It’s obvious – if you have eyes to see.

But it’s easy to be oblivious, frustrated—terse even.

Kev had bought a diesel heater off me 2 years ago—a cheap one—and his happened to be one of the 5% that failed. He was an old retired farmer, living in the hills but recently had bought a house around the corner from us. Something about his wife having cancer and proximity to hospital etc. And that was the tone in which I processed this information. It was simply that—a piece of data.

He called a few weeks back to tell me the heater had failed again. He was a bit annoyed and wanted me to do a house call to repair it. I felt bad for him. He must have scored a real dud heater… Rare, but they do happen. His caravan was parked on the grass at the front of his house, low to the ground and it was inevitably gonna mean getting wet and dirty. 

When I dropped in the first day he wasn’t there, when we scheduled an appointment he had to cancel at the last minute. I was feeling a bit irked myself. It’ll probably end up being some simple user error I thought to myself… 

The cancellation actually worked to my advantage as I was able to shift a couple of jobs around and take off for a surf early this morning at one of my favourite haunts. He called me as I was coming home and I agreed to meet him at 3.30 to sort it out. My mood had lifted from being in the water so I was in the right frame of mind for what I had somehow convinced myself was going to be an annoying job.

We arrived and I tested the heater. Definitely not working. The pump was operating so I went underneath to see if it was pumping fuel. Nope.

Faulty pump? Nope.

Fuel filter? Maybe…

We walked to the fuel filter right next to the fuel tank. The tank looked dirty. ‘Dirty diesel?’ I had heard of this, so I opened it to take a look inside. 

“I’ve found the problem Kev,” I called.

“Oh—what is it?”

“There’s no fuel. Not a drop in here.” I’d spent half an hour rolling around under this van chasing my tail when all the time Kev had just forgotten to fill her up. I thought some deprecating things in my head, but said nothing. I could see he was embarrassed and to be fair the dark stain on the fuel tank made it look like it was half full.

Kev tipped some diesel in while I scampered back under to get the fuel lines reconnected. Then ‘boom’—we were up and running.

At this point I’m musing somewhere between “well this was a complete waste of time”, to “how do I charge for this?!” 

As the heater got wound up we got chatting. Kev was looking to buy a new car—a Ranger—so we talked cars. I asked him how his wife was, recalling a piece of data from a previous conversation. 

“She died just 6 months ago. It was terrible.” he said. “I’ve never felt so lost.”

In a moment the “data” about his wife morphed instantly into the stuff of human connection and I realised I was talking to a man who was quite broken and floundering after this tragic loss. 

Two years ago I probably would have offered a sympathetic nod before steering the conversation back to cars. Losing Sam has changed something in me. I found myself asking another question… then another.

For an 80 year old cocky, Kev was quite open about his struggle to find joy in life since his wife’s passing. I shared some of my own journey with grief and loss—the overwhelming sense of bewilderment that comes when your world gets up-ended. 

As two blokes we stood chatting for half an hour or so about life after loss and how we were coping. The heater roared on in the background, forgotten by both of us for a time. 

I ended up calling it to a close as I needed to get going. I walked him through the heater instructions one more time—and cheekily reminded him of the importance of diesel for the ‘diesel heater’ to operate.

“Do I owe you anything for today?” he asked.

I think we both knew the answer to that. It had moved from being a faulty piece of machinery, to an embarrassing error and then to a rich conversation about life after loss. Somehow charging for any of it seemed somewhat mercenary and unnecessary.

——-

As I keep focusing on how we live as the people of God in the workplace I will keep sharing stories like these. They aren’t grandiose and impressive—just quiet moments that may go unnoticed or opportunities for connection that may go untaken—unless we carry the awareness of both the Spirit of God and the voice of the person we are interacting with. 

Work has a funny way of reducing people to problems to solve. A broken heater. A difficult customer. A wasted afternoon. I know there would have been a time when I would have seen Kev as a silly old man who wasted my time. Today I looked in the eyes of a man who was staggering his way through life, getting battered by grief each day and who just needed a break—someone to see him and listen.

To be honest I hesitate to share this stuff because it can look like grandstanding. Trust me. It’s not. I just want people to have some real life examples of how we can live faith and love people genuinely in our various work environments. 

What’s it like now—over 2 years on from Sam’s death?

Today we are 2 years 3 months and a bunch of days away from the day it all happened. So there is nothing significant about this particular day. 

It’s just one of many that have passed and I have been aware of a gradual shift in how I perceive things and respond. 

There are moments when the reality of our loss runs thru my entire being like a high voltage spike and everything in me feels like it is about to explode. These moments don’t last long at all – maybe 2-3 seconds or thereabouts. 

