Ivy Renfroe Lowery

@StephSayne @K_Smith33 We love her!! 🥰🧡🩵

The best! And the best person on top of being the best instructor 🧡

SageVegas 🎲

“She’s fantastic at what she does. The numbers speak for themselves.” Karen Weekly said that about Tennessee pitching coach Megan Rhodes Smith in an offseason feature. Now the top-ranked Lady Vols are 25-0 with a 0.89 staff ERA. 📖 bit.ly/4cKLXun

I was fortunate enough to be part of throwing a perfect game with my teammate Miranda yesterday in my second high school appearance. We couldn’t have done it without great defense behind us! Worked my changeup a lot and it was 🔥! @LineDsoftball @PrepSoftball @CoastRecruitsSB @ETSUSoftball @AppStateSB @SoftballDown @JURoyalsSB @WSCCsoftball @PSCCPanthers @MRhodesSmith

Played in my second HS play day this past Saturday. Regular season starts tomorrow! @LineDsoftball @AppStateSB @ETSUSoftball @JURoyalsSB @SoftballDown @ExtraInningSB @PrepSoftball @LMU_Softball @coachmass2214 @CoastRecruitsSB @rwwagner @AleeexIbarra @whitjones25 @DaynaCarter5

Played my first high school play day yesterday. Excited for this season! @LineDsoftball @PrepSoftball @ExtraInningSB @MaxPreps @SoftballDown @CoastRecruitsSB

This is what winning looks like

Wow. 13-year-old boy credits God for helping him swim 4 hours in the freezing ocean to save his stranded mother and siblings "I don't think it was actually me [swimming]... It was God the whole time. I kept on praying, kept on praying. I said to God, 'I'll get baptized.'" 🙏

We need more athletes like Karlyn Pickens in college sports. "I would rather finish my career at a program that I have helped and contributed to, rather than possibly end my career with a big trophy in my hand that I didn't necessarily put all my energy towards." #LadyVols

I’m worn out hearing people moan, “Our grandparents could buy a house on one paycheck, but now we can’t even afford rent on two!” Yeah, maybe because Grandma wasn’t dropping half her income on $14 iced lattes and avocado toast shaped like art projects. Back then, if they wanted coffee, they boiled it at home in a dented pot. It tasted like burnt rubber and regret — but it woke you up and cleaned your pipes. And Grandma wasn’t “out to brunch.” You think she had time for mimosas and hashtags? She was making something called whatever’s left in the fridge and feeding six people with it. Don’t even start with Uber Eats. You think Grandpa was out here paying $38 to have a burger delivered three blocks away? Please. He grilled mystery meat on a rusted barbecue, and everyone called it dinner. Now people cry about being broke while sitting in a house full of gadgets. Two SUVs in the driveway, six streaming services, three air fryers, and matching tattoos that cost more than their light bill. You think Grandpa had a tattoo? He did. It said “Korea, 1951,” and it came with trauma, not Instagram likes. And the kids—Lord help us. “We can’t make ends meet, but Brayden needs the new iPhone!” No, he doesn’t. You’re handing an $1100 device to a child who still eats crayons and forgets to flush. When we were kids, there was one phone. It hung on the wall like a family relic. The cord stretched just far enough for you to whisper secrets before someone yelled, “Get off, I need to make a call!” And guess what? We lived. The TV? One. In the living room. With three channels and a dial that clicked like a safe. And if Dad wanted to watch bowling, you were a fan of bowling, end of story. Now there’s a flat screen in every room, the baby’s got an iPad, the dog’s got a camera, and everyone’s wondering why they can’t afford rent. Because you’re living like rock stars on retail salaries, that’s why. Grandpa wasn’t leasing Teslas or buying $12 smoothies called “Green Zen Awakening.” He drove a truck that coughed smoke, rattled like a storm, and smelled like oil and hard work. They lived within their means. Whatever Grandpa brought home on Friday — that’s what they had. They weren’t keeping up with the Joneses; they were keeping the lights on. So yeah, Grandpa bought a house on one salary. But he also didn’t have a gym membership, three delivery apps, and emotional support crystals on his nightstand. His only support system was Grandma, who told him to quit whining and mow the yard. Nowadays, everyone’s broke, anxious, and “manifesting abundance” while ordering tacos on DoorDash for the fourth time this week. It’s not the economy — it’s the lifestyle. Wake up, turn off your subscriptions, make your own coffee, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll smell the truth. Credit to original author, unknown

