Petr was my friend, and Petr is now gone.
These are two inexorably true facts that struck me as we landed in Chicago, greeted by a flood of backlogged messages. Among them, a brief notification from Jitka, Petr’s beloved wife, informed me of his passing. It was surprising but not entirely unexpected—I thought there was a little more time.
More than a month earlier, our family had spent the afternoon of June 21st driving around Ceske Budejovice, our Czech “hometown” where we lived and served for 10 years. We revisited old houses, childhood haunts, and forests where our kids made forts, picked blueberries, and found refuge under the shaded trees. It was a walk down memory lane, filled with nostalgia and a sense of belonging.
One particular stop was our first home in Ceske Budejovice, which bore witness to our early years of adapting, learning, and sometimes struggling. We spent countless hours in a tiny room—once a hair studio—converted into our home office. There, we learned Czech, navigating through eagerness and despair. In those early years, English speakers were rare, making encounters with them all the more cherished.
It was divine providence that placed Petr Kopnicky, an air traffic controller and former U.N. Peacekeeper, as our next-door neighbor. Our friendly conversations over the short fence turned into coffee and kolache-fueled fellowship in Petr’s living room. Petr was more than a friend; he was a guide into Czech culture and mindset.
Petr’s pragmatic and often stubborn demeanor was a constant source of cultural lessons. He questioned why we left our porch light on all night, why we didn’t check our electricity bills for accuracy, and why we wasted money on such customs. His insights helped me understand that despite surface similarities, the Czech mindset was vastly different from my own.
Petr and Jitka became our companions, confidants, and advocates. They helped us navigate government offices, utility companies, and even found us a surrogate grandmother for our children. Their support was invaluable, especially when Jitka saved our son Gavin’s life, preventing him from falling off a play structure.
Returning to Ceske Budejovice, we hoped to see Petr and Jitka. When we arrived at their house, everything seemed the same, but the person who answered the door was a shadow of the Petr I knew. He was gaunt and frail, suffering from advanced stages of ALS. Despite his condition, he welcomed us in and shared his struggles.
Our conversation shifted to spiritual matters, a topic Petr had always been resistant to. He mentioned meditating on the teachings of a German mystic, Bruno Gröning, in hopes of receiving healing. I gently suggested praying to God instead, but Petr’s response was lukewarm.
As our visit ended, I asked if I could pray for him. For the first time, Petr agreed. I placed my hand on his shoulder and prayed for God’s comfort and strength. It was a moment of grace, though I didn’t know if it reached his heart.
The rest of the summer passed with Petr constantly on my mind. I prayed fervently for his soul, knowing time was running out. On July 29th, I made the drive from Prague to Ceske Budejovice one last time, determined to share the gospel with him. The journey felt sacred, like the final steps of a pilgrim’s long journey.
Petr’s condition had worsened, but he welcomed my visit. Speaking in Czech, I shared verses from the Bible, explaining our need for salvation through Christ. Petr listened, but it was hard to gauge his reaction. He mentioned similarities with Gröning’s teachings, but I couldn’t discern his true understanding.
We shared a final prayer, and I took a selfie with him, capturing our last moments together. Jitka, ever the gracious host, packed some kolaches for my kids. As I left, I gave Petr a smile and a final farewell.
Petr passed away the next day, just a day after my visit. Jitka’s message informed me, thanking me for being there at the end. I felt a deep sense of loss and a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Petr called out to God in his final moments. I entertain the notion of a reunion in the Kingdom, knowing it’s unlikely but still hoping.
Reflecting on this experience, I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to have seen and prayed with Petr. I thank those who supported our ministry, knowing that every effort to share the gospel is priceless. Petr was my friend, and though he is gone, the seeds of faith planted in those final moments may yet bear fruit.
The Urgency of the Gospel
Petr’s story is a poignant reminder of the brevity of life and the urgency of the gospel. James 4:14 tells us, “You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” Time is short, and eternity hangs in the balance for every soul. As believers, we have no other option but to be zealous in our mission to proclaim the gospel, knowing that every moment is an opportunity to lead someone closer to Christ.
In 2 Corinthians 6:2, Paul writes, “Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” This urgency should drive us to live with purpose and intention, to seek out those divine appointments, and to boldly proclaim the truth of Jesus Christ.
We may never know the full impact of our words and actions, but we can trust that God is working in ways we cannot see. Let us be faithful in our calling, knowing that our labor in the Lord is not in vain. Let us seize every opportunity to share the gospel with those around us, remembering that it is God who gives the increase. In the end, the greatest reward is seeing lives transformed by the power of the gospel and the hope of eternity with our Savior. May Petr’s story inspire us to live with such a sense of urgency and compassion, honoring the One who calls us to himself.
