Karen Rayburn @kraybur

Well this is interesting!🤔 Holy, Holy, Holy! He is speaking to us! “WAIT A MINUTE… Y’all, tell me why this has me SHOOK!! Rachel means “sheep.” Simon means “to hear” or “to listen.” Isaias means “Yaweh is salvation.” Put it all together… “Sheep, listen.Yaweh is your salvation.” 🙌🏼 I don’t know about y’all, but I serve a God who can speak through ANYTHING! Sometimes we just need to slow down, open our eyes, and pay attention to what He’s showing us. 🙏🏼 Now tell me… is God trying to get somebody’s attention or WHAT?!” Shared from a friend.

Let's Go! 🇺🇸 🌀 💪🏼 Florida Man spotted yesterday at Fort Walton Beach as hurricane Isaias approaches. Credit: Dustin Colburn 🎥

@umay1s5 Jim Jones

🚨#BREAKING: Outrage is erupting after a 22-year-old who runs into BURNING BUILDINGS as a volunteer firefighter was told he isn't qualified to be a paid firefighter... ...because he was HOMESCHOOLED. Then the city changed the job posting to cover it up. His name is Andrew Coates. He's 22 years old, in Nebraska. Right now, today, he runs into burning buildings as a volunteer firefighter for Cedar Bluffs Fire. He is a state-licensed EMT. He is doing the job. For free. All he wanted was to get PAID to do it. In his words: "Make a career out of it would be the goal. To get paid to do what you love." So he applied to the Fremont Fire Department. And in April, the city rejected him. Why? Because his high school diploma says he was homeschooled. That's it. That's the whole disqualification. Not his EMT license. Not his fitness. Not his record. Not his experience pulling people out of fires ALREADY!! ...how he was educated. The job posting he applied to said "graduation from high school." That's all it said. He graduated high school. He has a diploma. And AFTER they rejected him, the city went back and added the word "accredited" to the job description. His own fire chief, the man who has watched Andrew work, showed up to defend him: "I feel the city of Fremont is really missing out here, and in my mind, because of his homeschooling, you guys are discriminating against him." Over THIRTY homeschool families showed up to stand behind this kid. And the Civil Service Commission? They said it isn't their job to touch city policy. Homeschoolers are literally a generation of kids who read ABOVE grade level, who work with their HANDS, who volunteer in their communities, who show up for their neighbors. And this young man is the proof. At 22, he's a certified EMT and a volunteer firefighter, while plenty of his peers are on a couch. When your house is on fire at 3 a.m., I promise you will not ask the man dragging your children out where he went to high school. You will not ask if his diploma was accredited. You will thank GOD he came. Andrew isn't even fighting for himself anymore. His words: "I think now it's turned into we want to make sure that every homeschooler has an equal opportunity." That's a better man than the policy that rejected him. Fremont, you have a licensed EMT and an active firefighter begging to serve your city. And you turned him down over paperwork, then rewrote the paperwork to cover it. Fix this. Hire him!!!!!!!

Every time I see this I am nervous that he’s not going to sit down at the drum set in time.

Mr_Fireside 🔥 @Mr_Fireside

a month ago

5'6 balding Phil Collins strolling around in an office shirt singing and drumming one of the greatest songs ever is the definition of AURA.

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As usual @iamNickPeterson has made an epic video about today’s absurd world. He never fails to find the dry sense of humor in the crazy leftist’s antics. Thank you Nick for helping me laugh when I want to cry over the insanity of it all.

Retired Parents With Open Calendar Want To Know Why You Don't Put Your 8 Kids In A Car And Drive 3000 Miles To See Them More Often buff.ly/UwQ2WGv