It’s like my brain then yells, ‘unfixable – move on!’ I realise that’s sharp and blunt, but it feels like that. I can enjoy memories of Sam as they appear from time to time, but anything that catapults me back to March 24 has my heart and mind light up like a pinball machine, shortly before ‘tilt’ appears and the whole experience quickly shorts out.

I get the sense that because I can’t do anything to fix things, or restore him it is easier to think about something else. And it seems that is what happens. I touch the hotplate only to withdraw my hand and then distract myself with something else. 

I don’t know if that is healthy or unhealthy, but it seems to be my practice.

There are times I choose to sit in the sheer darkness of it and to remember the loss, but that really does feel like pulling out your own hair. I don’t want to avoid the horror, but neither do I want to sit in pain that I simply can’t do anything about.

‘Missing him’ is a little different too. There is still the simple missing him from our family – knowing we are one short every time we go somewhere and his presence was always large and loud. There is the missing who he would be now – a qualified physiotherapist, possibly married… so many possibilities that we will never see eventuate. 

I shared some of our journey through this at a men’s camp a couple of weekends back. I hadn’t spoken about him much in that kind of space, so while it ‘went well’, in the sense that it connected, I was very aware of a ‘grief hangover’ the next day. 

If I have learnt anything over this time (and there has been more than one thing), it’s that everyone is carrying something – or going thru some kind of pain – and if they aren’t yet, then it will come. It’s just how life is. And we need ways of processing intense, deep, searing pain. We need to learn how to enter these times with both courage and hope – because these are the marks of a Jesus follower.

Perhaps this is the biggest thing grief has changed in me. I no longer assume suffering belongs to other people. I know now that every one of us lives much closer to catastrophe than we’d like to admit.

Just a few days ago I heard that a surfer/pastor friend, Andy Pitt had died from motor neurone disease. Having watched a brother in law battle this for 9 years, Andy’s 9 months felt incredibly fast. I consciously said ‘goodbye’ to him at the Christian Surfers national gathering in April and it was deeply sad. He was going fast, so it was no surprise to hear the news last week. And yet again, such a good man gone too soon and another family forced into the contortions of grief. 

As I spoke with him during the camp, we discussed the question, ‘why me?’ It was a question people had posed to Andy – why you? It wasn’t a question he posed himself so much, in fact his response to that question was ‘why not me?’ That might sound harsh, but Andy was really acknowledging that in a broken world we are all fair game – no matter how connected to God we are, there are no guarantees – none whatsoever. And as I observed his journey from afar and heard stories from those who were close to him, it seems Andy faced death with all the sadness and sorrow you would expect, but also with the hope and courage that comes from a deep knowledge of who God is and what is to come.

Sam loved Andy ‘Putt’ as he called him, often imitating his Saffa accent. So while I am unsure of exactly ‘what happens next’, I imagine there could be a few laughs happening in ‘heaven’ if they manage to catch up.

It sounds kind of depressing to say ‘if you don’t have pain or suffering yet – don’t worry you will.’ But it’s also reality and it’s worth being prepared. Your son may die, your dad may get MND, your marriage may fail or your business may go bankrupt… But the reality is that pain is coming your way. The other reality is that it doesn’t have to take you out.

I haven’t intentionally formed any strategies for dealing with grief. I have just tried to be myself at each point of the journey and allow it to do whatever it’s going to do – much like getting ragdolled by a massive wave. 

But even in surviving that kind of flogging there is some preparation – the physical and mental training to be able to absorb the hits and rise to the surface again. For me that has taken the form of simply living close to Jesus for long enough that I know a) this isn’t his doing b) he walks with me in the darkness and I will survive. And while it wasn’t conscious preparation for this exact experience – it was just the stuff that was needed to hold fast in the face of the storm.

So, you can take the worst that is thrown at you and you can stand strong during the assault, but it starts by being ready. Being ‘ready’ acknowledges that we are all part of a broken world but it also means we do what we can to become the sort of people who, when suffering arrives, have deep enough roots to remain standing.

Even if you’ve prepared, you’re still never quite ready for actual impact. We have this inbuilt hope and expectation that we will dodge the bullets of life – that we will be the exceptions – so it inevitably catches us off-guard. 

You won’t be the exception.

Consider this your ‘heads up’ that life is coming for you in some shape or form, so be ready, but also be courageous and be hopeful.

Imagine you are experiencing some kind of demonic activity in your life – you are having terrible evil dreams or constant suicidal thoughts and you seem to have no control over these things. They harrass you often and are destroying your life.

