My condolences to the family. Jeff Pease—a man who lived with boundless enthusiasm, unshakable faith, and a heart that overflowed with love for everyone he met. Jeff wasn’t just a man; he was a force of nature, a gift from God, and to me, he was the best friend anyone could ever hope for.

Jeff had a way of turning every moment into something special. He didn’t see limits—because the word "can’t" simply wasn’t in his vocabulary. Where others saw obstacles, Jeff saw opportunities. “But God,” he’d say, with that spark in his eye, pointing us back to the One who makes all things possible. That phrase wasn’t just something he said; it was how he lived. “But God”—two little words that carried him through every challenge, every dream, and every triumph.

He was a man of science, endlessly curious about the world God created. Whether he was marveling at the stars, tinkering with some wild invention, or diving into the wonders of the universe, Jeff’s enthusiasm was contagious. He’d talk your ear off about the latest discovery, his voice brimming with excitement, because to him, science wasn’t just facts—it was a glimpse into the Creator’s brilliance. And creative? Oh, Jeff could dream up ideas that left us all in awe. He had a mind that danced with possibilities, always building, always imagining, always inspiring.

But as much as he loved science, Jeff’s true passion was his faith. He was thoroughly engaged in the Bible—studying it, living it, sharing it with anyone who’d listen. Church wasn’t just a place he went; it was his heartbeat. He’d be there, front and center, singing louder than anyone, praying with a fervor that shook the room, and encouraging us all to lean into God’s grace. “But God,” he’d remind us, “can do what we can’t.” And he believed it with every fiber of his being.

To me, Jeff was more than a friend—he was a brother. He was the kind of best friend who didn’t just show up when it was convenient; he was there anytime, anywhere, for anybody. Need help moving? Jeff was already loading the truck. Feeling down? Jeff was at your door with a laugh and a prayer. He’d give you the shirt off his back, then figure out a way to make you laugh about it. That’s who he was—selfless, generous, and always ready to lift others up. If you met Jeff, even once, you felt it: you were his friend, and he’d do anything for you.

Jeff lived a life that shouted, “But God.” He showed us that with faith, there’s no such thing as "can’t." He taught us to chase our passions, to love fiercely, and to trust in the One who holds it all together. 

So, Jeff, my best friend—thank you. Thank you for your laughter, your creativity, your faith, and your friendship. We’ll miss you more than words can say, but we know you’re home now, with the God you loved so much. Until we see you again, we’ll keep living like you did—full of heart, full of faith, and never saying "can’t." Rest in peace, my friend.

Chris Hankla