Alex Johnson

Alex Lawrence Johnson passed peacefully in his sleep during a weekend of service, family, and fellowship. A more fitting end to a peaceful warrior’s life—I can’t imagine.

When someone passes, often we reflect and remember only the good things and the passed are immortalized as superheroes. In Alex, it was all true at all times.

The example. A mountain of a man. Golden Boy. Al Pal. Leader. Lover. Husband. Father. Alex was the glue—he fit into every category, no matter what you named it.

No words are enough to hold the weight of this loss. Too big. Too much. We’re still gasping for air, still trying to understand how the world turns without him.

To say he was deeply loved doesn’t come close. Alex was essential—to his family, his friends, his community. And now we’re left learning how to be in a world he no longer physically fills.

But oh, how he filled it.

Alex was the kind of man who didn’t just hold space; he created it. For his wife. For his kids. For his siblings. For grown men who called him “an example.” For friends in need, colleagues in crisis, and strangers who didn’t stay strangers for long. Alex gave more than most of us will ever dream: hope, direction, guidance—literally from his marrow, he gave.

He lived with purpose, with faith, and with joy. Above all else, he lived as a Dad. His four children were his pulse. Every decision, every grind, every anxious night was for them. Fatherhood wasn’t just a title—it was his mission. And he did it the way only men like Alex can: quietly carrying more than anyone could see, and never letting it touch the ones he loved.

Alex felt it all—the pressure, the weight. He wrestled worry. He faced down the unspoken burdens of a man determined to protect his people, just like his Dad. And still, he stood. Stoic in the wind. Graceful under pressure. A shield for others to follow behind. You wouldn’t always know how heavy it was. He made it look easy—because it was never about him.

His eyes were golden. His soul matched. There was something in them—warmth, wisdom, the promise that if you were with him, you were safe, seen, and valued.

To know Alex was to witness steadiness. Not performative. Not quiet. Just a grounded constant.

Funny. Fierce. Loyal. A steady shoulder for all—the kind of steady you could count on without question. The kind of man grown men call an example. The kind of Dad his kids beamed at and who will always be carried as their compass. The brother who brightened the darkest days. The kind of husband who lived “I love you” eternally.

Gentrie–His girl. His rhythm. His heart. Alex’s one, in this life and all that follow. Together, they built a home rooted in faith, laughter, and love—raising four beautiful children in the middle of it. And now, in the ache of his absence, she carries their love forward with strength, faith and family.

Jess calls him her golden little brother. Her first and forever best friend. They were inseparable. Her grief is the shape of a soul losing its mirror.

Alex’s life wasn’t just defined by relationships—it was relationships. He was that guy: the one you could text at midnight, who would help you move your 150 lb dog if it died, and drop everything to pull a fallen neighbor out of the tub. Alex had a sense for the important. Catching Mark’s record ball with the presence of mind to recognize and create space for it. To make a lasting impression, and give someone he loved a special moment with him.

Al was the only thing as constant as change. He built. He fixed. He made things okay.

He would say it now, to comfort us again:

It will be okay.

Alex didn’t just show up for others—he set a higher standard.

After losing his Dad, Alex wrote himself a letter—a vow to live in a way that would honor the name he carried. A credo to lead with vision, to walk with purpose, to stand tall, and to carry the weight with pride.

“Live your life so that when you see your Dad again he will say: Well done. I’m so proud of you, Al Pal.”

He did exactly that. Like he said he would. Like he always did.

Like a rock.

As a disciple of Jesus—in title and action—Alex served with grace, loved with humility, acted with conviction, and stood, a head above us all, arrow-straight.

Now we are all carrying the weight. Of grief. Of loss. And, as days pass, of gratitude. That we walked with him. Talked with him. Laughed and cried with him. That we were held by him.

That we were lucky enough—all of us—to be his people.

Alex named his company Invictus—Latin for unconquered. It wasn’t a boast. It was an echo of his letter. A quiet, personal code to rise under pressure, to endure with grace, to be the rock in the storm.

Now, that code is ours to carry.

We are not Alex. But we were shaped by him.

We can strive to live like him.

To love fully.

To laugh deeply.

To stand tall.

To be, as he was… Invictus.

Guided into his next phase by his father, Greg, Alex is survived by his loving wife, Gentrie, and their four beautiful children, Oaklie, Skylie, Nixon and Maddax; his mother, Alice; his siblings, Ryan and Jess; and so many more who will carry his memory forward in everything we do.

Please join us in honoring Alex.

Viewing is Thursday, June 12, 2025. 6–8 PM

Funeral services Saturday, June 14, 2025, Funeral begins at 11 AM

Location:

171 W. 240 N.

Vineyard, UT 84059

We’re so grateful for your prayers, your presence, and your patience as we grieve the unimaginable and celebrate the irreplaceable life of our Golden Boy.