I met Skip in the summer of 1981 in the office of a household moving company in Durham, North Carolina. We were both working humping furniture—yes, that’s what it’s called. Skip was making some money during his break from Duke Divinity School. I had recently moved back to Durham, where I had also gone to Duke, after giving up on my Master’s degree at the University of Denver.

A bunch of us were gathered in the company’s office and somehow Skip and I ended up jokingly squaring off and bumping chests, with Skip shouting humorously about who was the better humper.

Soon we were assigned to a long-distance move to the Carolina coast. While driving there, Skip told me about divinity school and how he had a passion for writing. I told him I had just left my master’s program in poetry writing. “No kidding,” Skip said, and we proceeded to talk about writing and books until we got to the seaside house we were moving the furniture into.

After we were done, despite not having any swimsuits, we decided to take a dip in the Atlantic before driving back, quite damp, to Durham.

We were best friends from then on. Skip entered moving company lore later that summer on a move to Baltimore. Skip and two other humpers needed to get a piano up four flights of narrow stairs on a hot and humid day. They were almost at the top with the two other guys on the down side of the piano and Skip above. The other guys were exhausted, and the piano started to slip back down the stairs. It was close to running over the two humpers when Skip grabbed the piano and with a tremendous heave, pulled it up onto the landing. His two companions were completely flabbergasted and when they got back, told pretty much everyone in the moving community what Skip had done.

Eventually, Skip got his divinity degree and moved back to Florida; I moved to Minnesota, but we remained very close despite the distance. We’d call each other when Duke was in the NCAA tournament, which was almost always, and watch the games together, connected by the phone. Even though we weren’t always in touch, whenever we did connect, we picked up right where we left off.

My folks had a place in Vero Beach and every other year, we’d be down there for Christmas and usually Skip and I would get together. We celebrated the births of our respective sons as well as the five Duke national championships and other life milestones.

Everybody loved Skip, and with good reason. I never met a more generous and caring person. He cared about everyone. He would literally give you the shirt off his back. I know he invested lots of his own money in helping people in his congregation because how could he not? He was Skip.

He was the ultimate people person. I remember a trip I took to Melbourne a couple of years ago. We went to this great hot dog place and while we were waiting for our food, Skip was staring out the window. There was a couple sitting between us and the window, and Skip said, “Excuse me. I’m not staring at you. I’m just checking out that car over there.” The couple laughed, Skip introduced himself and by the time the hot dogs came, he had their whole life stories, got the guy’s business card, and we were all laughing. I am sure he embarrassed plenty of other introverts like me with his effusive and inclusive personality!

Skip was a man of passions, for his congregation, for Florida, for his sports teams, especially Duke, and for strategy games, especially Magic the Gathering. I understand that it was his wish to have half his ashes scattered in Sebastian Inlet and the rest portioned out for the stadiums and the playing fields of his favorite teams. That’s so Skip.

Skip was an author, writing study guides for the Bible according to the Simpsons and also Harry Potter. But my favorite book by him is Unlocking the Mysteries: 150 FAQs about Revelation and the End of the World. I had always been flummoxed by that book of the Bible, but Skip contended that Revelation was a message of hope and not destruction. He taught me a lot.

Skip was at work on a novel when he got so ill. It’s called I Am Judas. It’s about a pastor who was disabled and down on his luck who suddenly is transported back in time and meets Jesus. You can read a few chapters of it on SkipParvin.com, a site I built for him to encourage him to write more on the novel. He said he didn’t have time and I said, “you’ve got half an hour a day. Just write something, anything.”

After haranguing him over and over, I realized I should take my own advice, and got to work seriously on a novel I had been picking at since 1989. Back then, I had an idea for a character loosely based on Skip and I called him up, asking if he’d mind. “Of course,” he said. “I’d be honored.” and said he knew the difference between life and a character in a novel, so I could put whatever words I wanted to in the character’s mouth. Which I did.

I published the novel about a month before Skip passed. One of the protagonists is a large, unconventional, jolly, extremely well-read, movie junkie, United Methodist minister in Miami who argues theology with another character. Remind you of anyone?

The book is called Misheard Lyrics: What if everything you heard was wrong? It’s about faith, religion, friendship, astrophysics and whether we’re living in a simulated universe. So not too complicated.

Skip was my sounding board, co-conspirator, and first reader. He suggested many plot points and helped me with several theological discussions that my characters have. I wanted one of my characters to discover that Magic: The Gathering was real. She is transported into an arena and has to fight Magic characters. Skip helped me plot out the battles, making sure that the action followed the rules of the game.

Skip helped me at other times. When he was at Tuskawilla, my dad was dying of kidney cancer in Vero Beach. I was in a long period of unemployment and naturally quite depressed. I made several trips to Florida over the last few months of my dad’s life and usually met up with Skip. He helped me deal with loss and lifted my spirits. So, I am grateful I was able to be there for him toward the end.

It’s a cruel irony that Skip, the ultimate people person, died alone. The man who gave so much to those in need didn’t know how to ask when he himself was in need. After all he did for me, I wish I could have done more for him.

But I will remember him forever as the kindest, most caring, smartest friend a person could have. We often teased one another about who was smarter. I always maintained that it was me. But Skip, it was you.

I’ll leave you with the words he would say whenever we would part: “Be good.” And Skip, see you later.