Now imagine you go to see your pastor and he says ‘ah – it’s probably an evil spirit from the Lord.’ My hunch is you’d be on the search for another pastor. There is no Christian in their right mind believes a good father would treat his child in this way and no pastor with even a hint of theological education who would offer this as an explanation.

So what then of 1 Samuel 16 where the Spirit of the Lord has left Saul and the narrator says: ‘an evil spirit from the Lord tormented him.’

An evil spirit from the Lord.

It’s there in black and white. What do you do with this statement? Verses 15 and 23 re-state this same idea – that God is sending a spirit to harass Saul.

Really?

Is this how God treats his kids who have messed up? I don’t think so. Assuming, as Colossians says, that Jesus is the perfect representation of God, then it’s hard to imagine him ever doing this. The prodigal son doesn’t get treated this way. Why should Saul?

I’m sure we all have learnt ways of resolving this tension. Scripture is telling us that God is doing something out of line with his character. Some will resolve it in such a way as to make it ‘true’ – God did this – but it was a special occasion or for a certain one-off reason. Others will reject the statement and find another way to hold the integrity of scripture.

I’m curious as to how others have resolved this so I will hold off on offering my thinking – so feel free to explain to me your way of understanding. I’d like to hear.

Do you have a career or a calling?

Perhaps both?

Does it matter?… Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, but if you do have a genuine sense of calling then you will know that it matters a lot.

What do we mean by each?

Career – is usually a word used to describe the long arc of your working life. It is also a source of employment that has clear opportunities for advancement and increased remuneration. More than likely it will be an area you enjoy, are skilled in and have trained or prepared for with education.

Calling – a deep sense of why you are on the earth and what you have been created for. Your calling transcends a career or a job and follows you wherever you go and whatever you do.

They are very different things – and yes – you can have both.

If you have followed this blog for a while then you will likely have heard me express my sense of vocation. It’s right there in the title of the blog – “backyard missionary” – that’s it. Super simple. Those words describe who I am and who I aspire to be. More specifically, I mean that God has called me / created me to be a person who communicates his love and the good news of the Christian story to the people I live amongst.

And ‘backyard’ is distinct from overseas, or cross cultural mission. I had originally thought my calling was to an overseas country, but as time has gone on I have realised my deep love for this country and these people – both the ones in my literal backyard / street and others around the country who I connect with.

As a contrast – but also equally a calling, Danelle has felt an enormous sense of calling in this life is to be a mum – and she ‘mum’s her way through all kinds of spaces very well.

So you may ask, why I am fitting diesel heaters and weighing caravans if my calling is to be a backyard missionary? Simple. I need to pay the bills, (‘If a person doesn’t work then neither should he eat – 2 Thess 3:10) I’m good at this stuff and it allows me to both serve in my work, while also having plenty of free time to be engaged in my local community. I could be a full time pastor- but then I’d be head down—bum up in church world for 95% of my days. 

If you are called to lead churches and pastor people then that’s the perfect place for you to be. But if your calling involves connecting with people who not part of our churches then it makes sense to have a job that allows that to happen as fully as possible. Running my own business means I have the autonomy and flexibility to take on work, or reject it as fits my calling. Right now I am working hard because this is ‘busy season’ for us—and in that my calling is expressed in the workplace by choosing to serve people in such a way that truly cares and looks after them.

Come summer I will be much freer to walk the dog for longer and chat with the other ‘dog-walkers’ I now know. I will have more time to hang at the beach with the boys and maybe join the e-foiling crew. I will also have more time just to stop and chat in general. And it’s in these spaces that my calling gets lived out.

I began life as a phys ed teacher and as a young ambitious man I guessed that was going to be my career and I was going to set the teaching world on fire, (for Jesus of course). Then came the sense of calling to mission and ministry – a distinct sense that God was putting his finger on me for a different purpose. I entered youth ministry with ‘career thinking’ and set my sights on becoming a top notch youth pastor – with the idea that eventually I would become a senior pastor and lead a large church. That is ‘career thinking’ and it doesn’t always mesh well with Christian mission and ministry – even though we sometimes talk about ‘career missionaries’ (people who have spent their lives in one project). 

I feel like I am still coming to grips with the nuances of my calling – even at 62 years old. I know it isn’t to move back into full time permanent church leadership – although I could do some of what those roles require. But it jars with the part of me that needs to live local, be present and connected. There are only so many hours in a day and I have discovered that I am far more alive when I get to spend a significant amount of time in ordinary life, rather than being busy with church life.

So I would think that I haven’t had a ‘career’ as such for many years now. I have hopped from business to business as new ideas have surfaced, but always with the view of the business serving the greater calling. I doubt I will ever pursue a career of any sort any more. Age aside, it just doesn’t inspire me the way it did in my youth.

