July 26, 2020. A beach near Collingwood, Ontario. Sixteen-year-old Jamey Ruth Klassen was supposed to be enjoying a quiet family vacation beside the icy blue waters of Georgian Bay. Farther out on the lake, a man named Christopher Robertson had taken his kayak out alone for a peaceful paddle. Then the kayak filled with water and flipped. Suddenly, he was stranded in the freezing bay, clinging desperately to the overturned hull while shouting for help. Jamey didn’t hear him directly. What she heard instead were strangers nearby calling 911, panicking about a kayaker who had disappeared beneath the surface and wasn’t coming back up. Most teenagers would’ve stayed on shore. The water was brutally cold. The distance looked impossible. Lifeguards and paramedics were already being called. Waiting would’ve been understandable. Jamey never waited. She ran toward the water and dove in. Alone, she swam nearly 600 feet through Georgian Bay — the distance of two football fields — pushing herself farther and farther from shore toward the empty kayak floating in the distance. By the time she reached it, Christopher Robertson was gone. Then Jamey looked down. Through the clear Canadian water, she could see him lying motionless twelve feet below on the lake floor. She took one breath. And dove. The cold tightened around her body instantly as she reached the bottom. She grabbed Robertson beneath both arms and forced herself upward, dragging his unconscious body back toward the surface. He wasn’t breathing. His body hung limp in the water. Jamey refused to let go. She turned him onto his back, balanced his head against her shoulder, wrapped one arm across his chest, and began swimming him toward shore using only one arm and her legs. Every second became harder. Her muscles burned violently. Her lungs screamed. She had no formal lifeguard certification because the pandemic had canceled the courses she planned to take that summer. Still, she kept kicking. Then fear hit her. Jamey realized she might drown beside him before reaching shore. Exhausted and losing strength, she used the last thing she still had left: Her voice. She screamed for help. A nearby paddleboarder heard her cries and rushed across the water. Together, they lifted Robertson onto the board while Jamey, shivering and exhausted, swam the remaining distance alone. Onshore, police officers and paramedics immediately began CPR. Moments later, Christopher Robertson started breathing again. He survived. Nearly a year later, Jamey Ruth Klassen received the Carnegie Medal — North America’s highest civilian honor for heroism. Out of millions of people, only eighteen recipients were chosen that year. But Jamey barely spoke about herself afterward. Instead, she used the scholarship money from the award to attend nursing school at McMaster University, quietly continuing the same instinct that had driven her into the freezing water that day: If someone needs help, you go. No hesitation. No spotlight. No waiting for someone braver. Just a sixteen-year-old girl who saw a stranger drowning… and decided his life mattered more than her fear.

Tomorrow is Flag Day! We invite everyone to post a picture of themself on X in front of an American flag. The best picture wins $5,000 cash, and an additional $5,000 will be donated in the winner's name to the veterans organization of their choice. We love our veterans 🇺🇸

A 5% tax on Elon’s net worth would fund every community health center in America for the next 26 years. I’ll say it again. Tax the rich.

Elon Musk just became the world's first trillionaire. The typical American household would have to work more than 11 MILLION years to make Elon Musk's level of wealth. We need a wealth tax.

Elon Musk just became the world's first trillionaire. The typical American household would have to work more than 11 MILLION years to make Elon Musk's level of wealth. We need a wealth tax.

Elon Musk just became the world’s first trillionaire. Let’s make sure he’s also the last.

Welp, here’s our very last @hellofresh delivery. After being loyal customers on and off (mostly on) for 10 years, our faith and integrity demand that the Basham family no longer support a company that would be so disgusting as to promote their product (which is FOOD by the way) by suggesting it can be used by gay men to clear out their rectums of feces in preparation for sodomy. (Yes, this is really what they did). It is actually going to be a little bit of a hardship on us as I continue to receive cancer treatments that require me to travel across country every couple of weeks. But it is a small sacrifice. So we are looking for another meal delivery service if any one can recommend some that are easy prep, yummy, and reasonably healthy. Thanks! As for me in my house, we serve the Lord and we can’t support that.

This is the PERFECT example of why foreigners should not be allowed to run for office Zul Mohammed just ran for Mayor of Carrollton, Texas. He’s from Pakistan “No vet has made any sacrifice. I want to make that clear. I do not support the US military. No, I do not support the United States. I look down on both entities. I want to make that clear” I can’t think of a better example of why only natural born citizens should be allowed to run for office Also he is a Muslim, which further enforces the classic “I do not support the United States” We need new election eligibility laws

A USDA inspector showed up at our beef jerky processor for regular inspection and saw Nourish Food Club on the production schedule. According to the processor, the inspector said: “I’ve had issues with Ashley before, so I’m going to find problems.” Our beef was already processed at a USDA facility. We had the required paperwork. Yet the processor was told to put “NOT FOR SALE” on the entire batch. • We paid our small regenerative farm partners (who spent 2 years raising the cow) • We paid the USDA processor • We paid the USDA jerky maker Now the jerky can’t be sold, and we eat the loss. This is the kind of regulatory abuse that pushes small food producers out of business.

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.

You can be a tattooed, deep-voiced, "manly" combat veteran who also goes to therapy and shows up for his neighbors. Those two things go completely hand-in-hand. And I think it's important to have people who can show that, instead of a vision of masculinity that's hardened, shut off, and angry.

The Texas Rangers are the only MLB team who doesn’t celebrate Pride Night. They’re skipping Pride Night again & instead, they’re having a Faith & Family Night June 18th Wyatt Langford, Josh Jung, & other players will share their testimonies/faith in Jesus Christ as a part of the event.

For all those praising Senator Fetterman as being “based” (including me)… Think again. He VOTED NO on the Save America Act!