Here is Deacon Robert F. Prevost (left), the future Pope Leo XIV, nine days before his ordination to the priesthood, assisting Pope John Paul II during Holy Mass at St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican, 1982:
Fernando Mendoza, a Catholic quarterback and the first overall pick in the NFL Draft, has announced a $500,000 donation toward research into multiple sclerosis, the same illness his mother is currently battling.
Image: Raiders
.@FLOTUS@MELANIATRUMP announced the expansion of the @WhiteHouse honey program with the addition of a newly installed and fully functioning beehive on the South Lawn.
Hand-crafted by a local artisan in the image of the White House, the beautiful, new hive will add two new bee colonies to the existing two colonies that already produce the signature White House honey. 🍯 🐝
I was 9 or 10 when I found this photo.
It was after my little brother went to sleep. I was browsing old photos in my living room while my Mom did Bible study in the kitchen.
I remember thinking it was odd that Santa was wearing safety goggles while holding me.
I then wondered why my house was the only one where Santa came inside on Christmas Eve. None of my friends had ever shared a story like that.
And then I looked close at the eyes.
My brain said “ENHANCE” like in a spy movie.
I looked even closer.
“ENHANCE”
I saw it so clearly.
Those were my Dad’s eyes. I knew it was him. I was sure of it.
I’d cracked the code. The thousand year old mystery that had plagued all children. For a millennia we’ve asked, “How does Santa make it all the way around the world in a night?”
I’d finally answered it.
I went and asked my Mom to confirm what I’d uncovered. She didn’t mislead me. She gave me a hug and told me what I now knew: that Santa was real and he lived with me year-round.
That night I learned Santa doesn’t vanish when you figure it out. He multiplies.
He lives in the love and sacrifice of all parents. In the lengths they go to make our dreams feel effortless. In the quiet work done late at night so joy can arrive on time.
Santa doesn’t “go away” when you discover the truth.
Your appreciation for him only grows.
It grows as you understand what it costs and as you recognize the tired eyes, the sore backs, the careful planning.
And if you’re lucky, one day you realize you’ve become him too.
He was real then.
He’s real now.
He just keeps showing up, and occasionally wearing safety goggles if that’s all he’s got when it’s time to drop off presents.
Merry Christmas to all the Santa Clauses out there.
My mother-in-law kept every broken earring, every loose button, every tiny trinket in an old Folgers can for forty-three years. When she passed last spring, my husband wanted to throw it all away.
I stood in her kitchen, holding that rusty can while he loaded boxes into the truck. The morning light caught a piece of costume jewelry at the bottom - a butterfly pin missing one wing. I remembered her wearing it to my wedding, proudly telling everyone her late sister had given it to her. My chest got tight.
"Just old junk," my husband said, reaching for the can. But I pulled it closer, feeling the weight of all those little pieces. The smell of her lavender hand cream still lingered on some of the fabric buttons. I couldn't let go.
For weeks, that can sat on my dining table. I'd catch myself running my fingers through the contents while drinking coffee - finding theater ticket stubs from 1987, a child's hospital bracelet (my husband's, from when he broke his arm), single earrings from sets she'd loved. Each piece whispered a story I'd never hear.
Then I remembered seeing these shadow box displays on online shop when I was browsing for vintage frames to sell some of my own crafts. This seller had turned her grandmother's sewing notions into art. Something clicked. Maybe I didn't have to let go of everything.
My sister helped me sort through it all one rainy Saturday. We found her first driver's license, a locket with a photo of her as a young bride, keys to houses long sold. "Mom would've loved this," my husband said quietly when he saw us working, his voice catching. He sat down and started telling me what each piece meant - stories I'd never heard in twenty years of marriage.
We ended up making three shadow boxes. The butterfly pin sits at the center of one, surrounded by all her other broken beautiful things. When we hung them in our hallway, my husband stood there for the longest time, just looking. "She would've pretended to be embarrassed," he said, wiping his eyes. "But she would've loved that we kept it all."
Now when guests ask about them, we get to tell her stories. How that tarnished thimble helped sew my husband's Scout badges. How those mismatched buttons came from her father's Navy uniform.
Turns out it wasn't junk at all. It was proof that she'd lived, loved, and held onto the things that mattered - even if they were broken. And now, finally, I understood why.
🚨 ERIKA KIRK: “Charlie just wanted to save the lives of young men… just like the one who took his life.”
“That man… that young man… I forgive him.”
Wow. That hits hard 😕
Erika Kirk releases video on Instagram of Charlie Kirk explaining to their daughter how they met.
“… my favorite love story.”
Pray for the Kirk family 🙏
JUST IN: The Charlie Kirk Show has gone live. Charlie's seat at the table is there - and it's empty.
An absolutely crushing scene. All of them are holding back tears.
"Charlie would've wanted us to be here. He would've been upset if we weren't here. We've left his chair open and empty, because nobody could ever fill it."
This post is approaching 1 million likes
It’s just Charlie Kirk with his family
There are literally no words to describe how angry I still am. I can’t even sleep.