This is a collection of memories. I brainstormed all week and put down in words what I wanted to say to Randall Allen, but I probably wouldn’t have been able to make it through two sentences. And sometimes, when I get into that emotional place, the best thing to do is to get outside, regardless of the weather. This tribute paints a picture of a man whose generosity wasn’t just an act, but a state of being. If there were a stipulation to “No, the dead know nothing,” it would be; except at their memorial to hear their tributes.
○○○ A Tribute to Randall Allen: A Harvest of Goodwill ○○○
The Shadow and the Light
I have often asked myself: When will Randall’s goodwill expire? Our journey with Randall and Pam Allen is marked by the celestial and the terrestrial. On August 21, 2017, the Total Solar Eclipse plunged the world into six minutes and twenty-three seconds of astonishing darkness. For our family, that day marked a transition — the move from God’s Farm to Randall Allen’s Farm.
God’s Farm: The Beginning of a History
When will Randall’s goodwill expire? Our history with the Allens began in Carroll County, GA, at God’s Farm. I remember the first time we met Randall; he arrived with his daughter, Sophia, and a crew of ten tree planters from Honduras to clear property for us. It was my birthday. We made Salt Spring Tacos in the camp kitchen for everyone, and we ate in the camp pavillion. His crew sang “Happy Birthday” to me in Spanish. From that moment, his spirit of service was clear.
The Church: A Faithful Affirmation
When will Randall’s goodwill expire? To think of Pam and Randall is to think of the church. Randall and Pam purchased and donated the property used to build our new church building in March 2024. Randall was the head elder and the “last man standing” at every potluck — the same man who would bring potato salad made with fresh eggs from his own beautiful hen house.
I remember his Sabbath School teachings and the meaningful true stories he shared. He’d always deliver something amazing. The story I remember most was the 2018 rescue of twelve boys and their coach from the Tham Luang cave in Thailan. The expert rescuers determined that the only viable option for survival was for the boys and coach to be unconscious and carried out by experienced divers. The true story is a meaningful allegory to consider.
As a new Adventist, I once made a comment on Revelation 14:7. Randall looked at me and said, “I believe the same thing.” It was just one of those small things, but it stuck with me.
It was a profound affirmation, something that bonded us. He had this extraordinary ability to lift up those around him, always attuned to what others needed. He could make anyone feel like the best version of themselves. He didn’t have to do those things. But he always did. And that was his magic.
I dreamed about Randall, at least a dozen times. I don’t know why. Maybe it was scripture. Maybe it was because he accompanied my boys to Columbia on a mission trip for two weeks.
The Allen Farm: A Sanctuary of Peace
When will Randall’s goodwill expire? We were always invited to the steady exchange, to the dedication of staying connected, and of breaking bread together at his home on holidays and special Sabbaths. The real joy was always in the sharing. When asked what he would miss most about playing basketball for Boston College, the athlete put his head down to cry and said, “Going out to eat.”
From the window of our second-story barn apartment, I would watch for his truck, often loaded with new farm equipment and side-by-sides.
On Sabbath afternoons, he would take my husband and boys to ride 4-wheelers through the Chattahoochee National Forest bordering his farm.
He didn’t just share his land; he shared his life. He told us we could live there until Jesus returned. I believed him. We lived on the Allen Farm for two years.
UCLife: The Artist of Foundations
When will Randall’s goodwill expire? Randall was an artist whose medium was the earth and stone. When he laid the block foundation for our bunkhouse, he worked with the precision of a painter, wearing his hat backward and his signature white t-shirt.
He loaned us his excavator, letting my boys, Caiden and Keller, sharpen their skills of operating the heavy machinery for our wells and driveways.
His support for Urban Community Life was unmatched. Out of 50 donations in 2025, Pam and Randall gave three times. That generosity still moves me.
I had just sent out a batch of hand painted watercolor thank-you cards on Friday, February 20th. I never knew how timely those final words of gratitude would be.
The Door Held Open
When will Randall’s goodwill expire? In many ways, a heart attack was a fitting way for Randall to leave us — not because it’s the leading cause of death, not because death comes to all, but he simply had a full and thankful heart. He loved unconditionally and without expectation.
Unambiguous Loss
Losing Randall is an unambiguous loss during an already difficult season. But as we keep walking, we lean on the promise that the God of Resurrection sees our faithfulness, even in winter when the ground is cold and hard and wet, and you can see your breath.
We remember that seeds must die for flowers to arrive and that things buried will ultimately come back. An Easter harvest is on the horizon. “The dawn will rise, weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning,”
//Psalm 30:5
This week, the early spring snowdrops and daffodils are well supplied in the pastures and along Gore-Subligna Road. They stand as a silent guard for a man who was always helping others, regardless of his own burdens. “I Believe in Spring Time” by The John Rutter and The Cambridge Singers sing with me like a musical memory point, one that plays mental scenes of springtime.
https://open.spotify.com/track/7a0XKO1PIj4ryRLSxh1beg
The last time I saw him was last Sabbath. True to his nature, he was holding the door to the Sanctuary open for me. He was always opening doors and always a step ahead of me, and I was more than happy to let him lead the way.
Our family loved Randall Allen deeply. He is no longer running his race. His earthly goodwill finally expired on Sunday, February 22, 2026 — but the seeds he buried in our hearts will bloom, find their way to the light, and show their smile.
And I still can’t believe he’s not here to enjoy the sight and inhale the fragrance of the daffodills. The pain of losing Randall would make it palpable, but as the old saying goes, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
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