Every one around you needs to be loved even the mean people who hurt you,or hurt your friends.lnstead of hurting them back you can choose to be different. Just like Jesus Christ loves you when you don't deserve it,you can show that same kind love to others with your words and action

Simple language. Nature. Family. Hard work. Local traditions https://youtu.be/6xaIdmKeL8c?is=rOf5dZfBCHE8wogW .

Please join me in congratulating @May D Tolbert for being selected as this week's Poem of the Week with her powerful poem, "Broken Crayons." Chosen by this week's guest judge, @Cynthia Keffer May's poem is a beautiful reminder that even after life's storms, losses, and hardships, we still have purpose. Through vivid imagery and heartfelt honesty, "Broken Crayons" speaks to the resilience of the human spirit and the courage it takes to keep creating, healing, and moving forward. One of the lines that stayed with us was "A broken crayon, but I can still color, I still have my purpose." May, thank you for sharing your heart, your strength, and your artistry with our community. Your words touched us deeply and reminded us that broken does not mean finished it means experienced, resilient, and still capable of creating something beautiful. A special thank you to Cindy for serving as this week's judge and helping us celebrate the incredible talent within our community. Congratulations, May! 🎉

Who are we? Are we the dust of ancient stars, scattered across the heavens, gathered by time into flesh and bone? Are we the names we carry, the jobs we hold, the houses we build, the titles engraved upon our doors? Or are we something more? Are we the tears we hide behind practiced smiles? The battles no one witnessed? The scars that taught us how to survive? Who are we? We are the child who dared to dream. The lover who dared to trust. The grieving heart that kept beating after it shattered. We are every goodbye that broke us, and every sunrise that rebuilt us. We are the hands that lift another when they can barely stand. The voice that says, "I understand," when the world feels cold. The stranger who becomes a friend. The friend who becomes family. Perhaps we are not our successes. Perhaps we are not our failures. Perhaps we are the space between the choices we make, the kindness we offer, the love we leave behind. And when our final chapter closes, when our footsteps fade from the roads we traveled, Maybe the answer remains. We were never meant to be remembered for what we owned. We were meant to be remembered for how deeply we loved. So who are we? We are questions searching for answers. We are stories still being written. We are stardust and sorrow, hope and wonder, light and shadow. And somewhere between our first breath and our last, we spend a lifetime discovering who we are. By Jason Strickland

To all Mothers, great and small Who offered up and gave their all Protecting their most sacred treasure Giving their love without measure Mothers live to see us through To give us strength so we live, too From darkness or the light above Life has meaning where there's love❤️ One of my favorite depictions, everyone here has a Mother. Please share the love you find within this frame❣️