I don’t think that’s a bad thing though. I would argue that we need people living and operating from their calling first. If the calling leads to a career then woohoo for you – that’s a win. But the calling may take you away from a ‘career driven’ type of life, to a less impressive version of yourself that would still be truly you – in fact maybe more truly you.

So if you’re 17 and just starting out you will be guided to think ‘career’. It’s inevitable. Vocational decisions made in teen years (ironically ‘vocation’ = ‘calling’) are always geared towards a career path. Your task is far more grand that advancing through the ranks of an organisation over a period of years and eventually becoming a CEO or manager. Your job is to discern who you are – who God has made you to be and what things he has called you to do.

So hear me well. A career isn’t bad. I’m not at all against professional development, but the first priority ought to be that of calling. There is no more important question to answer:

Who has God called me to be and what has he called me to do in this world?

It had been a very enjoyable morning; a retic controller installed, (another little sideline I keep afloat), an encouraging coffee with another pastor/author and now I was on my way to install a diesel heater for a client at their home. It was a spectacular winter day and I was almost high on the warm sunny vibes.

Then it all got a bit crazy. 

While having coffee with my friend I noticed several missed phone calls, so I began returning them in my car on the way to the job. While doing so Danelle rang, but I declined her call as I was already on the phone to a client. Then she rang again. Two calls in 2 minutes is a concern. Given our life over the last two years I tend to be a little more alert for potential ‘emergencies’. So I quickly finished the call with my client and called her back, hoping it was nothing important.

‘Your 11.00 caravan is here. Says she has booked a diesel heater with you?’ It was said as a question as she knew I was on my way to a different job. In the bigger scheme of things this really was not that important, but it suddenly jarred me out of my winter bliss. 

’Oh…’ I replied feeling a little bit sick, ‘Just check their name,’ I said slowly, wondering if maybe I had got it wrong and this was a job I was supposed to do at home.

‘Sally,’ Danelle said. ‘She has a text from you saying to come today. Do you remember?’ 

‘Ah… nope…’ My gut churned…

Given the deluge of phone calls that seems to hit at this time of year I had to accept that this one had got past my fairly rudimentary admin processes and I was now faced with a couple who had driven from Rockingham to have a heater installed on their way north, as well as a job I was driving to already about an hour from home. What to do.

Plan A is Don’t panic. Seriously – it’’s not life and death. It’s a stuff up on my part, but not the end of the earth.

‘Ok – that’s a bummer,’ I said somewhat understating things. ‘Can you put Sally on and I will talk with her.’

Danelle put Sally on the phone. ‘Do you remember we spoke and you said xyxz…’ As she talked it all faded into oblivion as I realised In had no memory whatsoever of the phone call – but clearly a string of text messages showing it had taken place. Sally sounded frustrated and a little stressed. I couldn’t blame her.

‘Ok Sally, here’s the plan. I have stuffed up, so I will go and do this job, then I will come to you at your campsite and make sure your heater is fitted before evening. It’s my mistake and I will fix it for you. Is that ok?’

‘I suppose so. And what about weighing the caravan? You said you would do that too?’

Did I?… Bugger…

‘Ah, yep, I can do that too…’ I said, while thinking ‘why did I agree to that?!’  I was seeing my afternoon suddenly blow out to an 8pm finish if all went well. “Why don’t you go and have some lunch, I will do this first job and then I will come and see you at your campsite.” 

It was not what I needed. A stunning Perth winter day suddenly became a stressful time of wondering how I was ever going to pull this off. Dinner with the local blokes at 6.00pm looked like it was now out of the question.

With Sally off for lunch I arrived at the first job, a massive off-road van, which is always nice because the ground clearance is enormous and it makes the job much faster. After a chat with the client I got cracking on the job and realised before long I was sweating, because I was doing everything at double speed – also a sure way to make a mistake. However by some measure of fortune I managed to get everything done in double time and working perfectly – a new PB for time taken to install! I knocked on the door after just over an hour to show the owner the finished product. She was happy, so I set off for the Yanchep national park to start on job number 2. I even had time to drop home for a bit to eat and to gather my gear for this next one. 

This is where my wife shines. ‘What do you need? What can I do?’

‘ A sandwich and a glass of water would be awesome,’ I replied. I felt a little lighter given the way the first job had fallen into place so easily.

I breathed out. “It’s ok… you may even get to dinner…” I told myself.

I arrived at the park right behind my client who was also driving in from their lunch at the cafe. I meandered around to their campsite. 