Spann is the man! Even Grok says so! @spann

@japan_nobunaga You do you Bo 😁

@japan_nobunaga Dolly is good people 💞💞

There is a diner in the Tennessee mountains where a little girl showed me a book. She could not have been six. She held it the way grown men hold the deed to a house. A thin paperback. The cover soft and bent from love. A cartoon bear. I asked her, to be kind, if it was a good book. She said, "The Book Lady sent it. She sends me one every month. She knows my name." Then she went back to her pancakes, as if she had not just described something impossible. I could not let it go. All through breakfast I turned it over. A woman who knows the names of small children, sends them books, and asks for nothing. In my country she would have a shrine. Incense. One clean day a year when the town remembers her. I decided the Book Lady must be a gentle fiction. A story mothers invent, the way we tell children the old mountain is watching, so they behave. I was wrong. The Book Lady is real. She is the most famous woman in the state. Her name is Dolly. I made errors. In a hardware store I called her "your empress." The man thought about it honestly and said, "Close enough." I asked a waitress if Dolly was still living. She set down the coffee pot with great care. "Honey, Dolly will outlive us all, and then she will send flowers to the funerals." Then they told me the thing, all of them, in the flat voice this country keeps for facts too large to raise the voice for. Dolly grew up one of twelve children, in a one-room cabin, in these same mountains. Her father could not read a word his whole life. So she built the thing that sends the books. Not the clever children. Not the deserving ones. Every child who signs up, from birth until they start school, free, their own name on the cover, whether the family has money or nothing at all. The children do not know she is famous. They know only the Book Lady. Some will grow old and never learn it was her. Two hundred million books, a man told me at a gas pump. Then, seeing the number had defeated me, he made it smaller and heavier at once. "She did it for her daddy," he said. "He never got to read. So she made sure every child after him would." I would like to tell you what happened in my chest when he said that. I do not have the words, and I distrust any man who claims he does. I come from eight hundred years of men who wrote everything down. We cut our names into stone so the centuries could not misplace us. My father was the last of that line before me. A silent man. For forty years I believed his silence was the only thing he ever gave me. In that diner, I remembered something I had put away as nothing. When I was a boy, my father worked among machines loud enough to take a man's hearing, and in time they took most of his. He came home each night with nothing left to say. But there was one year, when I was learning to read and ashamed of how badly it went, that every night, however late he came in, he sat beside me while I read one page aloud. He never said a word. I thought he was only checking that I had done the work. It took me forty years and a stranger's diner to understand. He could not hear me. By then he could barely hear anything. He was not listening to the words. He could not have caught one of them. He was only sitting where a small boy could look up and see that his father had stayed. I carried that year my whole life as proof my father was cold. It was the warmest thing anyone has ever done for me. I just never had the book to prove it, so I let myself forget. There is a bookshop two doors from that diner. I have just bought a thin paperback with a soft-looking bear on the cover. I am mailing it tonight to my father in Japan. He is eighty-one. He still cannot hear. He will not need to. Inside the cover I wrote one line, large enough that he can read it without his glasses: "I finished the page. I always finished the page. Thank you for staying." The Book Lady learned it from her father, who could not read. I learned it from mine, who could not hear. And somewhere in the mountains between us, those two old men would have understood each other completely, and said nothing at all, which is the loudest thing men like them have ever known how to say.

In Alabama a man said "Roll Tide" to me as a greeting. Later that same day, the same man said "Roll Tide" as a goodbye. I asked a woman at the store what it means. She said, "Roll Tide." I asked what it means. She said, "It means Roll Tide, sugar." So I began collecting evidence. I kept a list. I am not embarrassed about the list. I have now heard "Roll Tide" used as: hello. Goodbye. Thank you. I am sorry. Congratulations. That is unfortunate. I agree. I disagree. And once, in a hardware store, as a complete set of instructions for installing a ceiling fan. I heard it said at a funeral. It was appropriate. It was the most appropriate thing anyone said that day. I began using it. Carefully at first, the way a man handles a borrowed sword. I said it to a cashier. She said it back. I said it to a police officer who had stopped me for a broken taillight. He looked at me for a long moment. He looked at my face. He looked at my taillight. Then he said it back, and nodded once, and did not write the ticket. I wish to be extremely clear that I am not claiming those two events are related. I am also not claiming they are unrelated. A man at a gas station heard my accent and asked where I was from. I told him Japan. He said, "Roll Tide." He meant welcome. I knew he meant welcome. There was no ambiguity at all. I have been in Alabama eleven days. I have one word. It has been enough for everything. I have started saying it in other states. It does not work in other states. I said it in a warehouse store in Oregon. One man turned around. He was from Alabama. He said it back. We did not speak after that. We did not have to. I say it anyway.

Happy Breakup Day England.

@SqSehrish It’s 79

👀 It’s like Billy Joel’s ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire,’ but without lyrics & covering…the *entire sweep* of 🇺🇸 history. Paused it for research & debated if it’s missing a handful of milestones. Overall? Extraordinary. Highly recommended. 🪁⚡️#America250

Kite & Key Media @kiteandkeymedia

4 months ago

How do you tell the full story of 250 years of American history? Our new video does it in nine minutes — with no words.

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French fighter jets flew over Washington, D.C. on Monday to mark the upcoming 250th anniversary of U.S. independence and the historic alliance between the two nations. The French government said the flyover underscores the enduring ties between the longtime allies.

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