Growing up, I had a front row seat to seeing two people work

When Mia Love said, “Growing up, I had a front row seat to seeing two people work really hard. My dad scrubbed toilets at a private Catholic school for a while, and that was to help me get through school,” she spoke not only of sacrifice, but of the sacred nobility of labor born from love. In those humble words lies the spirit of every parent who has toiled beyond their strength so that their children might rise higher. It is a truth as old as the earth itself — that greatness often begins in the quiet acts of those who will never be praised, those whose sweat waters the roots of another’s dream. Hers is not merely a story of hardship, but of devotion, the kind that transforms struggle into purpose.

There is a holiness in the image she paints: a father, bent in service, performing what the world calls “lowly work” with dignity and grace, not for wealth or fame, but for his child’s future. Such a picture belongs among the oldest of human stories. It is Abraham leading Isaac to the mountain; it is every laborer who, unseen by the world, builds temples not of stone but of legacy. In Mia Love’s words