This one however, didn’t look so much fun. A low to the ground ‘on-road’ van – and the ‘ground’ was dirt… oh well… It was 2.30pm and I knew I’d be out of there by 6 at the latest. I took a deep breath and just decided to relax and enjoy the time – even if I would have rather been at the beach.

I began by walking thru the job with Sally. With massive space under the bed I presumed we’d be installing the diesel heater there.

‘Narp’ said Sally strongly. ‘I want it here.’ 

I peered into the smallest, most inaccessible area of storage in the whole van… ‘Ok… I can do that,’ I chirped, trying to sound positive, while also realising I was going to be slithering on my back for the afternoon as the space was right behind the two wheels. 

‘And what about the fuel tank?’ Sally asked.

I had seen a large front boot and that is usually where they go. ‘Front boot is perfect,’ I said.

‘Narp’ said Sally again sharply. I was starting to not like her.

‘Oh, why’s that?’ I asked.

‘It’s full. No room,’ she barked. 

‘Ok where were you hoping?’ I asked. I figured she had already got a plan for this too. She pointed to a shallow space on the rear bumper where you would struggle fit a clipboard, let alone a fuel tank.

‘Norm put his here,’ she said. ‘I can show you a photo.’

‘Ok, I’d need some brackets for that and I don’t have any with me.’ I could have driven home if necessary, but I could already tell that there was no way it would fit.

Sally scrolled her phone looking for Davo’s photo of his tank. She was still scrolling five minutes later and I had begun assembling the heater, while sitting on her step. 

We weren’t off to a flying start. I had forgotten them, and now I was feeling like I may end up barking back at Sally if I wasn’t careful.

It was that moment where I stopped and recognised that this could go south if I allowed myself to dislike her, OR it could be an opportunity to smile, engage her and try to win her over. She had irked me with her sharpness, but it’s these ‘pause’ moments that can actually turn a job from chore to pleasure. The pause/pray/startover approach allows for a conscious attitude shift and then a choice to speak kindly and go the extra mile. It’s the ‘Jesus’ stuff’ we talk about translated into simple action.

So I squeezed myself into a tiny cavity under the table and tried to make the heater fit.  Once I’d drilled the first hole I slid on my back along the ground all the way up to begin tying all the parts down. I was dirty, my face was almost pressed against the floor and I had only just begun.

Fortunately Barry (Sally’s husband) had come to my rescue and agreed that the front boot would actually be a good place to put the fuel tank. Sally shook her head as if to say ‘well – it’s on you if it doesn’t work!’ Barry smiled and winked at me.

The longer I hung around the more I realised Sally just had a general sharp edge to her voice and she wasn’t actually being difficult or cantankerous. This was just how she spoke. I had misread her initial conversation.

As I worked we got into some conversation. We chatted about our previous jobs, the cost of housing, the level of immigration into WA and a few other random topics. Sally was starting to loosen up and Barry was joining in too. 

It wasn’t an arduous job, but it was tricky and I needed to concentrate to get a good end result. By 5.15pm I had got it up and running much to Sally’s delight, who was now crowing about what a neat job it was and how they ‘never used that space for anything anyway’. I wanted to say ‘I know – that’s because you need to be 5 years old to be able to squeeze in there!’

As I began to pack up Sally offered me a beer. ‘Thanks but I’ve given them up’, I replied. Barry grunted that he maybe ought to consider that too.

As I cleaned up and vacuumed it felt like we were almost friends. What had begun with my admin stuff up and what I had perceived as an icy welcome from Sally was now warm and gracious. As I drove home I was reflecting on the simple impact of choosing to pause and stay kind when the first few interactions left me wanting to keep my distance and just do the job as quickly as possible. 

There is no rocket science in this – but this is some of what ‘faith in the workplace’ looks like.

That evening a text message came in from Sally, ‘loving the new heater Andrew – we are so warm!’ 

I think I made a new friend…

We rescheduled the caravan weigh to the following day to avoid making them hitch up and move while in the caravan park. They got to relax and I made it home to dinner with the Yanchep blokes. 

The next morning I rocked up to weigh them at 8.15am as Sally instructed, only to wait for 30 minutes for them to arrive… Ordinarily I’d be a bit peeved at waiting half an hour to do a half hour job, but given I had completely forgotten Sally the previous day I felt that maybe I should just smile and accept that sometimes we all get it a little bit wrong.

It was 2007 when I moved from a very white collar, desk and laptop, type job, into a hard grinding trade environment as I started an irrigation and landscaping business. It was unfamiliar territory and it took me a while to get my bearings.

My soft pastor hands came home with knuckles skinned and covered in green irrigation glue, but at the same time I became conscious of the mass of people in our churches who work in these jobs, but are often unsure of what it looks like to live faithfully in that space.

