To you, it's just a Cracker Barrel parking lot. To me, it's where I gave my life to Jesus Christ.
I was 21 years old. I was working at the Cracker Barrel in Tallahassee after some of the worst years of my life. I'd made mistakes. Real ones.
I grew up in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, raised by a mom who worked hard and didn't accept excuses. But I made decisions that should have ended my story before it ever really started. By the grace of God, they didn't. But every day, I was carrying them.
One afternoon, a church group came into the restaurant, just back from a revival. I served them their meals like I served any other table. But something happened while I was serving them. I can't fully explain it to you. The Lord spoke to me. He said, “Stop running from Me.”
It knocked me back.
I went to find the table, and they were all gone. I could see through their windows that they were getting on their bus, and I knew deep down that if I let them drive away, I was going to keep running. So I went outside. The last woman, just as she was stepping onto the bus, turned to me and asked, “Are you okay?”
I told her, “No ma’am, I’m not okay.” I told her the Lord was telling me to stop running.
That whole bus emptied out, stood with me in the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel in Tallahassee, Florida, and prayed over me right there.
I gave my life to Christ that day. Right there.
I still get emotional about it. Because I know what I was before that moment, and I know what He's done since. He gave me a wife who shares my faith. He gave me three sons. He gave me a career, a community, a calling I never would have dared to ask for. He took a kid from Crown Heights who’d run out of chances and gave him a life that doesn't make sense apart from grace.
People ask me sometimes why I talk about it. Why I bring up the parking lot. Why I don't just keep that part private and let folks see the polished version.
I'll tell you why.
Because there's a young man out there right now — maybe in Tallahassee, maybe in Tampa, maybe in Miami, maybe in a small town in the Panhandle — who thinks his story is already over. Who thinks the mistakes he's made disqualify him from the life he could have had. Who thinks God doesn't want anything to do with somebody like him.
I'm here to tell him: that's a lie.
In life, you're not who you are at the lowest point. You're who you choose to become after.
The Lord met me in a Cracker Barrel parking lot. He'll meet you wherever you are.
You just have to stop running.
My guy was the first to catch 100 passes in a season.
Part of the first trio of recievers to each get 1K yards in a season.
Held every damn record when he retired.
The silent assassin on our sb teams. Love him!
#RaiseHail
La prima foto è del 2026, precisamente di due giorni fa.
La seconda è del 1997, ventinove anni fa.
Nella prima c’è Gregg Popovich che parla e Tim Duncan che ascolta.
Nella seconda la stessa cosa.
Tra una foto e l’altra sono trascorsi 29 anni, i due hanno riscritto la storia del basket, hanno vinto e infranto record, sono diventati uno dei migliori coach e uno dei migliori giocatori nella storia del basket.
Nel mezzo, però, Gregg Popovich ha avuto problemi di salute che lo hanno costretto ad abbandonare il basket. Ma nonostante i problemi a deambulare, a parlare e di vista, continua oggi a stare vicino alla sua squadra, gli Spurs, seguendo gli allenamenti e parlando di tanto in tanto anche negli spogliatoi.
Ad accompagnarlo ovunque, ad aiutarlo a scendere dall’auto e salire le scale, a portargli la stampella, a trascorrere con lui intere giornate a parlare di basket, e a portarlo di tanto in tanto in tribuna a vedere le partite, c’è Tim Duncan.
In questi 29 anni, da quando si sono conosciuti, un ragazzo, diventato uomo, continua ad ascoltare.
Ascolta la persona che ha dichiarato di avergli cambiato la vita, di averlo reso un giocatore migliore e soprattutto una persona migliore.
Il rapporto tra Popovich e Duncan è una storia che travalica i confini dello sport perché contiene tutto: stima, amicizia, rispetto, riconoscenza, gratitudine.
È una storia semplicemente meravigliosa.
C.J. Stroud fought back tears as he met 12-year-old John Sperring, who chose to meet the NFL QB not for his star status, but for his faith in Christ. https://t.co/kAUitUag5Q
Things that didn’t exist last time the Knicks were in the NBA finals:
iPhone
Facebook
Instagram
YouTube
𝕏
Tesla
SpaceX
Bitcoin
Gmail
Amazon Prime
Google Maps
Netflix streaming
Android
ChatGPT
WhatsApp
TikTok
Snapchat
Xbox
Pinterest
LinkedIn
iPad
Uber
Airbnb
Reddit
Spotify
Zoom
Late one night, on a snowy evening in 1982, my brothers and I were watching PBS at my parent’s house in Baltimore. It was a Friday, which meant The Avengers at 11 pm, followed by Monty Python’s Flying Circus at midnight, and then, our favorite - Second City TV.
