Lyle Prouse

Putting Nana's clothes on until she notices! 😂 She has the best laugh ever! OMG you bottle up her laugh and sell it! Just in case anyone needed to know. This is called rich. Not the beautiful home. But, family who can laugh together. ❤️🥰

She shouldn't be driving with a male unescorted. Those are their rules. Well played, sir. Well played.

When I was still an auxiliary bishop in Los Angeles, I attended with my brother bishops from California an ad limina visit with Pope Francis. At the conclusion of the meeting, as we were rising to leave, the Pope stopped us and said, “I want you all to battle the gender ideology that is sweeping your country. It is opposed to the Bible and to our Catholic anthropology.” In his later declaration “Dignitas infinita,” Pope Francis strongly reiterated this position, arguing that gender ideology is deeply harmful to the dignity of young people. This is why I was so pleased to see Secretary Robert Kennedy’s announcement this morning that he is endeavoring to ban so-called gender re-assignment surgery and the use of puberty blockers that halt natural sexual development. The Catholic Church agrees with Secretary Kennedy that these procedures result in irreparable physical harm and typically increase the psychological distress of those who undergo them.   Anyone with a pastor’s heart sympathizes with those who suffer from gender dysphoria and insists that all people must be treated with love, compassion, respect, and dignity. But interventions that result in the mutilation of our young people are neither compassionate nor respectful. I’m grateful to Secretary Kennedy and the department of Health and Human Services for this action.

Is it always like this? 😅

@PapaThrow You're exactly right Jack, those goons at mont lake and down in Oregoon thought they had the juice to carry the conference and they couldn't do shit. That woman was a fool.

Let me see…certainly couldn’t count on the previous UW President, whatever her name was. She could’ve been part of the solution but chose otherwise. Just sayin-

@coachlukefalk Peyton Pelluer

When I first walked on at Washington State, I went to Dissmore’s and bought this hat—my “walk-on hat.” There are years of blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifice stitched into this thing… and into this program. I’m not the only one who feels that way. We’ve had so many great players come through WSU who poured everything they had into this place and still care about it deeply. Many of them are now coaching in college football themselves. My hope is that wherever we go from here, we bring Cougs onto this staff like @michaelbumpus5 said! People with Coug DNA, people who are invested in WSU. With the right Cougs in the building, this program can have a true foundation that lasts beyond any coaching change and creates real stability in this new era of college football. So much of life isn’t about the event itself—it’s about how you choose to perceive it, the story you tell yourself, and ultimately how you respond. I believe we’ll look back on this moment as the catalyst for a great decade of @WSUCougarFB —because we had the right people in the building and all of Coug Nation supporting them! Go Cougs!

The hardware store closes at 6 p.m. It's 5:58 p.m. when the kid walks in. Tom's been sweeping the same aisle for ten minutes, ready to lock up. Seventy years old, feet aching, one more hour until he can sit down at home. The kid can't be more than sixteen. Soaking wet from the rain. Shaking. "We're closing," Tom says, not unkindly. "Please. I just need... I need a lock. For a door." Something in the kid's voice. Terror. Desperation. Tom stops sweeping. "What kind of lock?" "I don't know. Just... one that works. That keeps people out." The kid's got a black eye. Fresh. The kind that's still swelling. Tom doesn't ask. Just walks to aisle seven. Shows him the locks. The kid reaches for the cheapest one. $8.99. "That one's garbage," Tom says. "Won't stop anyone determined." He hands him a deadbolt. Heavy duty. $34.99. The kid's face crumbles. "I only have twelve dollars." They stand there. Rain drumming on the roof. Store empty except for them. Tom takes the deadbolt to the register. Rings it up. "Twelve dollars." "But," "Sale price. Today only." The kid knows. Knows there's no sale. Knows this old man is lying. Tries not to cry and fails. Tom bags it. Adds a screwdriver. Free. "You know how to install it?" The kid shakes his head. "You got twenty minutes?" They drive in Tom's truck. Don't talk. The kid directs him to a rundown duplex on the east side. Upstairs apartment. Door frame cracked. Old lock broken, hanging loose. Tom installs the deadbolt. Takes him fifteen minutes. Tests it. Solid. Hands the kid both keys. "Someone tries to get in, you call 911. You hear me?" The kid nods. Tom's halfway to his truck when he hears it, "Why?" He turns around. The kid's standing in the doorway, backlit, holding those keys like they're made of gold. "Why did you help me?" Tom thinks about his own son. Twenty years ago. Different city. Same desperate eyes. Didn't make it. "Because you asked," Tom says simply. He drives home. Doesn't tell his wife. Doesn't think about it much. Three weeks pass. A woman comes into the store. Forty, maybe. Tired eyes but smiling. "Are you Tom?" "Yes, ma'am." "My son told me about you. The lock you sold him." She's crying now. "His father... my ex-husband... he's not a good man. That lock kept us safe until I could get the restraining order. Until we could breathe." She hands Tom an envelope. "It's not much. But it's the thirty dollars we owed you, plus a little more." Tom tries to refuse. She won't let him. "You didn't just sell him a lock," she says. "You saw him. You saw us. When we were invisible." After she leaves, Tom opens the envelope. Sixty dollars. And a note from the kid: "Installed three more locks for neighbors who needed them. Taught myself how. Going to trade school next year. Maybe I'll work in a hardware store someday. Be someone like you. -Marcus" Tom's manager notices him crying by the register. "You okay?" "Yeah," Tom says. "Just... yeah." That night, Tom stays two minutes past closing. Then five. Then ten. Just in case someone walks in at 5:58 p.m. Soaking wet. Desperate. Needing more than just a lock. Because he learned something, The last customer of the day might be the most important one you ever serve." .