My new book, Hi-Vis Faith, was birthed out of my concern for tradies and service workers, both men and women, who want to follow Jesus faithfully in their workplace, but who don’t connect easily with much of the current crop of books – many of which are excellent – just not speaking their language.

So, “Hi-Vis” is a description of the type of workers who will find this book most valuable—not a term to describe the kind of missional presence a worker should have while on the job. In fact I suggest “low-vis” as usually more appropriate for a secular, trade environment. There are few building sites that appreciate an evangelistic zealot on the warpath, but a quiet, faithful presence that consistently demonstrates the life of faith and answers questions with gentleness and respect is almost always appreciated.

My hope is that our tradies and service workers will have a valuable resource that is easy to read and theologically accessible, while offering some very practical stories and insight on how the life of faith takes shape in tough and sometimes toxic work environments. 

I have intentionally asked my friends who work in relatively unseen roles to contribute with their description of how they live their faith in the workplace.

Rob, the local mechanic writes of what it looks like to do auto work with integrity and kindness. Dave writes of recovering his childhood faith and now figuring out what shape that takes in a building environment. Ian writes of seeking a quiet retired life, only to find himself immersed in the life of a retirement village – and loving it. My favourite is Jen, who writes of her work, as a home schooling mum and part time belly dance teacher. It’s a beautiful story of good work done under the radar – as so much trade and service work is.

The book is available on Amazon and the audiobook, read by me is on Spotify and soon to be on audible. The movie is… Well there is no movie yet, but one of the contributors, Yanchep local, Matt just may decide one day to follow the life of some of our often unseen but faithful people who live their faith daily without any applause or recognition 🙂

The subtitle of the book ‘because ordinary work is sacred ground‘, is probably a little understated, but it’s true nevertheless. Wherever you find yourself there you are. That is the space God has placed you.

This morning I drove down to Morley to install a diesel heater for someone who couldn’t bring their van to me. The van was parked on a tarp—on grass and it has been raining, so there were large puddles of water everywhere. Not ideal. I asked if we could move it onto the driveway. That meant driving the client’s old GQ patrol and reversing into a nearly impossible hitch up situation. And… it was an old van and very low to the ground which meant nearly scraping your face on the floor as you slid along on the damp concrete minus the creeper because it just wouldn’t fit.

I could feel my ire rising with every moment spent “getting ready to work” rather than actually doing the job. And then the “other voice” blew in my ear to chill out, smile and relax. Simple enough, but it would have been easy to allow my frustration to spill over onto the young mum who was at home to meet me.

I was conscious of my change of attitude—conscious that I walked in already a little frazzled because of the heavy rain and the thought of enduring a soaking in a place a long way from home. In the end it didn’t rain, the job went well and I was able to shift my headspace to make it enjoyable for the client rather than allowing her to hear the brunt of my Monday morning blues.

Living faith in the workplace isn’t sexy or flashy. There’s no prizes for being a decent human being. But sometimes that’s all it takes to be different – to recognise the sacred ground that is ordinary work and to step up rather than away.

I set the book at $25.00 but for some reason it’s now $29.38 – not sure why – and the hardcopy version is some crazy amount ($100 last I checked!)

When I wrote my first book I felt it was important to have a brand name publisher on it. It felt like it maybe it gave it a little more credibility and gravitas than a random self publish.

But this time I have decided to figure out how to go it alone and self publish – not that I now feel famous and ‘out there’, but simply because I don’t think it actually matters that much. Using a publisher also means they take 90% of whatever $$ are actually made from the book. In my case that isn’t a huge amount, but I’d still rather take that 90% and pocket it myself.

So I’ve worked through the KDP process and the same with Ingram Spark (a bit more finicky). Findaway voices (Spotify) are my go to for audio-books and right now I reckon I am just a few days of final checking away from hitting ‘publish’.

The simple reality is that even if I ‘co-published’ again with some kind of better known name, they aren’t going to be marketing my book anywhere, or trying to help me spread the word.

It will get known in my own circles and through word of mouth, rather than clever advertising. I imagine more and more authors will take this route. I know some of the better known authors are already moving away from big name publishers for this exact reason.

So here’s a kind of ‘preface’ I have slotted into the book that gives you a feel of its focus and intent. If you know of someone who would find this book valuable then please spread the word.

---

A Quick Word?

So who writes a book and calls it Hi-Vis Faith?  

Who intentionally pitches a book at tradies, manual workers and other people generally not typified as readers? Because that is exactly what I am doing here.

Well… Someone who has lived in that world for 20 years and knows it from the inside. 

