Rose Chadwell

I will NEVER stop posting about Iryna Zarutska She must NEVER be forgotten RIP Angel 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 We need to keep her memory alive @elonmusk

THIS IS MY DAD, BOB, HE TURNS 105 TODAY! IF YOU DO NOT MIND AGING ANOTHER DAY, TELL HIM Happy birthday 🎁🎂

Arkansas combat vet Aaron Spencer, who reportedly killed his 14yo daughter’s rapist, has won the GOP primary for Lonoke County Sheriff. In a wild twist, he beat the sheriff who originally arrested him. Do you support this hero dad? A. Yes B. No

@WHLeavitt YES absolutely!

It was a day like any other. I was playing on the balcony with my son, Oscar. Suddenly, one of the darts from his toy gun flew over the edge. My son ran to the railing and tried to grab it, but he lost his balance. I saw his eyes widen, his face turn pale. In that instant, which felt like an eternity, I understood what was about to happen. I threw myself toward him. I wanted to catch him before he fell, and I did. I tried to pull him back toward me, but perhaps my momentum was too strong, and we both went over the railing. As we were falling, I held him tightly and shielded him with my body. Then everything went black. I opened my eyes again in the hospital. I could hear confused voices and felt pain throughout my body. I had fallen onto the concrete driveway from a height of four meters. The doctors were talking about skull and spinal fractures, a brain contusion, and how serious my condition was. But there was only one question in my mind: Is my son okay? Yes, thankfully, he was. He had only minor injuries and was badly shaken, but he was alive, while I was fighting for my own life. The following weeks were painful and slow. I had to undergo several surgeries and a long period of rehabilitation. I was terrified that I would never be the same again. But every time I saw Oscar, I knew it had all been worth it. He looked at me as if I were a hero, but that is not true. I am only his father. Today, whenever I see him run, laugh, and play, I always go back to that day. To that fall. And I know I would do it all again a thousand times over.

@DiscombobuI8ed Prayers 🙏🙏🙏

Someone in my family was in a really bad motorcycle accident. His organs are wprking OK but his brain isn't sending the signal to his lungs to work properly any prayers would be greatly appreciated. Pray 🙏 for Mathew thank you.

@GoodBoy97773735 Prayers 🙏🙏🙏

Just learned my granddaughter attempted to end her life two weeks ago. Please, please pray for her.

LITTLE MAN BEAT CANCER AMEN 🙏🏾

I hope I gate a hi It's my grandmother's 112th Birthday☺️

@ksorbs @Keir_Starmer the non-prime minister has no empathy or sincerity, so the look would be extremely bad and they know it...!!!

