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Dear Brothers and Sisters, this prayer was written by St. Padre Pio himself. We are told that he believed that many people got healed through this prayer. You can say it for yourself or anyone else that needs healing. Please say this prayer trusting in God’s love for you. He always answers our prayers. Let Him take care of you and you will be healed. Padre Pio Feast Day is on 23 September.
The Most Powerful Healing Prayer by St. Padre Pio
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Heavenly Father, I thank you for loving me. I thank you for sending your Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, to the world to save and to set me free. I trust in your power and grace that sustain and restore me. Loving Father, touch me now with your healing hands, for I believe that your will is for me to be well in mind, body, soul and spirit.
Cover me with the most precious blood of your Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. Cast anything that should not be in me. Root out any unhealthy and abnormal cells. Open any blocked arteries or veins and rebuild and replenish any damaged areas.
Remove all inflammation and cleanse any infection by the power of Jesus’ precious blood. Let the fire of your healing love pass through my entire body to heal and make new any diseased areas so that my body will function the way you created it to function. Touch also my mind and my emotion, even the deepest recesses of my heart.
Saturate my entire being with your presence, love, joy and peace and draw me ever closer to you every moment of my life. And Father, fill me with your Holy Spirit and empower me to do your works so that my life will bring glory and honour to your holy name. I ask this in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Amen.
Over the past few days I have heard a number of very sober, well-reasoned commentators on the political right talking about the midterms and related polling.
They uniformly speak about the House already being a lost cause for the GOP, and they focus on whether the GOP can hold the Senate.
Things do not need to be this way. Trump won in 2024 by large margins. The only reason that cannot be repeated this fall is if YOU—the average Trump voter—decides to let it happen.
I know, I know, I know. Trump has not made all of your hopes and dreams come true in two years’ time. You think he has done nothing, even though he has had profound victory after profound victory in areas like immigration and downsizing the federal government. You have your pet issue that has not been satisfied to the extent you demand, so you want to “Stay home and send them a message.”
Yes the GOP sucks. It’s a heinous mess of self-interest and failed status quo maintenance.
But the only thing worse is the Democrat Party.
We are running against LITERAL COMMUNISTS who want to abolish the Senate, pack the Supreme Court, add two new deep blue states, open the borders to unlimited immigration and succumb to creeping Sharia and jihad in order to literally destroy the nation. (Plus, they will spend the next two years impeaching Trump and everyone in his orbit, fully defeating what you voted for in 2024.)
So you have two choices. It’s a binary choice, there is no third option:
1. Vote for doing everything we can to pursue MAGA even if that’s not perfect.
2. Stay home and become ruled by literal Communists who want you dead.
Choose.
We can still win this fall, we just need the will to do it.
THE VIDEO GOT TO PRESIDENT TRUMP!!! He just reposted it!
The beginning of BYE BYE FAKE NEWS!!! 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸💥💥💥🥳🥳
@FeistyFS079 @PinoAmericano This was in Germany where cigarettes were tax free…$.25 a pack at the PX. Much cheaper in commissary…most all soldiers smoked
@GretchenPSmith Go Army! Beat Navy and Air Force!
@GretchenPSmith Very nice
HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM:
This is a well written and thought out article written by a 26 yr old college student by the name of Alyssa Ahlgren, who's in grad school for her MBA.
What a GREAT perspecitve...
My Generation Is Blind to the Prosperity Around Us!
I'm sitting in a small coffee shop near Nokomis (Florida) trying to think of what to write about. I scroll through my newsfeed on my phone looking at the latest headlines of presidential candidates calling for policies to "fix" the so-called injustices of capitalism. I put my phone down and continue to look around.
I see people talking freely, working on their MacBook's, ordering food they get in an instant, seeing cars go by outside, and it dawned on me. We live in the most privileged time in the most prosperous nation and we've become completely blind to it.
Vehicles, food, technology, freedom to associate with whom we choose.These things are so ingrained in our American way of life we don't give them a second thought.
We are so well off here in the United States that our poverty line begins 31 times above the global average. Thirty One Times!!!
Virtually no one in the United States is considered poor by global standards. Yet, in a time where we can order a product off Amazon with one click and have it at our doorstep the next day, we are unappreciative, unsatisfied, and ungrateful. ??