Someone who understands that hi-vis workers—both men and women—want to follow Jesus faithfully in their workplace. 

Someone who knows theology needs a practical edge if it is going to carry any real currency in everyday life.

For the last twenty years I have operated three different trade-based businesses while also pastoring churches and reflecting on the challenges of a practical working life.

I have read many books about work and deeply appreciated the way others have articulated the importance of our work in God’s world, but I’m yet to come across someone who writes with the gritty realism of having been immersed in a rough-edged trade environment for an extended period of time. 

So this is my attempt to bridge that gap. My hope is that it may empower and inspire these people to make better sense of their work in God’s world.

I could have landed a gig as a full time pastor—but for various reasons as I entered my mid forties, I found myself working in irrigation and landscaping. It was hard work, often done in the brutal summer sun. And it was unfamiliar territory to me. I had always worked in ‘white collar’ jobs, as a teacher or a pastor. Initially I was a fish out of water. These weren’t my people.

But I soon found myself enjoying the different culture—the conversations that happen on a worksite that are quite distinct from those in a church foyer or a school staff room. I appreciated the raw and unfiltered questions about “religion” that were often tossed at me.

I enjoyed doing a hard day’s work and then feeling proud as I looked at the lush green lawn, as I saw the smiles on the faces of the property owners.

As you read—or listen—to this book, I hope that you will feel equipped and inspired to go back to work knowing what your role is as a Christian.

I won’t be teaching you clever ways to convert people. That isn’t why you go to work. I will be helping you develop the conviction that your work matters. And I hope you will receive encouragement to represent Jesus well in tough and sometimes toxic work environments. 

Because when you “make it your ambition to lead a quiet life and work with your hands”, as Paul said, people will notice. And if you live that life with integrity and faithfulness, you will win the respect of your co-workers, your clients and your community.

I spoke at a church recently where a young woman introduced herself to me and when I asked about her work she said coyly, “I’m just a check-out chick.” To her credit, that girl’s mother spoke before I could get the words out and said “You are not just a check-out chick.” I applauded the mother’s observation and her insistence that her daughter refuse to let her work be diminished by that label. Although this book is shaped by the hi-vis world, the deeper questions it explores belong to all of us.

Whatever you do—your work matters and the way you do it matters too. You have a role to play in God’s kingdom on this earth and your capacity to live your faith in whatever workplace you find yourself in is deeply needed in our world today – because ordinary work really is sacred ground.

Andrew Hamilton

June 2026

Sometimes when I’m talking with people who are new to public speaking and teaching in church I ask them to simply tell me in one sentence what you want to communicate.

If you can do that then you probably have a good grip on your focus. If you can’t then you need to do some more work to get it sharpened. I sense it is the same with writing.

From the time I began working on this book one quote from Martin Robinson has been at the forefront of my mind and has shaped my thinking. Here it is:

What would it look like for a church to function in such a way that the primary goal of church life was not to attract more people into attendance and membership, but to produce people who had a profound sense of their personal relationship to God, their resource in Christ and could take that reality into the world with them.

Martin Robinson – Invading Secular Space

I find this an absolutely inspirational idea summed up so succinctly. It’s an idea I could give the next 10 years of my life to without blinking. If only we could reimagine how we approach our work then we may well see a significant transformation in the landscape.

This is not a new idea. It’s just one that has never been fully explored. Why?…

I would almost bet that if I were to ask someone in your church what their ‘ministry’ is that they would look within to something they are doing inside the church family. Very few naturally and spontaneously look to their workplace. I wonder why that is?

So my hope is to take a run at this issue in the years to come and hopefully help people re-imagine their workplace as their first port of call when it comes to ministry – not in a wacky wierdo kind of way – but simply as the place where we reflect and live out the life of Jesus and where we are visible for 38 hours of our week.

I am doing some speaking around the place on this issue, so if you think your church would find it valuable to be challenged to reframe their thinking in this way then hit me up. The rest of this year is pretty tight, but 2027 is wide open. It’s the kind of subject that is best done over a 3-4 weeks time frame so that the ideas can get developed. If you want to see a few examples then check out Riverview Church on Youtube or Parkerville Baptist where I have done some work already.

When I set out to write this book it was with blue collar tradies in the forefront of my mind – people who know what it is to work hard and go home physically tired. It’s the space I know well and the ‘gap’ I see in the various books that have already been written with a focus on faith in daily work.

It’d be fair to say this mob aren’t renown for being avid readers, especially of non-fiction, theological type works. So I feel like I’m getting a knack or writing for niche groups. Last time was those exploring a bivocational approach to church leadership – a tiny group of people – and this time it’s tradies who like to read. Probably not a huge group either…

While this group were my initial focus my hope is that the book will be read well beyond. So it is written in a way that is accessible and easy to grasp.

