Legacy of Love: What My Parents Have Taught Me About Marriage

The Rancherita's parents

I have a memory from my young adult years—probably when I was still in college—that’s stayed with me like it’s etched into my bones. My mom was sitting on the couch, her hand pressed to her forehead, trying to ride out a headache. I can’t remember if she asked for help or if he just noticed. But what I do remember is my dad coming into the room with a glass of water and some pain medicine.

He didn’t just hand it to her from across the room or set it on the side table. He knelt. Right there in front of her, holding out relief in his hands—quiet, steady, gentle. Such an accurate description of my dad. My mom took the medicine, said a pained but grateful “thank you,” and when she was finished, he took the glass back to the kitchen without saying a word.

That image has stayed with me ever since. Not because it was dramatic or flashy. But because it was love in its most beautiful, most sacrificial form. In that moment, I remember thinking: That’s what I want in a husband someday. Not someone to serve me in a beta-male, subservient fashion, but someone who loves me through service. Through kindness. Through showing up.

Ephesians 5:25 commands husbands to love their wives the way Christ loved the church, and gave himself up for her. Both parties--husband and wife--are commanded to die to self daily, and sacrifice daily for each other. Wives, through submission to their husbands, as the church submits to Christ (willingly). Husbands, through loving their wives in a sacrificial way.

I grew up surrounded by that kind of love. My parents made daily sacrifices for each other and for our family. My dad woke up at the crack of dawn to be home in time for dinner every night. My mom delayed finishing her four-year degree so she could stay home and raise us. They gave and gave and gave—not just to us, but to each other.

Last week, my dad went in for surgery on an abdominal aortic aneurysm. Given his age, and the type and location of the aneurysm, it wasn’t without risk. In the hours leading up to surgery, my mom was antsy—fussing with his blankets, asking the nurse for another one, frustrated by the inconsistent information from the hospital. She didn’t want to miss a single detail. She wanted him healed.

And when it was finally time to take him back, he looked at her with that same gaze I’ve seen countless times over the years. That sweet, gratitude-filled, almost puppy-love look that says, I’d marry you all over again. After more than 50 years together, getting to watch that kind of love lived out is a gift I’ll never take for granted.

This year, my husband Darrin and I will celebrate our 20th anniversary. His parents have also been married for over 50 years. Like me, he was raised in a home where hard work, self-sacrifice, and deep commitment weren’t just talked about—they were lived.

I pray, constantly, that the love story we’re writing together, the way we serve and show up for one another, will leave our kids with the same kind of memories.

That they’ll grow up knowing what strong, steady, sacrificial love looks like.

That they’ll see the beauty in the quiet acts—the knelt-down moments—and know the kind of legacy that builds.

Because at the end of the day, love doesn’t always--or often--look like grand gestures.

Sometimes, it looks like water, medicine, and a heartfelt “thank you.”