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Brought to you by Argenix. And we continue with our American Stories. Shelby Houston was getting ready to preach at her church for the first time back in December of 2021. She was as nervous as any sensible 18-year-old girl would be about such a thing. Her father Richard Houston, a 21-year veteran of Mesquite, Texas's police department, did what good fathers do. He sent her a reassuring text. Not long after that text was sent, Shelby's dad responded to a domestic disturbance call in a parking lot outside an Albertsons grocery store.
When he arrived, a married couple were fighting over an alleged affair. When Houston tried to calm the situation, as he'd done time and time before, the married man shot him in the chest, then shot himself in the head. Houston died. His assailant survived.
Americans don't know Houston's name, but we should. His life was a testimony to the hundreds of thousands of men and women in blue who protect us from harm. At the memorial service at Lake Point Church in Rockwell, Shelby, Houston's oldest daughter, was one of three people to speak at her father's funeral.
She was preceded by Mesquite Chief of Police David Gill and Assistant Chief Doug Yates. Here is how Shelby started her eulogy, describing that text her dad sent her, not knowing his life would soon end. There's so much I want to say about my dad, but I would have to stand up here forever to do that.
I tried to find all the perfect words and to formulate all the right thoughts for this. But as I got up to preach last Wednesday for the first time ever, my dad sent me this text. He said, Sometimes it feels overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you everything will be OK. You got this. Remember that no matter what, me and your mom got your back always and forever. Have fun tonight.
Speak from your heart and don't look back. You will do great. I know you will. No doubt.
I love you. I don't think he knew that this text would actually mean more than just another Wednesday night for me. It would actually be the text that would send me into speaking at his funeral a few days later.
Shelby somehow kept her composure and she just kept going. I know many of you knew my father as an officer. You may have seen him in his uniform with a badge and a squad car. But I saw my dad in a different fashion, always in his plaid pajama pants, book in hand and his silver Ford F-150. Home has felt lonely without him here. I keep waiting for him to pull up in the driveway to come inside and tell us about some crazy car chase he got into.
Or maybe even how terrible the 7-Eleven taquitos were for lunch. You never knew it was always a surprise that he had gotten into that day. However, there was no heavier surprise than to receive a call that your dad had been shot and killed.
It will be a day I never forget. Shelby then shared some personal stories, stories that reflected her dad's nature and character as a man and as a dad. There are plenty of stories of his time spent as an officer, but there was another side of him that I had the privilege of knowing as my dad.
He was goofy, incredibly too sarcastic. There was always a joke up his sleeve. There was never a volleyball, baseball or football game he was going to miss. Never a band competition he'd miss either.
Not for me or my siblings. He was our biggest fan on and off the court and field. He encouraged me, pushed me and supported every decision I made. What happened next and what Shelby shared with friends, family, neighbors and members of her church congregation was a remarkable testimony to her faith, which she'd learned from her father. Like her father's example, her words were a reflection of God's grace and mercy here on earth. I remember having conversations with my dad about him losing friends and officers in the line of duty.
I have heard all the stories you can think of, but I've always had such a hard time with how the suspect is dealt with. Not that I didn't think there should be justice served, but my heart always ached for those who don't know Jesus. Their actions being a reflection of that. I was always told that I would feel differently if it happened to me. But as it's happened to my own father, I think I still feel the same. There has been anger, sadness, grief and confusion. And part of me wishes I could despise the man who did this to my father, but I can't get any of any part of my heart to hate him.
All that I can find is myself hoping and praying for this man to truly know Jesus. Shelby, at life's darkest hour, was thinking not about the soul of her father. She knew he was in heaven, but about the soul of the man who took her father's life. Shelby valiantly holding back tears brought things back to the man she so loved and who so loved her. There was still a lot of life I was looking forward to spending with him. Eighteen years with you, Daddy, was just not enough time. You were faithful, steadfast, kind, loving, selfless and hardworking.
On December 3rd, you were silenced. But you will forever live on in my heart today and all the days to come. I'd do anything in the world to see you again, to laugh with you again, to watch your terrible dance moves, to listen to another joke, to practice volleyball with you, to watch birds with you again, to catch one more fish, to wrestle one more time, to hug you again, to hear your voice at last. In my deepest wound, I saw the glory of Jesus, and it has astounded me. You're my hero, Daddy, and I'm so proud to call you my father.
I love you most, and I'll see you someday soon. Houston received many commendations in his 21 years on the job serving and protecting his community, 48 to be precise. He also had two life-saving awards in his career. There were also multiple incidents where he was able to talk down suspects, including a man attempting suicide. But Houston's greatest work, his most important work, he saved for his family and his God. His daughter's eulogy was the fruit, the proof of a life well lived, a life of faith beautifully walked. The story of Richard Houston, the story of so many fallen soldiers and their families, here on Our American Story. ... ... ... ... ... ... . .
