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Hey everybody, I sure hope you're doing well.

Last week I told you a story about receiving a gift from my dad.

I have another story about my dad this week.

You know by now I love telling stories about him.

This story isn't about getting a car. It's about

something he did for me when I was young that our Heavenly Father does for us. He fights for us.

Not Corey was 13 years old, five foot two inches tall and weighed 100 pounds soaking wet.

His attackers were in their late teens, twice his size, and outnumbered him seven to one.

For 30 minutes, they hit, they kicked, they beat him, they dragged him through the snow, they stuffed him into a tree, they suspended him on a seven-foot fence.

He never stood a chance.

Corey and his mom had recently moved to the Philadelphia suburb of Upper Darby.

Her job as a maid at a Minnesota hotel had vaporized, and she was in need of work,

and so they moved to Philadelphia.

In 2000, the year 2000, she had immigrated from war-torn Liberia.

So Nadine Corey was the new kid in a rough neighborhood, whose mom was an immigrant.

Everything that a wolf pack of bullies needed to justify their attack. They began by

picking on him. They called his mother names. They routinely shoved and pushed and ambushed him.

And then came that all out of salt on a January day. Now, Nadine Corey survived that attack, but he would have certainly faced more had it not

been for the folly of one of the bullies, who recorded the pylon on his cell phone, then posted it on

YouTube. Neighbors saw the violence and got angry. Police saw it and got

involved. The bullies landed in jail and the story ended up in the paper where it was read by a

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