It was snowing on this particular evening, and my brothers and I were stretched out on the floor next to the wood stove with a couple of dogs who never wandered too far from the heat, quietly coveting Emma Peel, and laughing uproariously as John Cleese tried to buy some cheese from the proprietor of a cheese shop that didn’t carry any cheese. And then, five minutes into SCTV, an inexplicably dressed man-child armed with a musical triangle and gelled hair slinked onto the set in a pair or trousers pulled up to his sternum and made us laugh so hard we woke up the parents. That was my introduction to Ed Grimley, the first of many characters to spring from the mind of Martin Short, a comedic genius that I finally got to know last night, thanks to a film called Marty: Life is Short.
This is the best documentary I’ve seen in years, and I’m recommending all of you watch it this weekend. The director, Lawrence Kasdan, captures the essence of his subject – and his dear friend - in a way that feels utterly authentic. The movie is filled with famous people who don’t come off as famous, partly because their fame is secondary to their obvious affection for Marty, and partly because they are captured almost entirely in home movies. Tom Hanks, Steve Martin, Steven Spielberg, Kathreen O’Hara, Eugene Levy – all the Second City players, in fact, and many of the SNL alum – appear in hundreds of clips, filmed mostly at Snug Harbor, Marty’s lakefront cottage in Ontario. It’s through their eyes that we really get to know Martin Short in a deeply personal way that never feels mawkish or manipulative, in spite of all the tragedy he’s endured.
In large part, Life is Short is a love story between Marty and his late wife, Nancy Dolman, who died from cancer at 58. I knew their marriage was special, but I didn’t know how completely devoted they were to one another, or what a singular talent Nancy was, in her own right. What a pleasure to get to know her in this way. Of course, Marty’s grief at her passing was profound, but so too was his resilience. It’s one thing to “get on with life,” as we all must to do in the wake of a tragedy. But it’s another to do so in the public eye, as a comedian. Marty persevered, without a trace of self-pity, just as he did as a boy, when his beloved older brother died in a car accident. And just as he is doing today, in the wake of his daughter’s tragic suicide. In his first public comment on that particular tragedy, Marty quoted George Eliot. “The dead are never dead until they are forgotten.”
Who knew Jiminy Glick was made of such tough stuff?
Life is Short is also full of wisdom for anyone crazy enough to try and make a living in the entertainment business, and Marty is very candid about his many professional disasters. “98 percent of this business is failure,” he says. “Nothing works and then something works.” And then again, later in the film, he says something similar to fellow actor John Mulaney, who was devastated by the low ratings and terrible reviews for one of his projects.
“90% of everything you try creatively is going to fail, John. Get used to it. That’s the job.”
I’d never compare my own career to Marty’s or juxtapose whatever creativity I might possess to his immense and sprawling talent. But I understand the importance of failing and take great comfort in knowing that on that score, we have both excelled.
Anyway, I’m not sure why this movie stuck such a chord with me, or why I feel compelled to recommend it. Maybe it’s the nostalgia of seeing Ed Grimley on my screen all these years later, and recalling those late nights with my brothers at my parent’s house alongside the dogs and the wood stove, and all the belly-laughter that Marty and his Second City pals inspired. Or maybe it’s the passing of my Aunt Janet last week, and seeing my mother cope with the loss of her sister with such dignity and grace. Or maybe it's those other sisters from Greece that have been on my mind all morning - Melpomene and the Thalia. The famous Muses of Tragedy and Comedy, whose dramatic masks are forever entwined, and destined to worn by us all.
Whatever the cause, Marty made an impression, and the film is worth your time. Maybe not as relevant this weekend as Band of Brothers or Saving Private Ryan, but a fine reminder that another Memorial Day is upon us, and that life is indeed, short.
Every year, I share this video of French caretakers who take sand from Omaha Beach in Normandy, and scrub them into the letters to give them the gold coloring.
They do this for all 9,386 US soldiers who died.
France also gave us this land as American soil. #MemorialDayWeekend
Ken Griffin on the single factor he looks for when hiring at Citadel:
"show me an athlete who did well academically."
"an athlete because they know what it takes to win and they've had to experience loss."
talent is everywhere. what's rare is someone who knows how to lose, recover, and still perform at a high level.
same thing separates profitable traders from everyone else.
Received gr8 news from my oncologist that results of MRI of my head yesterday showed that ZERO CANCER spread to the brain .Now 🙏🙏🙏 that the Immunotherapy wipes out the Melanoma on my lungs & liver.I feel fantastic & was shocked 4 weeks ago when Pet Scan showed the cancer .