.

My prayer for anyone passing through discernment is that you find that same grace: that you come to truly know yourself, your disability, and your calling.

This reflection, however, stems from a deeper, long-standing concern that will likely remain with me for years to come: the financial implications of pursuing ordination. As I continue through the process—past Stage 2, through training, curacy, and into my first position—questions of financial stability weigh heavily on my mind. Can I afford training? Will my wife and I maintain a comfortable standard of living, even if it is less than our current situation? Can I pay my bills during training? I worry about potential struggles and the possibility of a misunderstanding regarding financial support from the diocese or the national church, especially if I commit to a full-time route.

This anxiety is partly fueled by my ADHD, which has led me to fixate on finding the theological college that best suits my needs, fully aware of how different options could impact the financial outlook.

Yet, over the past few weeks, I have found my grounding in two core ideas:

1. God’s grace is sufficient.

2. The example of Matthew following Jesus.

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God’s Grace as Provision

You might wonder how God’s grace relates to financial concerns. Grace is the unmerited reception of mercy and gifts. I feel those gifts keenly right now. Over the past six months, changes in our living situation have opened up all our options. For the first time, contemplating a more limited income does not feel catastrophic; it is not the full-throated scream of struggling from paycheck to paycheck. Instead, we are content with what we have been provided. This has the added benefit of lessening the stress regarding the discernment process and the future.

The Courage of Matthew

Secondly, as someone who loves the Gospel of Matthew, his entire story has become a profound source of reflection. Matthew’s transformation from a working man—a tax collector—to a disciple who gave up everything is a powerful testament to conviction. He left a safe job, a steady wage, and even his home. At that moment, he could not have known the full path ahead, or even if the man he chose to follow was truly the Messiah. Yet, Matthew was faithful and humble from the start, following Jesus and enduring the pain and ridicule that came with it.

Matthew’s choice is one I reflect on deeply. Like him, I am a man of career, having spent 15 to 20 years in my industry with a comfortable and secure job. I am facing nearly the same decision: to follow Christ more deeply, to become a true servant and disciple. It will certainly mean a humbler life, requiring the sacrifice of certain comforts and aspects of my current lifestyle. But I know, without a doubt, that it will be entirely worth it.

Despite the genuine, deep-seated anxieties surrounding the financial journey of ordination—anxiety compounded by the practical challenge of choosing a theological path—my conviction remains grounded in faith. The recent experience of contentment and provision underscores the sufficiency of God’s grace. This journey is further illuminated by the powerful example of Matthew, who traded security for discipleship. Like him, I face a choice between a comfortable career and a humbler, more purposeful life in service to Christ. It is a sacrifice I embrace, knowing with certainty that the spiritual reward will far outweigh any material cost.

Discernment rarely gives you the whole map; it usually just gives you the next stepping stone in the fog. For brains that crave certainty, predictability, and clear instructions to feel safe, stepping into the unknown is a terrifying act of faith. But Abraham’s obedience wasn’t based on having a clear itinerary; it was based on trusting the One who called him.

❤️ Before we rest for Sunday: If you are staring into the fog today and feeling scared, hit the ❤️ button on this reflection. Let’s see how many of us are standing in the fog together.

The silence of an empty inbox after you have submitted a massive piece of paperwork—like the C4 Faculty or your Stage 2 portfolio—is deafening. Your brain immediately fills that silence with worst-case scenarios, assuming your errors have disqualified you. Being “still” doesn’t mean your mind magically stops racing; it means choosing not to believe the lies your anxiety tells you while you wait for the email.

👇 Fill in the blank in the comments: When my inbox is quiet, my brain automatically assumes ____________________.

“Waiting Mode” is a well-known neurodivergent trap: if you have an important meeting at 3 PM, you cannot do anything else for the entire day. The anticipation of the next ecclesiastical hoop to jump through paralyses our present reality. Jesus gently reminds us that we cannot live in tomorrow’s discernment panel; we are only given the grace to live in today.

💬 Let’s break the paralysis: Look around the room you are in right now. What is ONE tiny, grounded thing you can do today (e.g., “wash my coffee mug,” “water the plant”)? Write it in the comments and let’s hold each other accountable to doing just one thing.