We remember a man whose very name, John Steven Austin, carried the weight and character of the man himself. You don’t get a name like that by accident. It is a name that demands attention, and those who knew John know that he lived up to every bit of it.
To know John was to love him. He was a man who moved through this world with a unique code, one that prioritized the simple, honest creatures of this earth often above the complexities of his fellow man. He had a heart that softened for the animals he encountered, he loved them so deeply that he wouldn't even eat them. He found a companion in that beagle that most people spend a lifetime searching for, and if you saw the two of them together, you knew that bond was the realest thing he possessed. He gave his loyalty to that dog, and in return, he found a peace that few men ever manage to secure.
Standing here now, it is impossible to ignore the sting of regret. It is a bitter thing to realize that a friend has been gone for ten days without knowing, a gap in time that leaves you searching for words you can no longer say. I wish I had told him that I didn't just see him as a friend, but as a brother. That is a weight I will carry.
But there is a deeper, more profound regret that gnaws at me today. I look back and I see a man who was my friend, but a man who stood on the other side of the divide when it came to the things that matter most. I knew John as an atheist. I respected his path while he was here, but in his absence, I am struck by the heavy reality of that distance. My greatest regret in this life will be that I didn't push harder, that I didn't walk him to the feet of Jesus Christ.
I accept the man that John was. I accept the world he chose to live in. But I cannot hide the sorrow that comes with the finality of his passing and the questions that remain. He was an epic man in his own right, and he will be missed with a sincerity that words can hardly capture. He walked his own way, he loved his own way, and he leaves behind a space that cannot be filled. Rest easy, John. You were a true character, and the world is quieter and less interesting without you in it.