The Life Force - Peb Jackson

The Life Force – Peb Jackson 1944-2022

I only knew one person when we moved to Colorado Springs in 1996 so when that person called me to go mountain biking, I jumped. I should have been clued in that someone with a name that sounded like an action hero would make it interesting, but it wasn’t until we started down single-track trails that I got a feel for what I was up against. I chased the white-haired thrill-seeker down as best as I could, but two trips over my handlebars later, I asked for help. “You’ll want to stay off those front brakes. They tend to launch you on these downhills. … you might want to get a new bike, too.” It was the first of many life suggestions I was to receive from Peb Jackson, yet 30 years later, the image of a 52-year-old man riding so irresponsibly down a technical mountain trail remains etched in my mind. “Who is this guy?” I asked then. Three years after his passing, I am still asking, “Who was that guy?”

Peb was the greatest expression of life that I have ever encountered, a life he generously extended life to his many friends. He had a laughably big Rolodex but was generous in connecting those he loved. He was a man with a pure heart, something I learned through trials and testing. One time, I rode over him on a long-distance bike ride--he was on the pavement because of the crash I had started. Somehow, I rode over him without falling myself. Instead of yelling at me, he calmly asked what happened. After the explanation, he shrugged, got back on his bike, and we finished the ride together. Who does that? Nobody that I knew.

Sometimes I felt like we were the Odd Couple starring Mother Theresa and Dennis Rodman. Once, when we were riding up a trail, he started yelling at a group of riders to slow down on their descent. One of them took exception to his yelling at them, cussed at him, jumped off his bike, and was angrily walking toward my friend when I grabbed him on the way and threatened him with similar bad language. Taking a swing at one of the kindest people on Earth was something the universe couldn’t abide. Moments before this incident, I had been telling Peb how living in Colorado had made me a much calmer person.

Peb restarted Sunday services at the Broadmoor Chapel years ago and I was one of his guest speakers. His introduction to my 20-minute message was generally longer than the message itself, but he was like that with everyone. He saw things in people that they didn’t see in ourselves so he enthusiastically spoke words of encouragement and affirmation over us all.

As amazing as Peb was, he was human and there were times when I got frustrated with him. He often left out key details about events he was recruiting us for. The bike ride with the crash was pitched as “a social spin,” rather than the brutal, 165-mile ride that it was. I barfed for 24 straight hours from seasickness on a tiny boat taking us across the Indian Ocean on a bonefishing trip he put together. A grueling mountain bike ride along the Continental Divide was described as being “mostly downhill.” And so it went. He wanted his friends to join him so badly that little details were often omitted. Peb trips were always great but seldom what you signed up for.

If you traveled with Peb, you had to be okay with the fact that his phone was an appendage, and he was continually checking on it to talk with friends. But when we traveled to a remote place without cell service to chase fish, he and I were always bunkmates and this was the very best of Peb. We were like 12-year-olds at camp, falling asleep to discussions about God, life, books, and whatever else came up. There was no end to the topics we’d discuss and he was passionate about them all.

Peb loved Jesus in the most natural way you could imagine. He talked about him openly with others, wanting them to know Jesus just like he wanted them to know Joe Leininger, but of course, with different implications. Peb didn’t change his voice or his style in the way that some do when having a “religious conversation.” He lived a fully integrated life, never acting one way with this group and another with someone else. Peb was always Peb.

In 40 years of being in love with my wife, I have only seen a handful of couples that I wanted to emulate, and Peb and Sharon were one such couple. When we were away together on a trip, Peb called her constantly, referring to her as “babe.” While that sounds a bit much, when you saw them together, it made sense. They were passionate about each other until the very end, and one of the reasons Peb hung on so long after a 20-year battle with cancer was that he didn’t want to leave her, nor her, him.

I was privileged to be his friend and even better, to have been allowed to spend so much time with him over the years. One of my few regrets is that I didn’t get to be with him at the end. The cancer had weakened him to such a level that he grew self-conscious about not being the strong and vital physical man at the end that he was through our adventures together. But of course, the bravery and grace with which he lived his final year might have been as inspiring as any of the rest. I was able to tell him how much I loved him and how grateful I was for his friendship, a sentiment he quickly echoed. That was enough.

It has now been almost three years since his death. I thought about him last week when I was walking on the salt flats of the Atlantic, casting at a school of elusive bonefish. It is an addiction that he started. I still haven’t gotten rid of the impulse to check in with him with a text or a call about a new book or idea. Doing so always puts a grin on my face picturing his infectious smile. It comes also with a sense of sadness for the hole in my heart that he left.

The other day, I was surprised when I mentioned his name to someone who hadn’t heard the name of Peb Jackson. This is the destiny we all face and one that would not have bothered him in the least. He lived his life in the present moment, gulping down the “now-ness” of whatever God had allowed him to experience, leaving little undone and living as fully as you could dream or imagine. This was the legacy of Peb Jackson and one I’m forever grateful for.