Today is my father’s birthday. He died five years ago. I used to get the notification on my phone—a reminder to call or send a note, tucked into the blur of busy days that fade into one another. Today’s reminder came from Terry Brannan, a ’95 grad who never misses a birthday or an anniversary – the perfect messenger and reminder of my dad’s love still at work.

Years ago, I found a book called Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters by Meg Meeker.

It became my go-to gift for new dads. I’ve always believed girls get their self-esteem from their fathers. I still believe that. I have a strong mother—herself the product of a good dad—but as strong as she is, nothing resonates quite like a dad’s voice, your first hero, telling the smallest version of you: “You are enough. You are worthy.”

It hits different.

Fathers teach us things. How to change a tire—or at least how to call AAA. How to pay taxes—or at least how to find a good accountant. They teach us how we deserve to be treated, or in some cases, how not to be treated. Either way, they leave their mark. I had a great father. My daughter has a great father. I hope you did too—but if you didn’t, even that carries its own lesson.

My dad had three great loves.

His first was football.

Even when Parkinson’s took his ability to run, throw, or catch, he could still recall plays from high school, college, and beyond. He’d talk about a quarterback sneak by Myron Williams, an 80-yard run by Akili King, or a spin move by Nate Sassaman. Fresh out of seminary, serving his first church in New England, he played for a farm team called the Tri-City Chargers. The elders frowned, but agreed to let him play “as long as he doesn’t get hurt.” One World Communion Sunday, he poured the cup of Christ with two black eyes and three broken ribs taped up by the trainer just hours before.

Football was his first love.

His second love was my mother.

A salesman’s daughter from Ridgewood, New Jersey, she captivated him for 62 years. He put her first —even before us kids—and by his care for her, we learned what devotion looks like. To honor my mother is to honor my father.

His third love was his flock.

In the early days, it was the big tough guys on the field who nicknamed him the “Flying Parson” as he was the fastest man on the field but also side-eyed their expletives in the huddle. Later, it was church congregations from New England to the National Parks. Mostly, it was his cadets—23,000 of them over the decades—plus their parents, girlfriends, aunts, uncles, their 7th grade math teachers, their high school strength coach, the prom queen from back home who really wanted to go to a parade…. and eventually their children and grandchildren. Old grads who stopped by our home for reunions, soup before a football game, first weddings, second weddings, fifth weddings….. Friends who come back to visit, to remember, or to stand in quiet vigil for a classmate who had died. They were his flock. They were his life loves.

His greatest love was Jesus. Every morning, he stepped outside and prayed, by memory, these words from John Stott:

“Good morning Heavenly Father! Good morning Lord Jesus! Good morning Holy Spirit! Heavenly Father, I worship you as the Creator and Sustainer of the universe. Lord Jesus, I worship you, Savior and Lord of the world. Holy Spirit, I worship you, sanctifier of the people of God. Glory to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Heavenly Father, I pray that I may live this day in your presence and please you more and more. Lord Jesus, I pray that this day I may take up my cross and follow you. Holy Spirit, I pray that this day you will fill me with yourself and cause your fruit to ripen in my life: Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-control. Holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity, three persons in one God, have mercy upon me.”

He prayed those words every single morning, stepping outside to greet the day. It wasn’t just a habit—it was how he chose to live: grounded in faith, centered in gratitude, determined to let love shape his actions. That quiet ritual spilled over into everything else—how he treated my mom, how he cared for his flock, how he showed up for all of us. And that’s something unique about love—it lingers.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."  1 Corinthians 13:13

Living a life of love in action is the gift that endures and the legacy that remains – demonstrated by Terry Brannan who kicked this whole thing off with his note of remembrance this morning.

Side note – Terry has a son who is a yearling, playing football at West Point.

That’s legacy running the option play.

Run to win.