Young Dennis Rainey was in a bind. The high-school senior had canvassed most of his hometown of Ozark, MO, trying to sell magazine subscriptions, and had come up with nothing. Zilch. Not a single sale. Dennis--never one to quit--ventured outside the town of 1,300 to the countryside. At a farmer's doorstep, the sandy-haired teen again presented his pitch, but this time mentioned his father, "Hook" Rainey, who sold propane to the farmer. That did it--the farmer invited Dennis in for cookies and bought two subscriptions. With his father's good name before him, Dennis saw farmer after farmer respond in kind, until he sold so many subscriptions he set a record that still stands at Ozark High School. "I won 25 stuffed animals, a tape recorder and a radio," Dennis, now 50, remembers. "But I realized I really hadn't sold anything. All I had done was hitchhike off my dad's reputation and the legacy he left me."

Dennis Rainey takes seriously the godly legacy left by both his parents. And he takes seriously his commitment to leave a good name for his six children. Each day he lives out that commitment, through modeling what he believes, before the 1.5 million listeners of the "FamilyLife Today" radio program and the thousands more who read his (and his wife, Barbara's) many books. Not to mention the more than 92,000 people who attended FamilyLife's Marriage and Parenting Conferences this year, or the more than 140,000 readers of FamilyLife's magazine, or the thousands who access their Web site, now in five languages.

That Dennis throws himself into living what he believes surprises no one who watched him grow tall in small-town Missouri. Dalcie Rainey, Dennis' 87-year-old mom, claims her second son, the "roadrunner" as she calls him, came out feet first, hit the ground running, and hasn't quit since. Peers at Crowder Junior College elected him student-body president, and he played basketball and baseball on partial scholarships.

God grabbed ahold of the college sophomore in 1968 and directed his never-say-die intensity to heavenly pursuits.

As radical students around the country were demonstrating against Vietnam, Dennis and a group called "Radicals for Christ" were running Jesus Christ for president of the student body at the University of Arkansas. "Make Him president and resident of your life," the platform lobbied, and Christ's four planks spelled out the evangelistic points of the Four Spiritual Laws. "When Dennis was a young Christian," says Robert Lewis, a classmate at Arkansas and now Dennis' pastor, "he was a lot like Peter. He was so zealous he could almost run over you."

Following graduation in 1970, Dennis joined Campus Crusade for Christ, where he began working with high-school students in Dallas. "It was then that I got my first vision for the impact of the family," says Dennis. "I realized all the work I did with a student could be undone in a matter of minutes by an ungodly home situation."

Within a few years, Dennis' own home situation changed when he was challenged to consider marrying a long-time friend from the University of Arkansas, Indiana native Barbara Peterson. "Our former campus director cornered us at a wedding," says Barbara, "and told us we needed to either consider marrying one another or stop spending so much time together." Within a week the two Campus Crusade staff members were engaged, and six weeks later they married. "I wouldn't recommend doing it that way," Barbara concedes, "but it was what God wanted for us at the time."

Later, at Dallas Theological Seminary, Dennis' vision for strengthening families crystallized. His convictions intersected with Campus Crusade's growing concern for the marriages of its own staff members. "There was little talk about the family then," Dennis recalls, "but by God's Spirit another fledgling ministry by the name of Focus on the Family was beginning to send materials to churches."

In 1976 FamilyLife launched its first conference for engaged Campus Crusade staff members. "I'd only been married four years," Dennis laughs, "but that was longer than the pre-marrieds and qualified me as an expert." In time, those couples--now married--wanted further guidelines. Word-of-mouth expanded the demand, and before long, Dennis and the other speakers multiplied themselves by training more people to speak at conferences. That same year Dennis' father died, and the young father of three was profoundly struck by the responsibility of leaving his own godly legacy.

Twenty-two years later that responsibility still impassions Dennis as he vows never to quit the battle for families and always to consider the effects of his own actions. "The Scriptures warn that my sin will be passed down four generations," he explains. "And my righteousness--the righteousness that Christ works in me through the Holy Spirit--will be passed down to a thousand generations. The difference in numbers of people that [my actions] will affect is staggering."

That sobering fact and the very fear of God helps Dennis make wise choices. Once while attending a conference, Dennis stepped into a hotel stairwell to find an open pornographic magazine staring him in the face. For a split second, he paused and temptation teased his mind: I can pick that up. No one will know. Then truth kicked in: Yes, God will know. I'll have to confess it to Him, and I'll have to confess it to Barbara. I can't do that. And so Dennis stepped over the trap: "The fear of the Lord turned me from evil that day."

Dennis also employs a candid accountability with the men he works with, never hesitating to challenge them. "Are you clean?" he'll ask, blue eyes piercing. "Did you just lie to me?" he shoots back after the response. "When I am tempted or there are opportunities to compromise," says long-time friend and Campus Crusade staff member Crawford Loritts, "often the Lord will bring to my mind the fact that I might be talking to my buddy D.R., and he's going to ask me, 'Are you clean?' The Lord uses that a lot."

The Lord also uses Dennis' authenticity. "Dad is the same in his private life as he is on the radio or in his books or wherever he goes," says the eldest Rainey son, Benjamin, 22. And that authenticity results in honestly telling his real-life stories of success and failure. "The first year we did the broadcast together," says Bob Lepine, co-host of "FamilyLife Today," "there were a couple of times when I stopped him and said, 'Do you really want to tell hundreds of thousands of people that you and Barbara had this big argument the other night?'"

Yet that very transparency draws people to him. "What [the audience] appreciates most is hearing an authentic application of Scripture," Dennis believes. "Not being pious or perfect, but presenting [your experiences] in a way where you can pass on truth through even some of your biggest mistakes."

Teaching by example has proven an excellent method for Dennis and FamilyLife, who still can't quite grasp the breadth of their influence. "It all hit me one night when Barbara and I were on a date," says Dennis. "We realized that [on] that evening, there were several thousand people around the world attending our conferences--hearing God's blueprints for the family--and we weren't even there. Barbara turned to me and said, 'You know, if you just don't quit, and you don't mess up, there's no limit to God's blessing.'"

But God's blessing hasn't come without sacrifice or heartache for the Raineys. In 1990 Barbara faced a life-threatening heart surgery. Before the surgery, Barbara and Dennis exchanged weepy love letters, and during the 13-hour wait, Dennis prayed, paced and pondered life without his "anchor." "That was a grim day," he says, "one I never want to face again." The surgery was successful, and Barbara no longer faces the trauma of heart disease.

The hardest point of their family's life, perhaps, came when their second son, Samuel, was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy at 13 years old. Already a state-ranked tennis player, Samuel began to trip and lose step in competition. "I think of how Deborah didn't make the drill team or Ashley not making cheerleader, and how we all cried in disappointment," says Barbara, "but this [diagnosis] was the saddest moment." The implications of that moment took time to sink in. While boating with the family, each of the kids was giving water-skiing a try. Dennis jumped into the water with Samuel, convinced if he could just get his son's legs and hands tight at the start, then he'd pop right up. But try after try left Samuel still chin-deep in the water, while tears of relinquishment flowed down his parents' faces. "It's a good thing we were already covered with water," says Dennis.

"I am grateful to God for the privilege of public ministry through radio, conferences and writing," Dennis says. "But, truthfully, all that is a mere shadow by comparison to the ups and downs of love in a real family. One of the greatest privileges of my life is being called 'Daddy.'"

And for those who watch and listen to Dennis, it's a privilege to have a model who won't quit living the legacy.