Our unappreciation is evident as the popularity of socialist policies among my generation continues to grow.
Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez recently said to Newsweek talking about the millennial generation, "An entire generation, which is now becoming one of the largest electorates in America, came of age and never saw American prosperity."
Never saw American prosperity! Let that sink in.
When I first read that statement, I thought to myself, that was quite literally the most entitled and factually illiterate thing I've ever heard in my 26 years on this earth.
Many young people agree with her, which is entirely misguided.
My generation is being indoctrinated by a mainstream narrative to actually believe we have never seen prosperity. I know this first hand, I went to college, let's just say I didn't have the popular opinion, but I digress.
Why then, with all of the overwhelming evidence around us, evidence that I can even see sitting at a coffee shop, do we not view this as prosperity? We have people who are dying to get into our country.
People around the world destitute and truly impoverished. Yet, we have a young generation convinced they've never seen prosperity, and as a result, we elect some politicians who are dead set on taking steps towards abolishing capitalism.
Why? The answer is this,?? my generation has only seen prosperity. We have no contrast. We didn't live in the great depression, or live through two world wars, the Korean War, The Vietnam War or we didn't see the rise and fall of socialism and communism.
We don't know what it's like to live without the internet, without cars, without smartphones. We don't have a lack of prosperity problem. We have an entitlement problem, an ungratefulness problem, and it's spreading like a plague."
@cinrui This is who runs this account
AMERICA IS A CHRISTIAN NATION.
America was founded as a Christian nation. 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸
The Death of Reason: The Left Is Incapable of True Intellectualism
In reality there is no such thing as a Left-Wing Academic. Here is why:
The modern left-wing academic is a paradox wrapped in a degree and sealed with a lie. They claim the mantle of intellectualism while systematically destroying the very foundations of rational inquiry. True scholarship demands a ruthless pursuit of truth, no matter how uncomfortable or inconvenient. The left, however, demands the suppression of truth if it contradicts their sacred narratives. They do not seek knowledge; they seek validation. An intellectual who refuses to follow the evidence where it leads is not an intellectual at all. They are a priest in a secular religion of victimhood, and their temples of higher learning have become indoctrination camps.
Look at the data. A 2020 study by the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education found that 60% of students feel they cannot express their true opinions on campus without fear of punishment. This is not an environment of free inquiry. It is a totalitarian reeducation program. When 90% of faculty donations go to one political party, as seen in FEC records, the idea of "diverse viewpoints" is a joke. They have created an echo chamber so dense that reality cannot penetrate it. They call this education. We call it brainwashing. An intellectual framework that requires the silencing of dissent is intellectually bankrupt.
Their history is a litany of failures. Every major economic system they have attempted to implement has resulted in poverty, famine, and death. From the Soviet Union to Venezuela, the body count of left-wing ideology is measured in millions. Yet, they continue to push these same discredited ideas. Why? Because they are not interested in results. They are interested in power. They use the language of compassion to mask a deep-seated hatred for success, freedom, and individual achievement. They claim to care about the poor while their policies keep people in dependency. This is not ignorance. It is a calculated strategy to maintain a permanent underclass of voters.
The term "academic" implies a certain level of rigor and objectivity. The left has abandoned both. They have replaced peer review with cancel culture. They have replaced debate with shouting down opponents. They have replaced facts with "feelings" and " lived experiences." This is not scholarship. It is emotional manipulation. A real academic welcomes challenges to their ideas. A left-wing academic calls the police. They cannot defend their ideas on the battlefield of ideas, so they try to shut the battlefield down. This is the tactic of the weak, the cowardly, and the intellectually dishonest.
Consider their track record on science when it conflicts with their ideology. They reject biological reality regarding gender. They deny the science of genetics when it comes to race and intelligence. They oppose nuclear energy and fracking, pushing policies that would destroy our economy and energy independence. They are anti-science whenever science disagrees with them. They are not intellectuals. They are activists with a grant budget. A true intellectual follows the data. The left follows the dopamine hit of moral superiority. There is a vast difference, and it is time we stopped pretending otherwise.
The era of the left-wing intellectual is over. They have exposed themselves as frauds, charlatans, and enemies of truth.