He was supposed to be on vacation. Spencer Stone, 23, was dozing on a high-speed train hurtling through Belgium at nearly 320 km/h. He was backpacking across Europe with his two best childhood friends—three young men simply looking to see the world before life got complicated. Suddenly, a man emerged from the restroom, a Kalashnikov in his hand. In seconds, the calm of that summer afternoon plunged into the unimaginable. Passengers screamed. People dove under the seats. A French-American man named Mark Moogalian rushed to grab the rifle and was shot in the back. The assailant was armed with a pistol, a box cutter, and 270 rounds of ammunition. The train was locked, speeding along, and the police were nowhere to be seen. 554 people had nowhere to go. Spencer Stone had no weapon. No body armor. No plan. He got up anyway. Without a word to his friends, he started running—at full speed down the center aisle—directly toward an armed assailant who had already shot someone. His friend Alek Skarlatos followed closely behind. Anthony Sadler, a student, joined them. A 62-year-old British businessman, Chris Norman—a complete stranger—also joined them. None of them had to. They all did. Stone reached the assailant first, pinned him in a headlock, and forced him to the ground. The struggle was violent and desperate. The assailant pulled out a box cutter and slashed Stone's face, neck, and hands—giving him a deep gash on his neck and nearly severing his thumb. Blood soaked the aisle floor. Stone didn't let go. For nearly 90 seconds, four ordinary men held a terrorist on the ground as he planned a mass slaughter. They finally subdued him and tied him down with belts and a tie. Then Stone collapsed. Bleeding profusely from his neck wound and fighting to stay conscious, he saw Mark Moogalian lying a few meters away—the man who had been shot while trying to stop the attacker. His wife stood beside him, screaming in terror. Stone crawled to him. With one hand, he pressed down on his own wound to close it; with the other, he worked to save Moogalian. The young pilot managed to keep the wounded man alive—breathing and speaking—until the train made an emergency stop and the rescuers arrived. The surgeons who subsequently treated Stone said his neck wound had been only millimeters from fatal. He had lost a tremendous amount of blood. He had come within inches of not surviving. But he pulled through. When he regained consciousness after his operation, he asked only one question—not about himself, his injuries, or what lay ahead. He asked if anyone else had been hurt. He was told no: no one else had died. Thanks to what he and his friends had accomplished in those 90 seconds, 554 people were able to return home to their families that night. French President François Hollande awarded Stone, Skarlatos, and Sadler the Legion of Honor—France's highest distinction. President Obama received them at the Pentagon. The world applauded their actions. Stone consistently declined all honors. “I only did what anyone would have done,” he kept repeating. But that’s precisely the difference: most people wouldn’t have. When danger strikes, all your instincts tell you to flee in the opposite direction. The rarest thing in the world is to see someone run toward that danger—unarmed—for the safety of strangers they’ve never met. Three friends from Sacramento and a British stranger they’d never spoken to decided—in a spontaneous and unforeseen moment—that the lives of others mattered more than their own safety. That decision saved the lives of everyone on board that train. 554 people were able to get home. Because four ordinary people had chosen, without the slightest hesitation, to do something extraordinary.

