Stage 2 is now something of an enjoyable blur in my mind, the weeks and months have passed since - and I can happily say I was accepted by my bishop to start ordained ministry training.
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.