That said I began to have a few wobbles as to whether the title would limit its’ reach. Truth is, it probably will. So I mused on various other titles; “Faith With Dirty Hands”, “Blood Sweat and Faith” as well as a couple of others, but after wrestling it around for a couple of weeks I’ve come back to my original focus and decided to lean in hard – hence the cover image of greasy hands gripping a spanner.

I was chatting with friends the other night about the choices and said “it’s not the difference between selling 100 000 copies or 50 000. It’s more a case of whether it sells a 1000 or 500.”

Thanks to all who offered their thoughts and reflections. It was helpful in the musing. I knew however that the decision was eventually going to be mine to make – rather than by Facebook poll or similar.

And yes, I realise the cover looks fairly blokey, but again, I just have to accept that I’m a blokey kind of man who writes in a blokey kind of way – so it fits.

Anyway, if Tim Keller, or Jon Mark Comer – two of the more popular authors in this space – haven’t lit a spark in you, then you might like to try Hamo’s Hi-Vis Faith. It will be published in a few weeks when I have had time to finish the audio version. My hope is to throw digital, paper and audio out at the same time, knowing that for some people audio is their staple these days.

Those words are not an apology. They are a deflection. A cop out of a mistake.

So try this instead

“Im sorry. I got it wrong.“

That is an apology. Note the difference. In the first you are the person with the problem. In the second I am the person with the problem.

An apology accepts responsibility and liability – something few people are prepared to do today.

Why the rant?

I tried to buy a car this week from Seaview Ford in Clarkson. I bought my current Ranger there 4 years ago and with 94k kms on the clock I wanted to turn it over. My previous experience was simple. Walked in, signed up and purchased a car. I asked for no red bow or extended ‘handover’ – just a white Ranger with a canopy. And that was what I got.

So I went back in December for a service and saw a potential change-over opportunity. The sales guy agreed to switch my wheels and canopy to the new car and we had a deal. The contract came thru but the ‘canopy’ part had been left off. No notification – just glad I read this stuff. A few phone calls later we find that sales guy has overstepped and made a mistake. No sale.

Then this week on Thursday I spot a car that is very good value for sale at Seaview, so I head down to take a look in between clients. Time is compressed but I haggle hard, we agree to a changeover figure for my car, shake hands and I head back to work with the contract to be emailed thru to me for reading and signing.

I let the sales manager know I wouldn’t be signing anything without a proper read, as previous experience had burnt me. But the contract didn’t come in. Ryan had got busy and didn’t get to it… (15 minutes of work he had told me if I wanted to wait, but I couldn’t wait.)

No contract Thursday and Ryan rings Friday to make sure I coming in to sign. Yep I am… once I read it… He is busy again so the contract eventually get sent to the wrong email address at midday before I correct him and he gets it to me. I am now running behind schedule for my next job in Caversham so I tell him I will read and sign later that day assuming I finish in time.

I hustle thru the job, hit the road for the Ford dealership, only to be rung by Ryan and asked if I’d like a different car instead.

“Nope – just the one we agreed on”

“That might be a problem… someone may be paying a deposit on it and getting finance for it”

‘Might be or are?’ I ask…

Short version – they sold the car to someone else – and that person ‘needed finance’. Translation = they were going to make a lot more out of customer ‘B’ than me so I got shafted.

Having busted my butt from my end to get everything sorted I was beyond belief that they would simply sell it to someone else without even a courtesy call to check and see if I was coming in.

But no. Car sold. And without a contract there is no actual agreement. I can even appreciate that as I’m sure some people give them the wind up. What I can’t get is the complete lack of courtesy to call and check in and then the subsequent ‘not our problem’ response.

I had a short conversation with the sale’s managers boss this morning who told me he was ‘sorry I felt that way and that they never want customers to have a bad experience’.

Which is verbiage for “bad luck mare” It was a very bad experience… and the ‘apology’ was even worse.

‘What about if I could do a really good deal on the other car?’ he asks as we end the conversation.

I’m incredulous… ‘I wouldn’t buy it off you if you took $10K off it .’ I said. ‘You will never see me again. And I will make sure other people are aware of how you do business.’

I’m just one insignificant cog in a very large machine, but I see the ugliness of people being nothing more than a dollar figure in a deal – and when a higher dollar figure walks in you lose. It’s the machine we all exist in and have to navigate, but we can soften its edges with kindness and respect. Or we can simply let it grind on…

So there is one dealership I will never return to… where the ‘car salesman’ slurr actually feels like it fits.

Heads up to those buying cars.