Kasper 🇺🇸

Pretty purple..💜 Share yours.

It’s Water Wednesday. QP or share a picture of water.

Let's see your beach photos! QP or share yours

Smartphone photography is real photography! Share a photo you captured with your phone!

@PsyGuy007 🙏🇺🇸

🇮🇶🇺🇸 In 2007 in Iraq, Navy SEAL Mike Day enters first into a room held by Al-Qaeda fighters. Within seconds, he is hit by 27 bullets: legs, arms, abdomen, buttocks, scrotum… then a grenade knocks him unconscious. Most men would have died on the spot. He regains consciousness, draws his pistol, takes down the 4 terrorists one by one, and eventually walks away from the battlefield without assistance. One of the craziest stories of combat resilience I have ever read. Eternal respect to this warrior. 💪 🗣️ What do you think?

It’s Waterfalls Wednesday! QP or Share your fave water shots 🌊

@KatTimpf My heart goes out to you and your family. God Bless 💔🙏

My seemingly healthy, strong father Daniel “Dad Timpf” Timpf died very unexpectedly on the evening of May 7 at just 69 years old.   It does not seem like enough to simply call him my father, because he was so much more than that. He was my rock, my hero and my best friend. He was loyal, funny, kind, selfless, hard-working, and so devoted to his children that it was impossible to be near him and not find yourself inspired. He was a writer, a painter, a sailor, and somehow knowledgeable on every subject from world history to literature to accounting. He was the most dependable person anyone has ever met. I always felt like, as long as I had his phone number, there was not a problem I could not solve. I needed him here with me; I am not okay, and I am far from the only person who feels this.   The birth of my son in February 2025, his first grandchild, was supposed to be a happy new beginning for our family. A family that had been already once devastated by an untimely loss: the loss of my mother Anne Marie to a rare disease in 2014 just a matter of weeks after her diagnosis.   The joy of my son’s birth was, of course, complicated by my also very unexpected breast cancer diagnosis just a matter of hours before going into labor with him. During this time, my dad did what he did best, which was to save the day. As soon as he heard about my diagnosis, he simply got into the car and started driving to New York -- making it through the tunnel just as my  son was born…on the day that happened to be his own birthday, as well.   In the tumultuous time of a simultaneous new cancer diagnosis and new baby, my dad was the sole reason for our stability, rushing in to help care for our son, and returning to do so again for my double mastectomy, reconstructive surgery, and any time that we ever needed him. It was an awful, awful year… but I found so much joy and hope throughout it by watching the beauty of a very special relationship form between my son and my father. This horrible thing that was happening was creating such a very special bond between the two of them -- almost making the terrible thing worth it -- and I was so excited to see how that bond would grow.   The bond was of top priority for my father, who visited from Michigan often. I saw him last on the Monday before he died, and my son was so proud to help his grandfather push his suitcase down to the car as he left. The goodbyes were quick. Why wouldn’t they be? We would all see each other again at the beginning of June, when we would all head to Texas for my shows and to see my grandpa. We wanted to make sure that my son could spend as much time as he could with his great-grandfather. He is, after all, 93.   I was certainly not over the trauma of my cancer or having to amputate the breasts I so badly wanted to feed my son with, but the one thing I could always count on to get me through my worst moments was seeing my son’s and my father’s faces light up when they saw each other, be it during the visits or our routine morning and bedtime FaceTime calls.   That is, at least, until I had to hear over the phone from a doctor I had never met in an emergency room in the same town up north that I’d previously announced to my father that I was pregnant that my dad was dead; I would never see him again, and neither would my son. It would turn out that last year was not the hard one, after all. Rather, it was the one I would now do anything to relive. I would amputate my breasts every year just to be able to speak with him one more time, even for five minutes.   I am currently living an unimaginable horror. For many people, this is a tragic story. For me, it’s my life. I do not know how I will recover from it. I only know that I have to for the sake of what is left of my family.

