I tanked my Oxford interview, and this is what it taught me...

3 revelations that prove failure is just what I needed.

My hands were surprisingly steady as I reached across the room to take the sheet of paper from my interviewer.

Moments ago, I had been standing in a beautiful stone archway in the glowing Oxford sun as my friends took a cheeky photo before hugging me and wishing me luck. And now here I was, sitting in an office with high ceilings and a cosy rug, steeling myself against whatever was prepared for me on that sheet of paper.

Even if the interview didn’t go well, at least my outfit slayed.

But what I masked in body, my mind made up for in panic. Inside, I was struggling to take in the words on the page. At one point, I apologised and explained that I’m a notoriously slow reader, at which point they offered to read it to me.

“No thanks,” I smiled, swallowing my embarrassment and working hard to slow my racing thoughts to internalise the two Bible extracts they’d laid out.

It was a prophecy from Isaiah and a prophecy from Matthew. Two completely different contexts with shared verbiage. The whole “a virgin shall give birth to a child and they shall call him Immanuel” thing. But the task, cleverly, was to “spot the tensions and differences” rather than the similarities.

“What do you mean by ‘tensions’?” I asked.

“What do you think I mean?” she said back.

I laughed. Nervously. Not the way I normally handle stress.

Immediately, I was in Oxford, my untrained mind struggling to find a pathway through an unmoving wall of ancient stone.

I wracked my brain. I could see the obvious differences in the fact that the prophecy in Isaiah mentioned something about two kings and about the eating of curd and honey before the child “knows right from wrong,” but I kept muttering to myself, “I wish I could read the verses before and after this.” What I meant was that I wish I had the historical context for the prophecy because ya girl gets Israel’s historical timeline mixed up a lot, and I’m not accustomed to trying to interpret Scripture without historical context (thank you, She Reads Truth Bible).

“The verses before and after wouldn’t help you anyway,” she said in response to my mutterings.

I swallowed again.

Without even having found a pathway through the stone wall, I could “feel” the hidden door lock from somewhere in my periphery. There was no way through. I simply had to stand outside the wall and plant my feet as firmly as I could from my place of exile.

The Scripture in Matthew was, ironically, something I’d been discussing with the admissions officer while I waited in the hallway mere moments before my interview began – it’s the moment where God speaks to Joseph as Joseph is determining whether to leave Mary following news of her pregnancy. Again, we’re met with that mirrored prophecy: “A virgin shall give birth to a child and you shall name him Immanuel.”

Without context for the Isaiah prophecy, though, all I could do was draw connections using my literary brain; but even I have to admit what a weak, reaching connection I was attempting:

“Both prophecies are prefaced with a tension of being contextualised by a ‘test,’” I said. “The Isaiah prophecy comes after a statement of ‘I will not ask; I will not put the Lord to the test,’ while the Matthew prophecy comes after Joseph finds himself being tested, not knowing whether to divorce Mary for her pre-marital pregnancy as was custom for his people. They’re sort of equal but opposite mirrors of each other in the context of ‘God’ and ‘Man’ being tested.”

The words were tumbling out of my mouth in desperation, not conviction. It felt like gibberish. I would never write an essay about this. I was not convinced that it was an actual “tension” of any kind. But it was better than sitting there silently with my mouth hanging open.

My interviewer prodded me further: “What do you make of the Old Testament Scripture specifically. Anything that stands out to you?”

There was. Quite a lot. But I was far too flustered to articulate anything. I told her I’d love to do a word study on the word “reject” because “He will be eating curds and honey when he knows enough to reject the wrong and choose the right,” struck me as odd considering that I’d never thought much of Christ’s childhood existing on a timeline of “before and after” in the “rejection” of wrong. I assumed he’d have always known right from wrong, so this seemed odd to me.

Suddenly, a moat appeared in front of that ancient stone wall, and I found myself drowning:

“So that prophecy in Isaiah is actually not about Jesus,” she said abruptly.