"My name's Hank. I'm 66. I deliver propane to homes. Rural routes, farms, folks off the grid. I fill their tanks, check connections, drive to the next house. Most customers just sign the slip, barely look up. I'm just the propane guy. But last February, during that brutal cold snap, I noticed something at the Miller place. Pulled up to fill their tank, gauge showed empty. Completely dry. In 15-degree weather. I knocked on the door. Mrs. Miller answered, three kids bundled behind her in coats. Inside the house. "Ma'am, your tank's bone dry. How long you been without heat?" "Four days." Her voice was steady, but her hands shook. "Bill's due Friday. We're waiting on my husband's paycheck." Four days. Three kids. Fifteen degrees. "Ma'am, I'm filling it now." "I can't pay until" "I'll mark it as a delivery error. Computer glitch. Nobody'll know." She started crying. "Why would you do this?" "Because those kids are wearing coats inside." I filled their tank. Checked the furnace. Made sure heat kicked on before I left. Drove away thinking about what I'd seen. Kids doing homework in winter jackets. A mom choosing between heat and food. Started paying attention different after that. The elderly veteran whose tank was at 10%, he was rationing, keeping one room warm. The single dad whose payment was two weeks late, he'd been burning firewood he couldn't really afford. I started doing something I shouldn't. When I saw someone struggling, someone who'd run out, someone rationing heat—I'd add 50 gallons. Mark it as "meter calibration" or "pressure test residual." Small amounts. Enough to get them through. Did it eleven times that winter. My boss noticed the discrepancies. Called me in. "Hank, we're showing extra gallons delivered but not billed." I told him the truth. Everything. He stared at me for a long time. Then said, "My daughter was a single mom once. Chose between heat and groceries every winter. I wished someone had helped her." He didn't fire me. Instead, he created something, "Warm Hearts Emergency Fund." Customers could donate. We'd match it. Use it for families in crisis who couldn't afford propane. But here's what broke me, Mrs. Miller came to our office in May. She'd gotten a better job, caught up on bills. She handed me an envelope. Inside, $200. "For the next family. The one you'll find in February, four days without heat, trying to be brave for their kids." She grabbed my hands. "Hank, my youngest has asthma. Four more days in that cold... I don't know if..." She couldn't finish. Last winter, the Warm Hearts Fund helped 23 families. Not with handouts, with heat when they had none. With dignity when they felt broken. And here's the thing, other propane companies heard about it. Started their own programs. Now there are "emergency heat funds" in six states. But the moment that destroyed me happened last month. Got a call to deliver to an address I recognized, the Miller place. Mrs. Miller answered. "Hank! Come in, please." Inside, warm, kids doing homework at the table, laughing. She handed me a check. Full payment, plus extra. "For the fund. But also..." She pulled out a drawing her youngest had made. Stick figure man with a propane truck. Caption in crayon: "Mr. Hank, my hero." "She asks about you every winter. 'Is Mr. Hank making sure people are warm?'" I'm 66. I deliver propane to houses nobody notices. But I learned this- Cold doesn't wait for paychecks. And no child should do homework in a winter coat inside their own home. So if you deliver anything, oil, propane, firewood, and you see someone struggling, someone empty, someone rationing, Find a way. Mark it wrong. Call your boss. Start a fund. Do something. Because heat isn't a luxury. It's survival. And the difference between freezing and living shouldn't be whether your paycheck arrived on time. Be the reason someone stays warm." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . Ai image is for Demonstration purpose only . Credit: Mary Nelson

“I got my Lord and savior Jesus Christ back, and I’m with my boys” Yes sir 🔥

This is real-life, real-man stuff from Ernest Jones, on what he shared with his #Seahawks teammates that wowed coach Mike Macdonald: @thenewstribune

@Matt_Pinner Regina and Flossie

WHAT was your grandmother's name... I'm looking for a vintage girl's name. Not Betty!

@TheResoluteLife Dog gone Chef Boyardee

God shows up in the small moments—the ones that remind us miracles don’t have to be big to be beautiful. Iron Will made a PB&J sandwich all by himself and it was pretty epic. For him and for us! #IronWill #DownSyndrome #TeamIronWill #ChampionPossibility

@tpera75 It's not the X's and O's but the Jimmys and Joes that win the ball game for you.

What’s the best offensive coaching point you’ve ever received?

The Liberal Women 🤣

They want to be slow roasted or braised. The eating part is optional.

A Co 2-2 IN in Fallujah. - For anyone that doesn’t know; this is Medal of Honor recipient SSG David Bellavia’s unit. - Posted before, this clip is from the documentary Only the Dead Sees the End of War by Michael Ware which can be found on YouTube. Worth a watch.

😎

Everyone should hear this story. If you never understood why the bond among Marines is so strong and why Marines are incredibly determined, loyal, hard, driven and fearless, listen to this Gunny speak of a young Marine who insisted that his former Senior Drill Instructor award his Purple Heart after losing his arm & leg. The Marine spirit is forged from our first steps to boot camp and never dies, especially when facing death. Those who ever wore the Eagle Globe and Anchor (EGA) know 🦅🌍⚓️

Who remembers sitting in the butts with rounds wizzing over your head?