Andy was one of my favorite people to spend time with, one of those rare friends who made every conversation feel both grounding and expansive. Even though we were peers, he was, in many ways, a role model to me, a kind of barometer for what was right. He had this introspective way of moving through the world, always willing to question why he believed what he believed, and to test those thoughts honestly in conversation.

He filtered everything in his life, current events, even pop culture through the lens of Scripture. But what made that so compelling was his humility. He never carried himself with intellectual superiority. Instead, he invited people into the process with him, making wisdom feel like something we could pursue together rather than something he had already mastered.

Andy balanced that pursuit of ever‑increasing wisdom with a wit that could disarm you in an instant. I will deeply miss his dry sense of humor, the way he could drop an abstract pop‑culture reference into the middle of a serious discussion and somehow make the moment richer, not lighter.

I’ll miss his quest for the perfect pizza dough and his experiments with espresso roasting—little passions that revealed how much joy he found in the details of life. I’ll miss talking with him about movies, music, and literature, and teaming up with him in our ongoing campaign of “good food bribery” to get her to watch the films we wanted to experience together.