“Interesting,” I said. (Because what else could I say other than “Oops”?)

“What do you think about it now, knowing that?” she asked.

My brain said Other than clearly I know sweet nothing? But thankfully, my mouth said:

“It doesn’t really bother me, if that’s what you’re asking. Matthew specifically appealed to the Jews so often by referencing how Christ was the fulfilment of OT prophecies, but I’ve always been curious about how that all works because I know that those prophecies were also meant for the people who originally received them during their own lifetime. It’s just a good reminder that God cares about us in the moment and He plays the long game. Like He meant that prophecy to be for the people in Isaiah and also He had a bigger plan for it all.”

“Fair enough,” my interviewer nodded. Her face gave nothing away.

I was mortified. As someone whose entire life operates on the constant stream of an internal monologue, it is deeply disorienting when my mind goes blank. The silence I felt inside my head during those brief moments left me utterly bereft, and I wasn’t quite sure who I was in the wake of it.

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It’s worth noting that I am being *highly* dramatic when I say I “tanked” my interview. I didn’t tank it. Objectively, it was a solid “fine.” I didn’t walk away confident, mind you, but it could have been much worse.

This essay is more about how it felt like I tanked and about what those feelings have revealed to me in the last 48, delicate hours.

Because truly, whether I get offered a place after that interview is anyone’s guess. I could get in. I could also be rejected. I know that there are more applicants than there are places, and I also know that I did not showcase my eligibility to the best of my abilities. Did they want to catch me off guard to see how I’d react? You betcha. Do I also think I could have handled it better? Oh yeah.

Guys, at one point in the interview, I answered a question by quoting Ted Lasso. No, I’m not kidding.

And honestly, that was probably my most eloquent moment in the entire conversation. I walked away feeling like Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde, trying to make up for in charm what I lacked in brains.

I’ve run that entire 30 minutes through my head over and over, and there’s so much I wish I could go back and do differently, but that’s not the point. The point is that as I met up with my friends afterwards and spent the next few hours wandering around in the Oxford heat, I became painfully aware of just how much bravado comes out of my own mouth. I say things, thinking I believe them, but as soon as those things are tested, God looks at me, gentle and loving, and says “Okay, it’s time I let you in on a little secret about yourself…”

So in lieu of the confidence with which I walked in to that interview, I stand here before you, hat in hand, and offer a little bit of raw honesty that I hope at least resonates with someone.

See, there are 3 things that really stood out to me after a brief but sobering encounter with Oxford, and I can’t help but share them. Because honestly? Writing about this is the only thing that I know how to do. So write I shall. Thanks for being here.

1. My ego is fragile.

If asked, most of us would probably admit that being egotistical isn’t on our list of desired personality traits. But the reality is that we are often confronted with the fragility of our ego through situations which reveal said ego to be hiding in the sneakiest pockets of our hearts.

I’ve always been aware that a certain level of my identity feels tied up in my intellect. At school, people would literally salute me and call me “Number 1” the way they did in Star Trek after the annual “ranking list” came out. Year on year, my grades ranked me at Valedictorian level until halfway through 11th Grade – when depression, family breakdown, and an undiagnosed autoimmune disease finally saw my grades fall.

Sill, I carried the weight of my peers’ expectations, partly like a burden and partly like a badge of honour. I knew that the world expected a lot of me because I was capable of a lot, and I’d be lying if I said there hasn’t always been a small sense of pride in that.

Even now, my loved ones have reiterated, multiple times, that “Oxford was made for me,” and I heartily agreed. I have been eager – almost hungry – to enter a space where my wordiness and overthinking are suddenly “at home.” I have felt so certain that God designed me to occupy such spaces – that I was a square peg who finally found her square hole.

And maybe I have. We don’t know. But that’s not the point. The point is that my excitement at what God might be doing in my life has overshadowed my foundations in what He already did on the cross: secure my identity in Himself, not in my own, meagre intellect.