They have no respect for history, no understanding of economics, and no commitment to scientific integrity. They are a cancer on our institutions, and the only way to save our universities is to cut them out. We must defund their departments, fire their tenured radicals, and rebuild our educational system on the principles of truth, liberty, and free inquiry. The left cannot be reformed. It must be removed. Their time is up, and the world is better off without their poisonous influence.
(PHOTO: Giordano Bruno was extremely controversial during the Italian Renaissance. Dubbed by some as a heretic and pantheist by others, Bruno suggested that the universe may be infinite and inhabited with many worlds.)
1986. Georgia farmer Leonard Hill walked out of his house 20 minutes before the bank auctioned his family’s five-generation farm. He never came back.
He took his own life, hoping insurance would cover $300,000 in drought debt. It didn’t. His 66-year-old widow Annabel was left to face the auction alone.
An Atlanta businessman started making calls. One reached a 40-year-old New York developer named Donald Trump.
Trump called the bank himself. When they said the foreclosure was happening, he told them he’d sue for wrongful death if they proceeded. The bank backed down.
Americans sent checks. It still wasn’t enough. Trump and a Texas oilman quietly covered the last $78,000. No press release. No cameras.
Annabel’s family still lives on that farm today.
The media never tells you this side of Trump.
A widow with no lobbyist got a phone call and $78,000 she never had to repay.
Remember that the next time they claim they already know everything about the man.
#Trump #AmericaFirst #Farmers #TheRealTrump #MediaLies
@SaltyGoat17 What turn are you talking about out? Plane was seen by many fling low from west to east. Do some research…plane parts found in Pentagon. You are but a fool pandering a lie
@GretchenPSmith Rise up voters on the right….fight…fight…fight
On September 11, a 24-year-old ran back up seventeen flights of stairs into a burning skyscraper.
Three times.
His mother did not know she was raising a man who would do that.
She would not know for eight months. And when she found out, she dropped to her knees on her kitchen floor.
His name was Welles Crowther. He worked on the 104th floor of the South Tower.
At 9:03 a.m. the second plane cut through his building at 590 miles an hour, between the 78th and 84th floors. His floor was above the fire. There was no way down through that.
Nine minutes later, at 9:12, he picked up the phone and called his mother in Nyack.
She was not home.
She would replay the message he left, over and over, for the rest of her life.
"Mom."
A pause.
"This is Welles."
A pause.
"I want you to know that I'm okay."
Then he hung up. And he lied.
He was not going to be okay. He knew it. And he was calling his mother to soften it.
That is what that voicemail is. A twenty-four-year-old boy trying to protect his mother from what he was about to do next.
What he did next was walk down toward the fire.
The 78th floor sky lobby of the South Tower was where roughly 200 people had been waiting for express elevators when the plane hit. Most of them had died in the impact. The ones still alive were burning, or bleeding, or trapped under debris. Where the wall had been, there was open sky. Wind was coming through. Papers were on fire in the air.
Ling Young came to on the floor.
There was blood on her glasses. The people around her were on fire.
She lay there and made a decision. She would breathe the smoke. She would go quickly. Because if she stood up, she was going to feel her own body burn, and she could not face that.
Judy Wein could barely move. Her arm was broken. Three ribs cracked. Her lung was punctured. She could not draw enough air to shout.
They were dying. They knew it. They had accepted it.
And then, through the smoke, a voice.
A young man stepped into that lobby. He was stripped to a t-shirt. He had a red bandana tied over his nose and mouth. He was carrying a fire extinguisher he had found somewhere.
And he was calm.
Not brave. Calm.
That is the detail Ling Young, twenty-five years later, still cannot get over. There were dead people on the floor. There was fire on the walls. And this boy was calm.
He set the extinguisher down. He looked at the people who could still move.
Seven words.
"Everyone who can stand, stand now."
Judy Wein stood.
"If you can help others, do so."
He told them he had found the stairs. Follow me, he said. Only help the ones you can help.
Then he picked up a woman who could not walk. He got her onto his back. And he started down.
Seventeen flights. From the 78th floor to the 61st. In the smoke. Carrying her the entire way.
He handed her, and the group, to firefighters coming up.
And then he turned around.
Stop here for a second. Picture him.
His t-shirt is soaked through. His lungs are burning from the smoke. He has just carried a full-grown human being on his back down seventeen flights of stairs. He is 24 years old.
And he turns around and starts back up. Toward the impact zone. Toward the fire.
