I grew up in Chicago, 13 years of going to the same church, with the same people. Michael was one of those. I remember one of my favorite memories with him was a sleepover for my Pirates of the Caribbean birthday party.
During our swordfight, when Michael was slain by my hand, I remember him lying still on the ground like a good sport, while the rest of us kept fighting until my mom said “Michael you can get up!”
Later that night, we had our heaps of blankets piled on couches ready to sleep, but we were still talking as is the case with most sleepovers. Michael, however, was still and silent on the ground.
I remember saying, “Guys. Michael is trying to be mature by pretending to be asleep,” and Michael sitting up and exclaiming, “HOW DID YOU KNOW?”
It was always that kind of friendship: mutual understanding, late nights of talking, and even though a 2000 mile move from Chicago to Seattle might’ve caused the occasional silent spell, we were still able to keep in touch, picking up the phone right where we left off, like a never-ending story of what God was doing in each of our lives.
Michael was a friend and a voice of wisdom to me in an unhealthy dating relationship. When I struggled in my faith, he was steadfast and was with me when that unhealthy relationship ended, in the hurt and loneliness. We were each other’s wingmen, rolling with the punches of life together.
Growing up, Michael and I were the dynamic duo of goofballs. I remember playing video games together, singing stupid, made-up songs, getting buried to our heads at the Warren Dunes, going out into his backyard to play in cool forts, or eating the rhubarb from his garden, before going inside for cookies, chess (he would always win), and card games.
Michael was always interested in my older brothers, my younger brothers, my sister, my parents, me, my plans, everything. He wanted to hear everything, I felt like a celebrity. I loved the chance to get him to open up about his own life, his vulnerable heart for God, and his longing to see God face-to-face.
Michael clearly had so much practice at being grateful, that it was his default perspective on life. I remember having talks where I was stunned and even doubtful that he could be THAT grateful for everything in his life. He was a challenging, transforming example to me.
Michael was an example of steadfastness of heart, his love and faith in the Lord were inspiring, and he taught me much in the way that he lived.
Near the end of his life, Michael and I had scheduled phone calls, which kept us in touch, at least once a month if not more. I’m convinced that the Lord did this, in order to give me a glimpse into the blessing that was Michael’s life to others, before taking Michael to his true home, where he has always belonged.
When I talked to Michael a few weeks ago I remember him telling me that he loved his new job, that he and his boss would play games in the hall when things were slow. That his new roommates were great, and pretty much the only reason a roommate had left the house he was living in was that they had gotten married. He was clearly excited by this fact. He told me he’d won lottery tickets in a raffle, and we prayed earnestly together that he would win, fantasizing together about what WE would do with his money, I immediately pre-grafted myself into his winnings.
I remember getting off the phone with him smiling, marveling at the ways God had provided in his life, and enjoying the fact that we got to share in each other's lives even across the country.
On Sunday, April 10th, there was no time for anything. There was no time to pray, to beg for the Lord to spare Michael’s life. There was no time to call, to connect with the family and hear how he was.
When I heard I got up and went for a walk.
The first thing I said to God was “Is he with you?” And as I began to sob behind the empty church building outside of our house I knew and felt the assurance from the Lord, that today, Michael was with Him in paradise.
There is no miraculous resolution, there is no happy ending to this story for us yet. Just the pain and grief of loss.
Yet, when I read 2 Corinthians 3, I can’t help but feel the Joy of the Lord at the prospect of going to be with Michael in eternity:
“Since we have such a hope, we are very bold, not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face so that the Israelites might not gaze at the outcome of what was being brought to an end… Yes, to this day whenever Moses is read a veil lies over their hearts. But when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
On April 10th, 2022, Michael, with unveiled face, beheld the image of his Creator. He saw and is seeing, without restraint, the power, the glory, the splendor, the all-consuming love of our Yahweh. I know that on that day, he was transformed into that same perfect, holy image, in all of its glory forever, and ever. And I also know that on that final day, Michael will rise again, with me, and with all of us, to behold and reflect the image of God together, for all eternity.
Michael, you will always be my brother. I miss you more every day. Passing the deadline for our monthly check-in was like a sword stroke to the stomach.
But I find my greatest joy in knowing that you are perfect, and complete, lacking in nothing, because of the glory of God that you reflect perfectly throughout every moment in paradise. I hope you climb the tallest of mountains, sing the most joyful songs, dance without restraint, and feast with your bridegroom to your fill.
I’ll be there soon, wait up for me.
Your fellow goofball, Owen Pronovost