One of my greatest frustrations as I walked away from that interview was at the feeling that I couldn’t showcase how capable I was to come alongside the cerebral heavyweights of Oxbridge academia. But you know what I did showcase the entire time I sat in that cosy little office with my shimmery bronze skirt flowing over the edge of my leather armchair? A love for Christ. To the very end. I made it clear that my utmost priority in studying theology was to love the Lord my God with all my mind. My goal is to know Him, to plumb the depths of His character, to seek Him as the source of all truth, and at no point did I stutter when admitting those things.

Yet still, I walked away feeling fragile, vulnerable, not “enough” because I cared oh-so-deeply that I met the human standards of intellect which would make me “belong” to a place I so desired to occupy.

And hey, maybe I do belong there.

And also, maybe I don’t.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be smart. But I’m not proud of how delicate my ego was as I walked out of that room, feeling the least smart I’ve ever felt, and dwelling in the embarrassment of it rather than resting secure in the beauty of my unwavering commitment to the Almighty.

I might not know a lot about the prophecies of Isaiah. I might not be Oxford material. I might not be as smart as I thought I was. But I sure the heck hope that at some point, I let those things matter a little less so that my identity truly rests in Him a little more.

2. Happiness doesn’t hinge on the fulfilment of a single dream.

As soon as I sat down with my friends for coffee and a debrief, I started thinking about what my future will look like if I don’t get offered a place.

Truth be told, I’ve been so confident that this was going to happen, not entirely because of my own abilities but also because everything in my life has seemed to point me towards Oxford in a distinctly “God” way (IYKYK).

But following what felt like a total disaster, I was forced to consider, for the first time, what I might do if I really don’t get in.

And you know what I realised pretty quickly?

I’d be just fine.

I have lived through seasons which have felt much more “life and death.”

At 18 years old, the wreckage of my life in America was juxtaposed with a new life in England, beckoning me into redemption, joy, and peace after years of carnage, heartbreak, and sorrow. My ability to start anew – to heal – hinged on the delicate balance of a fatherless 18-year-old’s bank account, and it felt like if a path back to the UK wasn’t forged, I’d be stranded in the barrenness of my own personal desert forever.

And when God forged that path, for 12 years after, every Home Office application had the power to rip me from my home and force me to leave me husband (because even marriage did not legally entitle me to permanent settlement, and the immigration applications continued for another 3 years following our wedding).

Needless to say, I have stood at the precipice of dire situations, and I have survived.

Getting in to Oxford, precious childhood dream that it may be, does not contend with the cliff edges upon which I’ve stood for most of my adult life.

If I am not offered a place, the worst that will happen is I stumble a bit with my tail between my legs, humbled by my own limitations, and then life will go on. I will not be exiled from my country. I will not lose the love of my family. I will not cease to do the work I adore. I will not cease to belong to the Lord my God.

I will grieve, of course, but my happiness, purpose, and joy do not hinge on Oxford. My life will continue with trips to the Peak District and nights at the pub with friends and afternoons writing for you and walking my dog and praying.

Any dream, no matter how big or how beautiful, is not the only method through which we can enjoy this dazzling life.

And that epiphany was a wonderful little dose of freedom.

Licking my wounds with two of my dearest friends after my interview.

3. Knowing something is not the same as believing it.

Do you know how many times I’ve prayed that if God wants me at Oxford that He would open the door, and if He doesn’t that He would shut the door? A lot, guys. A lot.

I have confidently declared, over and over, that if I am not offered a place on this course, then it goes beyond my own failings – it’s God answering my prayers and saying “No” or “Not yet.”

Because I’ve spoken Christianese long enough to know that hinging my bets on anything other than Christ gets me a one-way-ticket to Hereticville in the eyes of my peers.

And, like, rightly so? If I were to decide that God is no longer good or sovereign or concerned with my life on the basis that I didn’t get what I wanted in my academic career, then whoa. Shut this whole Substack down because I’d be plumbing the depths of God’s character and coming up in quite shallow waters.