Not because anyone told him to. Not because anyone knew he was up there. Not because any part of his job description required it.
Because there were still people up there.
He climbed seventeen floors. Back to the 78th.
He found another group. He led them down.
Then he did it again. A third time.
He went back up.
Nobody knows if he made a fourth trip. Nobody knows the exact hour of his death.
All we know is that when they finally recovered his body, on March 19, 2002, they did not find him upstairs.
They found him on the ground floor. Next to the firefighters at their command post.
He had made it all the way down. He had made it out.
And on the ground, after everything, he had turned around one more time to help.
For eight months, his parents did not know any of this.
They only knew their son was gone. His father Jefferson kept a mostly finished application to the FDNY that they had found in Welles' bedroom.
They knew he had wanted to be a firefighter. He had told his mother once, "Mom, I want to help people." He had been talking about leaving Wall Street.
They did not know he had already been the firefighter he wanted to be.
Then, in May 2002, his mother Alison sat down with the newspaper.
The New York Times had published an oral history from survivors of the 78th floor. Judy Wein had described the man who had appeared through the smoke.
A man in a red kerchief.
Alison read that line.
She stopped.
Welles had carried a red bandana in his back pocket since he was six years old. His father had given him two handkerchiefs one Sunday morning before church. A white one for the pocket square. A red one for his back pocket.
His father had said, "One to show. And one to blow."
Welles never took it out. Not through prep school. Not through Boston College. Not through the years of running as a volunteer firefighter alongside his father in the small town where they lived.
The red bandana was in his back pocket every single day for eighteen years.
Alison put the paper down.
And she went to her knees on the kitchen floor.
Her husband later described what she said, out loud, to the empty room.
"Dear God. Take me now. Leave him here."
She was asking to trade places with her dead son. Retroactively. She was offering God her life for his.
That is what a mother does.
She got up eventually. She wrote down two phone numbers. Judy Wein. Ling Young.
She mailed each of them a photograph of Welles.
Ling Young opened her envelope some days later.
She looked at the photograph.
She stared at it for a long time.
The face she had last seen through smoke. The face that had walked past her, again, going back up.
She said one word.
"Yes."
Judy Wein said the same word.
The Crowthers finally knew what their son had done in the last hour of his life.
They knew he had saved between twelve and eighteen people who would otherwise be dead. They knew he had reached safety, and turned around, and gone back up. Three times. They knew he had made it to the ground. And they knew he had chosen, on the ground, not to leave.
They knew who he had been.
The FDNY made him an honorary firefighter in 2006.
Boston College plays a football game every September now called the Red Bandanna Game. His teammate at Boston College competed as a snowboarder in the 2006 Winter Olympics wearing a red bandana tied around his head.
Four days ago, twenty-five years and one week after that September morning, the President of the United States placed the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor this country can bestow, on Welles Crowther's name.
His mother Alison walked up on the stage of the White House to accept it.
She has told the story a thousand times since 2002.
She still cannot get through the voicemail without her voice breaking.
"Mom."
A pause.
"This is Welles."
A pause.
"I want you to know that I'm okay."
He was not okay. He knew he was not okay.
He was calling his mother because he was about to walk into the fire, and he did not want the woman who had raised him to spend the rest of her life imagining he had been afraid.
He carried a red handkerchief in his back pocket for eighteen years because his father had put it there when he was six years old.
The last thing he did with it was tie it over his nose and mouth, and walk into a room full of dying strangers, and calmly tell them to stand up.
He was 24.
He never came home.
One to show.
One to wipe.
His father gave him two handkerchiefs.
His son used the red one to wipe the tears off the faces of strangers in a burning room, and to hide the last words that would ever leave his mouth from his mother. 🇺🇸
@Grey_0G Sleep well
Six New York City firefighters survived the collapse of the North Tower because a 59-year-old bookkeeper could not walk any faster.
The ones who ran past her, faster, stronger, wearing lighter gear, are dead.
The ones who stopped for her are alive.
Her name was Josephine Harris. She was one week from her 60th birthday. She was a bookkeeper for the Port Authority. A few weeks earlier she had been hit by a car and was still walking with a limp.
On September 11, when the plane hit the North Tower, Josephine was on the 73rd floor.
She started down.
Alone. Injured. One step at a time. She got herself down more than fifty flights before her legs gave out.