60 seconds of pure joy ! Try not to smile 😊 🥰

My daughter stopped running to the door. I don't know when it happened. One day she was five, sprinting down the hallway the second she heard my keys. "DADDY'S HOME!" Every single day. It was annoying sometimes. I had bags to put down. Emails to check. Dinner to get started. "Give me a second, sweetheart." She'd wait. Then she'd stop waiting. I came home last Tuesday. Keys in the door. Silence. She was on the couch. Glanced up. "Hey." Then back to her phone. I stood there. Bags in hand. Waiting for something that wasn't coming. That's when I realized: She didn't stop running to the door. I trained her to stop. Every "give me a second." Every half-hug while looking at my phone. Every "not right now, honey." A thousand tiny rejections. Until she got the message. Daddy's home. But he's not really here. So why bother? I put my bags down. Walked over. Sat next to her. "I'm sorry I stopped being excited to see you." She looked at me like I was crazy. "What?" "I used to run to you too. I stopped first. You just followed." She didn't say anything. But she put her phone down. Your kids stop running to the door when you stop being worth running to. It happens slowly. Then all at once. And one day you'll come home to silence. Wondering what happened. You happened. The next time you walk through that door— Put down your phone before you put down your bags. Look them in the eyes before you check your inbox. Run to them first. Before they forget how.

"I couldn't play because I was worried somebody might pull out a gun or something. But now I can do that. I just wanted to thank the President of the United States for bringing the National Guard here." This is how life is supposed to be and Democrats oppose it.

A message from a Kindergarten teacher: After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old: “My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.” No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.” My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me. When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic. But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe. My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown. And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice. They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer. The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.” As if kindness were a weakness. Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure — a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.” a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.” a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.” Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up. But this last year broke something in me. The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival. I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times. So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998: “Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.” I sat on the floor and cried. No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications. I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced. I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers. So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try. Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

My dear American friends, We British Christians would get excited when, once a year, Queen Elizabeth would make a mild but sincere reference to the love of Jesus Christ in her Christmas address. In Charlie Kirks' Memorial service, watched by tens of millions, I just heard: - Multiple clear presentations of the gospel from men like @robmccoyus and @DrFrankTurek with clear calls to repentance and faith - Worship songs full of Scripture sung by tens of thousands live and millions at home - Personal testimonies of lives transformed by the work of Christ and the witness of believers - Demonstration and explanation of the value of marriage, child-rearing and family - Calls to Romans 13 for the government to bear the sword for the protection of good and punishment of the wicked - Declarations of spiritual warfare on the forces of evil and promises to endure no matter the cost - Calls to be prophets and call the nation to repent - More Scripture references and Bible readings than I can count - And a widow publicly forgiving her husband's killer because Christ forgave his killers on the cross. All of it done before, and by, the most powerful people in your nation and the world. You guys should be on your knees thanking God for your country. It is a light to the world. Never stop fighting for it.

If you watch anything from today's Charlie Kirk memorial service, let it be these words from @MrsErikaKirk. This is the Gospel in real life. Just... wow.

Rest in peace, Charlie. God will take it from here. He has already done so much good in the week since you left us. I wanted to focus on that while hosting The Charlie Kirk Show today. Tonight on Glenn TV, my team compiled some of the highlights.

In loving memory of Charlie Kirk, a fearless patriot & man of unwavering faith who dedicated his life to America. "It's bigger than you, I want you to remember that... It's bigger than me - you are here to make somebody else's life better, the pursuit of liberty & freedom."❤️

🚨 BREAKING: Maori men are now going viral for performing Haka for Charlie Kirk. This is absolutely insane. Charlie's impact spread across cultures. It was not only America, not even close.