But it’s one thing to know that God is sovereign and good when your dream hangs in the balance – it’s another thing entirely to believe this to be true when that dream might actually slip from your fingers.

In the first few hours after my interview, I stopped to truly consider what might happen if I get an email from the admissions officer which starts off with “We regret to inform you…”

What might I believe about God, then? After I felt so certain that He’d led me here. What might I believe about my own ability to discern His voice? What might I believe about my future?

For those few hours, I just sat with the questions. I didn’t try to give myself any answers.

I sat with them all the way home as my car crawled through 4 hours of traffic and I skipped through song after song because even the wrong melody felt like an itch upon my already-irritated skin.

I sat in silence and seethed and writhed in my own confusion and embarrassment and sadness and insecurity.

And then I came home. And fell into my husband’s arms. And cried.

And decided that what I knew about God, I also believed.

If I don’t get into Oxford, I’ll be pretty embarrassed to announce it. I’ll fear that I lose readers and clients as people discover that I’m “not as smart” or as “capable” or as “Biblically literate” as people thought I was.

But then I’ll carry on doing exactly what I’ve been doing: loving the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength.

Because He is, actually, as good as He says He is. And He is concerned for the outcome of my life. And He DOES remain sovereign over it all.

Know how I know that? And why I also believe it? Because Oxford is not the pinnacle upon which I will find my sense of belonging. It isn’t the culmination of my calling. It isn’t the final puzzle piece solidifying my purpose or identity – even if I have dreamed of attending since I was a 16-year-old, sitting on a couch in a desert in California while my world came crashing down around me.

I was made for one thing, and I’m already doing it: worship.

Nothing and no one, not even my own limited intellect, can strip from me the most raw, basic function for which I was made: to worship the Creator of Heaven and Earth. I do it with every exhalation. I do it with every word I write. I do it with every seed of love I wilfully plant in my marriage. I do it with every text I send to a friend.

Worship will continue to be my wild pursuit, the air I breathe, the song I sing.

Would more Biblical knowledge and theological training be nice?

You betcha.

But it will never be enough to explain the depths of God’s goodness to me, so I might as well float upon the waters of the deep, carried by the love for which I did nothing to earn, confident in the Kingdom to which I already belong, secure in the identity that was richly earned for me far before the stone walls of Oxford were erected in earnest.

Further up and further in, dear friends. Eternity is now, and any glimpse of the Spirit will remind you that in His love, we are already home.

All my love,

My writing course for aspiring Christian authors is now open for enrolment, and the discount code expires tomorrow!

If you’ve been following me here for a while, you may know that I teach a writing course called Pick Up Your Sword for Christian writers who have felt called to write a book about what God has done in their life, but they don’t know where to start.

This course was developed to help you gain confidence, traction, and clarity in your book idea so that you can develop strong foundations in the form of a comprehensive chapter-by-chapter book outline, a clear understanding of who your readers are, and a carefully crafted summary of your book’s God-given aims and message.

This course is only open for enrolment four times a year, and it include 10 hours’ worth of video tutorials broken down into 4 modules, various workbooks to map out your ideas, AND direct access to me through a Student Group where I offer 1-on-1 support and the opportunity to work in community with your classmates. It’s a course that is designed to allow you to work at your own pace whilst STILL keeping you accountable (because it’s my job to make sure that you not only start but finish this course strong).

Enrolment closes for this round on June 8th, and the total cost is £750 or roughly $1,000 (with 6-month payment plans available), but anyone who joins my waitlist will receive a £150 discount code which is still valid for use until 11:59pm UK time tomorrow night (June 2nd). So if starting your book is something you’ve really felt God calling you to, now might be a good time to jump in with my Spring cohort and enjoy some extra savings. You can join the waitlist below, and you’ll immediately receive an email with the discount code and a direct link to learn more and enrol.