Six firefighters of Ladder Company 6 out of Chinatown were doing the opposite. They were carrying 100 pounds of gear each, and climbing.
Their captain, Jay Jonas, had already turned to his men on the way in and told them the truth. "Firemen will die today." Nobody argued.
At the 27th floor, they felt the building shudder and heard a roar they did not understand. Somebody on the radio told them. The South Tower had just fallen. Their own building was next.
Jonas gave the order to go down. Now.
At the 20th floor, in the doorway of Stairwell B, they found Josephine standing there. Crying. Unable to move.
Firefighter Tommy Falco turned to his captain. Seven words.
"Cap. What do you want to do with her?"
Jonas said it later exactly the way he felt it in that second. Every fiber in his being was screaming to get out of the building. He knew, cold, that stopping was probably a death sentence for all of them.
He gave the order anyway.
"We take her."
Bill Butler and Tommy Falco each took an arm. Sal D'Agostino and Mike Meldrum went ahead to clear the way. Jonas and Matt Komorowski moved in behind.
The descent was agonizing. Josephine's legs kept collapsing under her. Other people passed them on the stairs, moving fast, telling them to get out. Firefighters passed them. Civilians passed them. Everyone was faster than Josephine.
Almost none of those faster people made it out.
At the 4th floor, Josephine dropped to the ground. She could not go on.
"Leave me," she said. "I'm okay. Just leave me."
They said no.
Butler tried to lift her. Jonas ran off the stairwell into the 4th floor to search for a chair, anything with wheels, anything they could use to carry her. There was nothing.
He turned around and walked back toward the stairs.
And then, at 10:28 a.m., the North Tower started to fall.
A hundred and ten stories of steel and concrete came down on top of them. Jonas saw the ceiling collapse. He heard the roar. He heard Josephine screaming.
Then, nothing.
They were buried.
The building had crushed itself flat everywhere around them. But the tiny section of Stairwell B where those men had stopped for a woman who could not walk, held. It did not fall.
They were the only people found alive in any stairwell of the North Tower.
Fourteen human beings survived inside the collapsed tower. Almost all of them were in that pocket, standing where they were because of Josephine's pace.
There were others. A Port Authority K-9 officer named David Lim who had gone up to help. Members of Engine 39. A chief who lost his life on the radio calling for help.
In the dark, buried, one of them got a radio through. Jonas gave his coordinates. "Ladder 6, Tower One, Stairwell B."
The voice that came back was his old friend Cliff.
"Captain Jay Jonas, this is Cliff. We're coming for you, brother. We're coming for you."
Firefighters who spend their careers on the giving end of that promise are not used to being on the receiving end. Jonas would later say he chokes up just repeating it.
For three and a half hours they clawed at concrete. Then a shaft of sunlight cut through the dust. The sun.
They climbed out.
All six firefighters. Josephine. David Lim. Fourteen people in total. Not one of them with life-threatening injuries. Buried under a hundred stories of building, and every one of them walked away.
Meanwhile, everyone who had rushed past them on those stairs was gone.
The firefighters started calling Josephine their guardian angel. They meant it literally.
They had a green firehouse jacket embroidered for her.
"Josephine, Our Guardian Angel."
Sal D'Agostino later explained it in one sentence.
"Without us, Josephine would not have made it. And we feel without Josephine, we would have died."
One of them named his firstborn child after her.
The baby was born nine pounds, eleven ounces. 9/11.
They meant that literally too.
Josephine died in 2011 of a heart attack in her Bushwick home. She was 69. Nothing to do with the towers. She had lived a full ten years that she should not have had.
The six men who saved her carried her coffin.
Two weeks ago, on September 1, 2026, Josephine's sister walked into that Chinatown firehouse holding the green jacket. The family had kept it fifteen years.
She handed it back to Ladder 6.
Sal D'Agostino was there. So was retired Deputy Chief Jay Jonas. And Bill Butler. And Matt Komorowski. And the others.
Same men. Older. Gray now.
They put the jacket in a frame. It will hang in the firehouse forever.
Every new generation of Ladder 6 will walk past those five embroidered words.
Josephine, Our Guardian Angel.
The fastest people in the stairwell died.
The slowest woman in the stairwell saved six firefighters, and she did it by not being able to walk. 🇺🇸
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