There was a job that I took on. I had not worked for many years, regularly that is. People would tell me; “Must be pretty good to be re-tired now!” bristling inside as though they were really telling me; How does it feel to be somewhat useful and just hanging about on the couch?

I would then tell a joke about I didn’t need new tires and that I was working harder then ever. I was, somewhat. Not behind the desk and in front of the toolbox with my name on a blue work suit. A business I built up for four decades, it was hard at first, not being in charge but after a botched anesthesia, I began having seizures.

A friend took over for a short time and then left with out much notice or contact. Our automotive Shop is still in great shape, but the work is now on our own stuff and our youngest son takes care of all of it. Brilliant young man and does not run the old business He takes care of everything in the mechanical build, repair and maintain department for us all and our friends. He tore down the original shop which was hooked onto by the newer building with a snazzy German hoist (Nussbaum) He then designed and totally rebuilt that back building from the foundation up. Beautiful work and the mice no longer have a drafty freeway to enter by. A shop cat makes sure that is not an issue any more.

I now work hard at Gardening, firewood, land upkeep, and writing about my very strange and exciting life. Hurricanes at sea, betrayed love, deliverance from heroin by five words spoken in a closed room. Things like that. Bold things, near death experiences. Imprisonment in Spain, torture by jailers, preceded by escapes and living on the street in Rome. Hard work on the steel gangs and bold section men who could handle the steel tools and rails. A Hemingway life.

Many more things I wrote about and my editor at the paper encouraged me and was attempting syndication of my columns. It never happened and I actually got let go for writing too strongly about Jesus and his Father.

I am still writing and send stuff to a great paper in Northern Wisconsin, The Bottom Line News and Views. Contemplating a collected column book of 365 columns. It wouldn’t sell on the planet Mercury very well, A day on Mercury lasts longer than a year there. Pretty hot there and the bookstore distribution business has yet to get Amazon on board with those markets.

Along came a job paying good money for traveling around the extended area, interviewing people for a government program.

The census. I got a plastic badge around my neck, a clipboard and an iPhone. I drove a lot and found roads not traveled and places that were somewhat unpleasant and threats from people that didn’t want to talk to me. However, the pleasant folks that opened up their homes and front porches made up for it.

I got pretty good at establishing common ground and had some great chats about experiences in the military. Often, some would notice my demeanor and know that I was a man of faith

working for a little extra cash. Great conversations occurred and made all the scary encounters fade into the background. Connection.The shared lives that were just like everyone’s: Heartache, loss and loved ones gone. There once was an invitation to share sloppy Joe’s at a lakeside cabin. They where pretty good and the buns were firm and not greasy.

A memorable visit introduced me to homemade Kahlua. ‘Grandmas night-night juice’ she named it. She gave me a flask of it and it was, as I usually state, Pretty good.

The money was earmarked for a new sidewalk from the our house to the shop. It was worth all of the tough interviews. The connections with people from the high end, golfers putting near their private aircraft to the very run down houses with wary women peeking out from the edge of slightly opened doors. All of them worthy of the love of God. Equally and, in their own ways, somewhat open to this strange Scandinavian at their front door.

Of course, there was a bit of tension when deadly force was mentioned in retaliation for me daring to show up for the government’s people counting. A slight short peek at a holstered wheel gun for my perusal. People of different ethnic backgrounds, poor and rich, helpful and insulting. It was life in a distilled time of weeks and roads not traveled. Road food and decent pay.

A side benefit was a sign in the back window my car that had a real official government look about it. Tailgaters would get close, get a glimpse of the sign and suddenly drop back a decent amount. I wasn’t driving a Dodge charger like the squads, but it was very subtle and effective.

The sidewalk got done with a slight color and texture added in. Still striking and easily sanded in season. We should have one from the porch to the driveway too. Why not put one in from there to the garden gate! “It ain’t happening” as the local colloquialism says.

They do those Census activities every ten years and it’s been twenty and I haven’t got a job offer again. Maybe they found out I was enjoying the job and that is not an attribute for government work… perhaps.

I would have a good time on “What’s my line?” Comforting, ministering and praying would be a good description. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Read Henri J.M. Nouwen’s ‘The wounded healer’ for clarification.