“Pop, I’m so glad you finally accepted the invitation… Welcome HOME!” – Braden

“I’m going to be in heaven with you!” – Braden’s Pop

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Reader: There have been occasions when I’ve wanted to share about our dad’s life, but I respected his wishes for privacy. Now that he’s gone, perhaps the time is right. I’ve tried to condense these words while not diminishing their value. I’ve done my best and that’s all my father ever asked.

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Before our childhood home vanished from time and decay, it stood in a cotton field on the South Plains of Texas. Our family recently gathered near that home last week to say goodbye to our dad, Merlin Speed. On August 27, 2025, their wedding anniversary reunion became a celebration of 70 years of marriage, a sad goodbye, and a tribute to our father’s life.

We will all likely occupy multiple houses over a lifetime, but to most people, “home” is considered that of our childhood. Those formative years serve as a lens on our worldview and can serve as a helpful source to later draw upon if our home was healthy. However, too often the lens is distorted by trauma, dysfunction, or abandonment. That was the case with my dad.

Dad began life in a converted chicken pen with no electric power and no plumbing. Their family moved within a few years, but the address changed more frequently than the calendar. He certainly wasn’t blessed with the kind of childhood home he would dedicate his life to providing. Although our home wasn’t fancy, I felt blessed. In dad’s passing, we aren’t as mournful as we are thankful.

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The past few days have been full of remembrances. Memory Lane is so congested with stories, it’s difficult to enumerate them much less do justice in their telling. One sticks in my mind that now seems timely to share.

Farm kids learn best by watching and doing. We did a lot of both. After every rain storm, the routine was to jump in dad’s truck to go “check the farms”. It was less a matter of looking at the rain soaked fields than feeling a sense of hope for a successful harvest. On these crop tours, dad often considered it necessary to leave the pavement and venture down ungraded county roads or directly into the muddy cotton fields. Both options met with impassable paths only suitable for tractors or road-maintainers. Such roads were certainly not made for a Ford F150 pickup truck.

I watched in fear as his steering wheel would begin turning from a reasonably navigable road into a treacherous mud field. We all were thinking but never saying, “Why?” With few exceptions, we would become stuck to the bumpers with the tires spinning futilely in the red mud. Then, we’d watch in awe as dad gunned the engine forward and reverse, holding his mouth just right, occasionally using some choice words, and finally gaining traction. First it would move inches, then a few feet, and finally we’d be unstuck, able to continue the tour.

His truck never once became so buried that dad couldn’t clear it with sheer determination, effort, and inventiveness. He never recruited nor accepted help. Watching him do this enough times, I learned the unstuck skill and even recall my own son’s amazed admiration when I freed us from a mud slick while shooting guns on the outskirts of Prosper. A street sign now marks that spot at the intersection of Braden Lane and Legacy Boulevard.

I always respected dad for his abilities to “fix” broken things and his resilience in overcoming his childhood experiences. However, success in overcoming extreme hardship can have a devastating side effect called self-reliance. Much of his life, he leaned entirely on his own strength, abilities, and knowledge. At least he thought so. Fortunately, many friends, neighbors, and family saw hope and potential in our dad. Along with our faith-filled mother, an unknown number of others refused to leave him stuck. While he was spinning, they were praying.

For years, my own prayer was that God would speak to dad in words only he could understand. We’d all encouraged his acceptance of Jesus’ invitations, but pride is a thief and it stole a lot of his life. On October 22, 2023,, I received an unexpected but overdue call. I can’t recall the exact time but will never forget dad’s words. “Son, I woke up this morning and heard a message I can’t even explain. The words weren’t new, but their meaning was clearer than ever. It was like someone speaking directly to me”. Through his tears my dad rarely revealed, I heard him say, “Son, I’m going to be in heaven with you!”

The conviction in his testimony was certain and I’m fully convinced my father had finally been freed. He spoke of only one regret in having remained “stuck” so long in his pride. It had taken our father all his life to finally become unstuck, but he didn’t do it by effort. He had surrendered. Many had extended a hand to pull or push him through, but ironically, it was in giving up that finally moved him forward.

Our father’s view had finally become cleared from the distorted lens he’d worn so long and he was finally able to see Jesus. I’d give anything to have been there to witness their meeting, but I’m joyful in knowing our son watched it. In awe, I can imagine him reunited with his Pop who had finally become unstuck.

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Reader: If this story rings familiar, we pray Jesus’ standing invitation is one you’ll consider accepting. Our dad’s story is testament to the fact that it’s never too late. A relationship is all He seeks and it’s completely free. Praying for those stuck today.