degree, righteous indignation, and unwavering antagonism, Gramps had a habit of collecting powerful enemies wherever he went.
My father had seen another side of the family, though. He loved how tight-knit they were, their love and willingness to sacrifice for one another, their dedication to complete fidelity to the Scriptures. Shortly after joining the church, my father took a job at Phelps-Chartered, the family law firm. He would later credit his successful career in human resources to his time working there in his teens and early twenties. The Phelps family taught him diligence, he said—responsibility and a proper work ethic.
He fell in love with my mother, and they married a short four years after he joined the church, when he was twenty and she twenty-six. But only after he’d proved himself worthy to Gramps.
My grandfather demanded that all thirteen of his children and their spouses attend law school and continue the family business, but my mom had always had a special position at the firm. She was dearly beloved by her father, and they’d had a unique relationship from the time she was young. She and Gramps began to work closely together when my mom was just fourteen—and of the seven eldest Phelps children, my mom was the only one who would never abandon the church to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. She urgently took to heart a saying that her father repeated often: “The best ability is dependability.” As a result, her parents leaned on her more than any of her brothers and sisters, and she was entrusted with ever greater responsibility: keeping her siblings in line, managing the law office, taking care of the finances, and more. She learned to run a tight ship, to never settle on her lees. There was always something more to accomplish, and my mother was dedicated to doing it all.
In order to secure my grandfather’s permission to marry my mother, my dad finished high school, worked at the law office while completing a four-year bachelor’s degree in just two and a half years, and, as he told it, narrowly beat out my uncle Tim to get the last available spot in Washburn University’s law school class that year. Neither my mother’s pace nor my father’s slowed after they married. “I hope you will have the joy of the promise of Psalm 127,” Gramps told my parents at their wedding. “As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.” It was expected that there would be many children, and it was also expected that those children would be provided for. Understanding this, my father continued working his way through school—next up, an MBA program—and, almost out of thin air, created for himself a second career as an author writing textbooks about legal software and law office management.
Meanwhile, my mother managed the Phelps law firm and cared for our growing family. Her role in the church was ever-expanding, as well. She gave interviews to reporters, organized cross-country picket trips and the scheduling for the whole congregation: the daily pickets in Topeka, the mowing, the daycare, the weekly church cleanings, the monthly birthday parties—her contributions were without end. The dynamics of my parents’ marriage never fit with the paradigm commonly associated with conservative Christianity: that of an authoritarian father dictating to a mealy-mouthed mother who just needed to stay in her place and recognize that her husband always knew better. Wifely subjection was certainly in the Bible, but in practice, my parents operated as a team. My father couldn’t have been further from authoritarian—gentle, intelligent, hard-working, so respectful of my mother’s thoughts, and so undeniably in love with her—and my mother couldn’t have been further from mealy-mouthed. My father never weaponized his husband status to demand my mother’s silence or obedience, and their mutual respect was an example for all. My parents had each found a perfect counterpart in the other, and even Gramps—who hadn’t wanted to believe anyone could be worthy of my mother—was impressed.
By the time my dad finished law school, there were three of us kids: my two older brothers, Sam and Josh, and then me. Over the next sixteen years, eight more children would be born into the Phelps-Roper household. It took me several years to stop shaking my head in bewilderment each time someone would