This is What 50 Years of Faithfulness Looks Like

My parents, Kim and Margaret Coutts, have been married 50 years this month, a milestone that only 5% of American marriages achieve. They have extraordinary lives, worth writing about. 

My dad was serving as a pharmacist at a military hospital at Fort Dix, New Jersey when a fellow officer knocked on his door and asked, “If you died tonight, would you go to heaven?”

My dad was irritated – angry, even – but couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was just one of many instances in their early adulthood when God inserted Himself into their story, and it wasn’t much longer before they turned their lives over to Him. It wasn’t a flippant decision. It was the beginning of an entire re-orientation of their priorities. 

About four years later, my mom and dad attended a missions conference at First Baptist Church in San Jose – the one whose foyer boasted the spiral ramp that surrounded the two-story fountain. When the speaker gave a challenge, while the background music played, they walked forward to the altar to offer their lives in missionary service.

They spent almost a decade of service in missions in Liberia and Ethiopia, despite my mom crying every single day for the first six months. It was a sacrifice: her own mother refused to write or speak to her for the entire first two years. My mom taught elementary school, and my dad served as head pharmacist at ELWA Hospital, then as hospital administrator.

The year we returned, while still working as chief pharmacist at Kaiser, my dad went on to revolutionize the missions program at Hillside Church in San Jose. He started the partnership with Tanzania that changed the course of my life and dozens of others. He began a missions prayer ministry that has continued for three decades. He led numerous other short-term trips and developed several other overseas partnerships. 

Meanwhile, while my mom taught kindergarten, she launched a ministry in the low-income neighborhood down the street from our church. Thirty years later, that ministry has flourished and is thriving. My mom invested in scores of children in that neighborhood, including taking in two of them for several of their college years, enveloping them as surrogate daughters. 

My parents have done some big things in their 50 years of marriage. But what strikes me the most is how they have been faithful in the little things, the things that most people don’t see. 

When we lived in Tanzania, there were many Thanksgivings when I would call my mom and ask her about their plans for the day. Sometimes there weren’t other family members around for them to host. “We’ve collected our batch of widows!” my mom would say cheerfully, referring to their intentional effort to find widows in their church who had nowhere else to go for the holiday.

They can tell me the names of almost every neighbor on their block. One widow in the neighborhood is a long-time friend, and my parents invite her weekly for tea. They pull weeds and cut the grass of other neighbors who need extra help. When I take walks with my mom, she often has a garbage bag, cleaning up sidewalks as we stroll. One neighbor told me, “In the decades we have been neighbors Margaret and Kim have been the sweetest and most understanding neighbors we have ever had. We are lucky and honored to have lived by them.”

They have a radar out for the lonely, the hurting, the outsider. They volunteer to be matched up with international students and go out of their way to invite them into their lives. The obligation might only be for a year, but they go above and beyond – attending graduations and weddings. One said (who has known them for ten years), “I believe not all the matched students/families stay in touch for a long time, but we have been keeping our friendship so long. It’s all because of your virtue and kindness.”

I can’t keep track of the number of people they have mentored, discipled, loved. They’ve hosted many Bible studies and small groups (and after several years, gently pushed those group members into starting their own!). My parents are renowned for their hospitality. If a missionary needs hosting, ask Kim and Margaret. If a committee needs a meeting place and a meal, they will always say yes. This goes back as far as I can remember; we had guests at our dinner table more often than not. 

Some friends wrote to them: “You guys may not realize that you were responsible for getting us through our short term in Liberia in 1987. One evening we took a walk looking for someone to hang out with and we ended up at your house. Popcorn, games, and corny jokes opened the door to learning more about Liberia, missions, parenting, teaching, and following Jesus. Your example has been with us all these years we have served on the field.” This family has served ELWA Hospital in Liberia ever since – including during the Ebola crisis of 2014. 

Inheritances could have allowed my parents to increase their standard of living. But instead, they choose generosity, over and over again. I don’t know all the details, but I know that it’s radical. One lady wrote to me, “When I was laid off and a single mom, they sent me a check that I’m sure they prayed over the amount because it was what I needed to pay my mortgage.” They don’t broadcast this, and they probably aren’t thrilled that I’m sharing it. But I think the Church benefits from living examples of sacrificial giving. It certainly has inspired me.

In honor of their anniversary, I hijacked my parents’ contact lists and sent an email asking for memories. Messages from around the world poured in: multiple nationalities, religions, and walks of life, income levels, some who aren’t proficient in English. In a world where many Christian leaders collapse into a cesspool of pride and hypocrisy, I can testify that my parents are the real deal. They are not perfect; they know their need for a Savior. But they aren’t interested in the flashy, showy version of Christianity that gets them status. They’ve discovered that abundant life comes from choosing Christ and dying to your desires. They are living testimonies that true fulfillment and joy spring out of a life lived in service to others. 

They’re probably embarrassed I am doing this; I didn’t ask for their permission. But I decided to do it anyway because often people like my parents loom large and intimidating and people think, I could never do that. I could never be a missionary or start a ministry. But anyone can pick up trash, or look out for widows, or gather people together to pray. And that’s their legacy to me.