QP/share whatever you like for #WhateverWednesday

@Teamgrassroots_ 💔🙏

RIP Charlie 😢 It is with the heaviest of hearts we can share a devastating loss. 11 year old Fairmuir 2015s player Charlie Melville has sadly passed away after a short battle with illness. Charlie was always bubbly and smiley especially when playing football. Charlie was a massive part of our 2015s and his loss will be felt throughout Fairmuir. Everyone at Fairmuir pass on our deepest condolences to the family. Rest easy Charlie 🧡💙 The club have started a go fund me for donations gofund.me/7924038e9

Share a tranquil moment for #TranquilThursday

@sscjusa 💔🙏

I am at the ICU in Johnstown, Pennsylvania right now for one of our Sisters who is gravely ill from cancer. Another Sister is on hospice in a nearby nursing home.

Starting to make maple syrup 😊 the old fashioned way that my grandfather and dad taught us ❤️

@CrazyVibes_1 💔🇺🇸

My father has cancer. Stage four. The VA said maybe four months. He served three tours in Vietnam and came home to people spitting on him, calling him baby killer, telling him his service meant nothing. He never talked about the war. Never wore his medals. Never went to reunions. Just carried fifty-two years of shame for doing what his country asked him to do. Last month hospice started coming to the house and I realized I had no idea how to honor him, how to tell him his life mattered when he'd spent half a century believing it didn't. So I posted in a quilting group asking if anyone made military quilts, and a woman responded immediately. She'd found me through a shop where she runs a business making Quilts of Valor for dying veterans. She said “I'll start tonight.” She finished it in three weeks, worked around the clock because Dad's time is short. Every star is hand-stitched. Every stripe is perfectly aligned. She shipped it express and included a letter thanking him for his service, telling him that her father died alone believing nobody cared that he'd served. She said “Let your dad know the country was wrong. His service mattered. He matters.” We wrapped him in it yesterday. This photo is him seeing it for the first time. He cried for twenty minutes, kept touching the stars, kept saying “Someone made this for me?” I've started coordinating with other quilters now, connecting dying veterans with makers who can get quilts finished in time. Racing against cancer, against time, against fifty years of men dying before anyone told them thank you. Dad has maybe six weeks now. But he'll leave wrapped in stars. ⭐🇺🇸 By Angela mcnutt

Share a tranquil moment for #TranquilThursday

@Dan_Kinghorn77 Beautiful

The John Moulton barn in Wyoming.

@Diegoranchinc 💔🙏🇺🇸

WARNING ⚠️ THIS MIGHT BE TOUGH TO READ. A grown man cried on my shoulder. Hard, ugly sobs that ripped out of him like shrapnel. He’d done two tours. Watched friends disappear and came home with a head full of ghosts. Depression wasn’t just heavy, it was a black tide that drowned him every night. PTSD, That was the monster that clawed him awake, screaming names he couldn’t save. “I should’ve died over there,” he told me multiple times. River’s no trophy winning horse just a scarred up horse that had been beaten, broken, left to rot before Diego Ranch found him. Sound familiar? The first time our veteran stepped into the stall, the guy was shaking so bad he couldn’t hold the halter. River didn’t flinch just lowered his head, breathed hot against his neck like he was saying, I know what hell feels like. I watched this man clinging to that warm, living thing like it was the last rope out of a grave. Halfway through, he broke and collapsed forward, fists knotted in Rivers mane, tears soaking the coarse hair. Now when he shows up, River meets him at the gate every time, ears forward, like he’s waiting for that big hug. He calls River his last chance. I call him proof, horses can heal. Support a great program healing and saving lives givesendgo.com/diegoranch?utm…

@CoachSHoltz 💔🙏

My father passed away today resting peacefully at home. I appreciate everyone’s thoughts and prayers over the last couple months! He was successful, but more important he was Significant.

@bushcamp2 ❤️

Leaving camp is always tough but it’s a lot tougher when I say goodbye to Windy & she closes her eyes, stands motionless & enjoys the scratches

You enter a photo contest with the theme of “Something Yellow”, what photo would you submitted? Let’s see them!! 📸 🌄 A little #ThrowbackThursday fun!

@DMiller52325459 @JudyZelmer

You enter a photo contest with the theme of “Something Yellow”, what photo would you submitted? Let’s see them!! 📸 🌄 A little #ThrowbackThursday fun!