HUNTSVILLE, Texas – Steven Lawayne Nelson was pronounced dead at 7:14 p. m. Central Time on February 5, 2025, after receiving a lethal injection of pentobarbital at the Huntsville Unit, ending a 14-year legal battle that divided a community and reignited national debate over capital punishment.
His final words, delivered with chilling calm, were “Let’s ride, warden.”
Nelson, 37, had been convicted of capital murder for the March 3, 2011, brutal slaying of Pastor Clinton “Clint” Dobson, 28, at North Point Baptist Church in Arlington. The attack also left church secretary Judy Elliott, then 69, severely beaten—she survived but was permanently scarred both physically and psychologically.
In his last moments, Nelson turned toward the glass where his wife, Helen Noah Duboce—whom he married just weeks earlier inside the prison—stood watching. “I love you. Enjoy life,” he told her.
Then, with a steady voice, he added: “It is what it is. I’m not scared. I’m at peace.
Let’s ride, warden.”
As the 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝑔 took effect, witnesses reported he whispered “love” one final time before his body succumbed to involuntary gasping and trembling. The execution lasted 24 minutes from the start of the injection to the pronouncement of death.
Nelson’s execution proceeded despite last-minute appeals from his legal team and protests from faith leaders and death penalty opponents who questioned the strength of the evidence tying him directly to the murder. Until his final breath, Nelson maintained that he was only a lookout during the robbery, claiming other men—never identified or charged—actually killed Dobson.
Prosecutors presented overwhelming forensic evidence: Nelson’s fingerprints were found inside the church, the victim’s blood was on his shoes, pieces of his broken belt were recovered at the scene, and surveillance footage showed him driving Elliott’s stolen car and using her credit cards hours after the crime. A jury convicted him in 2012 and sentenced him to death.
In a statement released after the execution, the Dobson family chose not to dwell on Nelson’s death. “Clint loved people and he loved God,” the statement read. “We miss his laughter and his love every day.”
The family urged grace, mirroring the pastor’s own teachings.
Nelson’s execution came on a day that also highlighted a procedural shift: Texas abolished special last meals in 2011 after a condemned inmate ordered an expensive feast and then refused to eat it. Nelson received the standard prison meal served to all inmates that day.
Outside the Huntsville Unit, dueling groups gathered. Some held signs reading “Mercy, not vengeance” and cited biblical calls for forgiveness. Others demanded justice for Dobson, holding photos of the young pastor who had dedicated his life to service.
The case will remain a flashpoint in debates over capital punishment, particularly surrounding defendants who maintain innocence despite extensive physical evidence. Nelson’s insistence that others were responsible, coupled with his stoic final words, ensures that unanswered questions will haunt this case far beyond the execution chamber.
Steven Lawayne Nelson is dead. But the story of the crime inside a house of God, the pastor who loved unconditionally, the grandmother who survived, and the man who swore he wasn’t a killer—until the very last second—will not fade.