I almost threw a punch in the checkout line last Tuesday—not because I’m violent, but because at 74 years old, I finally woke up. I’m a retired mechanic from outside Detroit. I live alone in a house that smells like dust and silence. My wife, Ellen, passed away six years ago. My kids? They’re busy in New York and Atlanta, chasing careers and raising grandkids I mostly see on FaceTime. Recently, I realized I had become invisible. Just “that old guy” blocking the aisle with his cart, counting pennies because Social Security doesn’t stretch as far as it used to. Every Friday, I go to the big superstore on the edge of town. It’s the highlight of my week—which tells you everything you need to know about my life. That’s where I met Mateo. He was the cashier at Lane 4. Young—maybe 22. He had an eyebrow piercing and tattoos running down his arms, sleeves of ink disappearing under his blue vest. To a lot of folks from my generation, he looked like trouble. His English carried a heavy accent. He’d say, “Did you find everything okay, sir?” and most people wouldn’t even look up from their phones. They’d just shove their credit card into the machine. I watched people treat him like furniture. A woman in a fancy coat huffed, “Can’t you go faster?” A man muttered, “Learn the language or go home.” Mateo never flinched. He just kept scanning, smiling, and saying, “Have a blessed day.” Three weeks ago, I was standing behind a young mother. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, a baby crying in the cart. She was buying store-brand diapers and two jugs of milk. When she swiped her card, the machine buzzed. Declined. She turned red. “I… let me put the milk back,” she stammered, holding back tears. “I get paid on Monday.” Before I could reach for my wallet, Mateo was already moving. He didn’t make a scene. He didn’t announce it. He simply pulled a crumpled ten-dollar bill from his pocket, scanned it, and handed her the receipt. “It is covered, miss,” he said quietly. “Go feed the baby.” She stared at him, shocked, whispered thank you, and hurried out. The next customer immediately started complaining about the wait. But I saw. That night, I sat in my recliner staring at the wall. Here was this kid—working for minimum wage, getting treated like dirt—giving away his own money to a stranger. Meanwhile, I’d spent the last five years feeling sorry for myself. The next Friday, I wrote a note on a napkin. When I got to his register, I slid it over. It said: “You are a good man. I saw what you did.” Mateo read it. He looked up, and for the first time, his professional mask slipped. His eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Mr. Frank,” he whispered. We started talking. I learned he works two jobs and takes online night classes to become a paramedic. “I want to save lives,” he told me. “My parents sacrificed everything to get me here. I cannot waste it.” Then came last Tuesday. The store was packed. Tensions were high—these days, everyone seems on edge. A large man in a baseball cap slammed his items onto the belt. Mateo made a small mistake. He had to void an item. It took an extra thirty seconds. The man exploded. “Are you stupid?” he shouted, loud enough for three lines to hear. “This is America. Why do they hire people who can’t even run a register? Go back to where you came from!” The air went still. People stared at the floor. The cashier next to us looked terrified. Mateo just stared at the scanner, his hands trembling slightly. My heart pounded. My whole life, I’ve been the “keep your head down” type. Don’t make waves. Mind your business. But this was my business. I stepped forward. My joints ached, but I stood as tall as my 5'9" frame would allow. “Hey!” I barked. My voice cracked—then steadied. The man turned. “What?” “He works harder in one shift than you probably do all week,” I said, pointing at Mateo. “He’s studying to save lives. He helped a mother buy diapers when she had nothing. What have you done today besides yell at a kid?” The man’s face turned red. “Mind your business, old man.” “Decency is everyone’s business,” I said. “You want to be tough? Be tough enough to show some respect.” The line fell silent. Then a woman behind me started clapping. Slowly. Another person nodded. “He’s right,” someone muttered. The man grabbed his bags and stormed off, still muttering under his breath. I looked at Mateo. He wasn’t trembling anymore. He stood straighter, shoulders back. He met my eyes and nodded. A quiet understanding passed between us—between a 74-year-old retiree and a 22-year-old trying to build a future. I walked to my car shaking. I cried in the parking lot—not out of sadness, but because for the first time in years, I felt alive. I felt like a human being again. Yesterday, Mateo handed me my receipt. On the back, in neat handwriting, he had written: “My father is far away. Today, you were like a father to me.” I’m sharing this because we are living in angry times. We are told to hate each other. We are told to pick sides. But here’s what I learned in that checkout line: You don’t have to fix the world. You don’t have to solve every problem. Sometimes, all you have to do is change the air in the room. Be the one who speaks up. Be the one who sees the person behind the name tag. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just walking each other home. Make sure you’re good company.

My dad - The GrassRange - is down for the count, fighting for his life after having a stroke during open heart surgery last week. I’ve never known a day of life w/o him. I’m terrified - but hopeful. He’s a fighter. Raised 3 strong patriots. We’ll take prayers if u got ‘em!🙏🏼

🚨#BREAKING: A mass sho*ting has just taken place outside of a MIDDLE SCHOOL in Winston-Salem NC after two minors agreed to "fight each other at a park"... Two people are confirmed de*d and there are MULTIPLE more victims. PLEASE PRAY!!!! WE DO NOT HAVE TO LIVE LIKE THIS!!!

Lowe’s CEO says they are investing $250 million over the next 10 years to train 250,000 skilled trade workers: "AI cannot replace electrical work, plumbing, and carpentry. AI can write emails, but it can’t fix your roof"

One of my neighbors kid went to trade school for HVAC at 18. His parents were embarrassed because everyone around us, college is the only option promoted. He spent $6k and started at $65k while his friends were still in school. At 25 he got his contractor license. At 27 he opened his own shop. Last year his company did $2.1 million in revenue with 3 trucks. His friends just started to pay off their student loans. Now, my neighbors cant stop bragging about their son who also is our neighborhood HVAC tech. Day 96 tagging @mikeroweworks to let everyone know that we need more kids like this.

Grok saved the cat

🚨 HOLY CRAP! Calls are growing to impeach the judge who allowed Minnesota fraudster Abdirashid Said to FLEE THE COUNTRY before his $11M fraud court hearing The prosecutors WARNED the judge this would happened, but the judge let him free. Impeach NOW!

Happy birthday!