USA. A potluck. Everyone brings one dish. I have never been so out of my depth in my life.
I was invited to a gathering. "Just bring a dish to share," they said. Simple words. I did not sleep for three days.
Because I understood instantly what this was. A summit. Every guest, a lord of their own house, arriving bearing tribute. And tribute is judged. Tribute is ranked. To bring the wrong dish to the wrong table is to fall in standing before your peers, possibly forever.
So I prepared. I made my finest dish. I carried it to the door with two hands and a straight back, braced for the weighing of my worth.
The first lord arrived with a bowl of orange powder noodles. Macaroni and cheese. The crowd roared. He set it down at the center of the table. The CENTER. I noted this. The center is the seat of power.
The second lord brought a tower of small brown meat orbs in red sauce. "Meatballs," he announced, like a man laying down a sword. They were placed beside the macaroni. A strong showing. An alliance, perhaps.
I studied the table like a battlefield map. Potato salad: defensive, reliable, old money. A vegetable tray, untouched, clearly a hostage offering no one expected to win. And then a woman walked in, raised a flat box overhead, and the entire room turned and CHEERED.
Pizza. She had brought pizza. Store-bought. Still in the box.
I was stunned. She had not even cooked it. And yet the people rejoiced as if a king had entered. I revised my entire understanding of the hierarchy on the spot. Effort means nothing here. Only the roar of the crowd decides rank.
I placed my dish down, humbly, near the napkins. A peasant's position. I accepted it.
And then a man tapped my shoulder, pointed at my dish, and said the words that changed everything.
"Whoa, did you make this? This is amazing. Everybody, you GOTTA try this guy's thing."
The room turned. The room came. The room ATE. My dish vanished in ninety seconds. The pizza woman herself took a second helping and looked at me with respect.
I had won the summit. By accident. With a dish I placed by the napkins.
I understand nothing about this country. I have never been happier. I am hosting the next one.
So tell me, America.
Is there a system to the potluck? A secret rank? A hidden law?
I have decided there is not.
You just bring the thing you love, and everyone eats it, and somehow everybody wins.
It is the most insane way to hold a war.
I will fight in every single one.
Stop calling abortion healthcare. Murder is not healthcare.
Stop calling abortion a right. You do not have a right to murder another human being.
Stop saying abortion is part of bodily autonomy. Autonomy does not include ending the life of another person.
Abortion is murder.
Every year, I repost this same video on Good Friday.
Every year, it brings me to absolute tears and stops me in my tracks.
What's so good about Good Friday?
In the midst of what can only be described as complete darkness, torture, evil, and death... God in His abundant, enduring, everlasting love for us reverses the curse of sin to bring salvation to each of us, individually.
I truly believe we are living in a far-too-often very dark time in human history. The demons are getting loud, but so are those fighting for God and proclaiming the truth.
It's why you're seeing a true revival led by young people to seek the light in the midst of the darkness, inspired by the abundant, unconditional, endless love of God offering Himself for us.
Good Friday is GOOD, always, because even in the darkness of death and the shadow of sin, Jesus is at work fighting for us. God is always working all things together for GOOD, even when we can’t understand how or see it with our own two eyes.
Don't be discouraged by the evil out there. GOOD is still present, if we know where to look for it.
This woman woke up at 4 AM in 20° cold, worked out for two hours, faced a packed college Monday… and her first thought?
“I woke up this morning. I’m healthy. I get to move my body. I get to learn. And above all—Jesus loves me. Not because of anything I’ve done. Just because I’m His.”
No complaints. Just tears of gratitude.
A beautiful reminder: The greatest privilege isn’t the workout, the degree, or the sunrise—it’s waking up known and loved by our Creator.
If you’re breathing today, you’re already blessed beyond measure.
Don’t let the noise steal your thankfulness.
He loves you more than you’ll ever grasp.
🚨 MARCO RUBIO IS GREAT!
At Charlie's memorial: "When He returns, there will be a new Heaven, and a new Earth, and we will all be together, and we are going to have a great reunion, there again, with Charlie, and all the people we love!" https://t.co/VdA8To43KS
"We were all created, every single one of us, before the beginning of time, by the hands of the God of the Universe, an all-powerful God, who loved us and created us for the purpose of living with Him in eternity."
"But then sin entered the world and separated us from our Creator. And so God took on the form of a man, and came down and lived among us."
"And He suffered like men, and He died like a man. But on the third day He rose, unlike any mortal man."
"And then, and to prove any doubters wrong, He ate with His disciples so they could see, and they touched His wounds."
"He didn't rise as a ghost or as a spirit, but as flesh. And then He rose to the heaven, but He promised He would return, and He will!"
"And when He returns, because He took on that death, because He carried that cross, we were freed from the sin that separated us from Him." 🙏🏻🙏🏻
As America celebrates 250 years, I’m grateful to @DollyParton for lending her powerful voice to TN’s story of courage, perseverance & opportunity.
We honor the Tennesseans whose contributions shaped our country & invite all to reflect on TN’s rich heritage in the year ahead. 🇺🇸
The generations coming after us don’t deserve to inherit lukewarm faith. Our kids, and every young believer watching our lives, need to see what full devotion to Jesus looks like. Your obedience, your surrender, and your “all in” lifestyle will shape their future.
"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.
Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.
One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.
Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.
Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"
"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."
He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."
The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."
Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.
But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,
"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."
So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.
Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."
Let this story reach more hearts....
Credit: Mary Nelson
The problem isn’t that people don’t care about health...
It’s that they’ve been taught to chase symptoms instead of causes.
You don’t have a deficiency in medication.
You have a deficiency in oxygen, minerals, light, and rest.
That’s where the real healing begins.
Originally released alongside Wreck-It Ralph, critics and audiences fell in love with the 2012 animated short Paperman, which won Best Animated Short Film at the 85th Academy Awards.
https://t.co/uAdckvmIFh