I love romance. Hallmark movies, rom‑coms, soft music swelling at just the right moment—give me all of it. But those stories usually fade to black right when the real work begins. In real life, love is shaped long before vows and cake. It’s shaped by who we are becoming.
And that’s why I believe this: when we work on ourselves before getting into a relationship, we give future love its best chance.
The Two Dads I Loved
Growing up felt like watching the same actor play two roles.
Weekday Dad was steady and kind. He never missed a day of work, showed up to all my brother’s games and concerts, and started tickle fights that made me laugh until my stomach hurt.
Weekend Dad was different. Not worse. Not unloving. Just different.
He was still kind, and I was always secure that he loved me. He surprised me with a tiny Dachshund puppy “because her hair is red like yours.” He had standards. He didn’t gossip, lose his temper, or swear—and he expected his kids to live honorably too. If he walked through the living room and heard something on TV that didn’t sit right, he would quietly walk over and turn it off. My dad’s love was never in question. I was and forever will be a daddy’s girl.
He just had a weakness. And when his drinking took over, it didn’t make him cruel—it made him absent.
I learned to brace for the storms I couldn’t control, especially the ongoing tension between him and my mom. I lived anxious, quietly scanning the horizon for trouble. I worried my parents would divorce. Who could blame my mom? Their marriage was sick and getting sicker. Until death do us part felt less like a vow and more like a question they were both too tired to ask out loud. Still, my mom held those vows as sacred—to her and to God—and she stayed faithful to that belief.
Twenty‑Four
People say we change in two ways: slowly, through intentional growth—or suddenly, because life leaves us no other option.
My dad’s moment came when I was twenty‑four.
He asked for forgiveness—from God, from my mom, and from us—and quit drinking cold turkey. He cut ties with the influences that fed his addiction and never looked back. Forgiving him was easier for me than it might have been for someone else. I could always see the man underneath, and my mom had spent years shielding us from more than we ever knew.
But forgiveness inside a marriage? That’s a different mountain.
And God showed up in a big way. As He always does.
What Forgiveness Looks Like Up Close
There were no sweeping movie moments. No soaring music. Just two imperfect humans choosing, one ordinary day at a time, to move toward each other again.
It started quietly—cooking together in the kitchen, the same routines, a joke that landed. Then came friendship. Inside jokes. A loyalty that deepened without fanfare.
Later, when Dad grew sick, Mom became his devoted and fierce caregiver. It wasn’t duty. It was love—reborn, steady, and incredibly tender. By the time he passed, they had been married sixty‑two years.
And here’s the part I still hold close: more than half those years were wonderful.
Not because life was perfect.
But because they kept growing.
What Their Marriage Taught Me About Love
I didn’t learn about relationships from lists or books. I learned by watching two people practice forgiveness with shaky hands until their hands finally steadied. I learned that working on yourself isn’t about chasing perfection. It’s about tending the parts of you that hurt so they don’t end up running your relationships. It’s about letting growth happen in small, almost unnoticeable ways.
Not perfect. Just… better. And better is enough to build something beautiful.
A Quiet Note to Anyone Waiting for Love
You don’t need to be fully healed to be loved well. (If that were the standard, the human race would end by Thursday.) But tending your heart before you fall in love—learning your patterns, softening your rough edges, letting God and time do their work—makes room for a relationship to thrive when it finally arrives.
My parents’ story convinced me of this: you don’t have to be perfect for love to grow. Just willing to ask Jesus for help—and then follow Him.
I wish you great, great happiness, Friend.
Related Stories
The Love That Lasts Isn’t Loud
It’s the Little Things
Freezing at Five
Song for the Soul (because of course I have one)
If you’ve been here for more than five minutes, you already know:
I have a song for every occasion.
Joy, heartbreak, childhood memories, warm marriages, lukewarm marriages…
If there’s a feeling, I’ve probably got a track ready to roll.
So naturally, today felt like a “When Love Comes to Town” kind of day.
There’s something about this song — the grit of it, the honesty of it, the way it admits, “Yeah, I didn’t always get it right… but love still found me.” It fits perfectly with the way my parents’ story unfolded, and honestly, the way so many of our stories go. We fumble, we wander, we get it wrong. And then Love shows up anyway — train-whistle loud, flame-bright, impossible to miss.
And since my posts are legally not allowed to end without music
(self‑imposed rule, but still),
here you go…
“When Love Comes to Town.” By U2 (composer) and BB King.
