Candace Cameron Bure has been coming under a lot of scrutiny in the media recently. The actress was recently in the news for her comments about ‘traditional marriage’ that not everyone agreed with.
The actress is now making waves for another reason; a picture she posted with her husband.
Candace Cameron Bure met her husband Valeri Bure in 1994 at a hockey game. And two years later on June 22, 1996, they tied the knot and became husband and wife.
Even though they have been married for over 20 years, the two of them are still very much in love and make sure to keep the spark alive.
The playfulness of their marriage was very obvious from a story Bure posted on Instagram. However, some people mistook the playfulness as ‘inappropriate’ and the actress got a lot of backlash from her audience.
And in the face of backlash, Bure did not back down. She instead doubled down and posted the picture on her feed. She shared two pictures of her and her husband sharing the “sweet and spicy” nature of their relationship. In the second photo, Valerie has an arm around his wife’s shoulder and his hand is resting on her chest.
She was told by fans that the picture was a little too ‘racy’ for her as her stature as a ‘Christian celebrity.’ But the actress had a response for those who were upset. She said, “Sorry if it offended you… I’m actually not sorry,” she said while laughing in a follow-up video shared on her Instagram stories. “I’m glad that we have fun together after so many years.”
She said she was just showing what a “good and healthy marriage” looked like 24 years.
“It makes me laugh because it’s my husband,” she further explained in her follow-up Instagram story video. “He can touch me any time he wants and I hope he does.”
What did you think about Cameron Candace Bure’s relationship with her husband? Let us know in the comments below.
A BOY WAS SELLING HIS TOYS — THEN THE COMMUNITY STEPPED IN.
The morning air was crisp with the promise of a new day. George and I, bundled in our warmest coats, were on our usual walk, enjoying the quiet of our suburban street. The sun, a shy sliver peeking through the clouds, cast long shadows across the lawns. As we passed apartment building number 7, something caught my eye.
A small figure huddled beside a makeshift table, a handwritten sign propped against a stack of toys. Curiosity piqued, I approached the boy. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old, his face a mixture of determination and sadness.
“What are you doing?” I asked gently.
The boy, with eyes the color of a stormy sea, looked up at me. “Selling my toys,” he said, his voice small but resolute. “To help my dog.”
My heart sank. “Your dog?” I asked, confused.
He nodded, his lip trembling slightly. “My parents… they can’t afford to keep him anymore. They might have to take him to the shelter.”
The words hung heavy in the air. This child, barely out of toddlerhood, was facing a hardship that no child should ever have to bear. George, ever the pragmatist, gently inquired about the prices of the toys. They were ridiculously low, a testament to the boy’s desperation.
We couldn’t just walk away. We “bought” a few of his toys, though we had no intention of keeping them. Instead, we returned home with a renewed sense of purpose. We started knocking on doors, sharing the boy’s story with our neighbors. The response was immediate and overwhelming.
Mrs. Garibaldi, the elderly woman who always had a jar of cookies on her windowsill, donated a generous sum, her eyes brimming with tears. Mr. Thompson, the gruff gardener with a soft spot for animals, offered to mow the family’s lawn for the next month. Children, their faces alight with concern, emptied their piggy banks, their contributions ranging from a few coins to a dollar bill clutched tightly in their small hands.
News of the boy’s plight spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. Within hours, a small “fund” for the dog’s care had materialized. We dropped off the contributions that evening, a small bag overflowing with cash and good wishes.
The boy’s face, when he saw the money, was a picture of disbelief. His eyes widened, then welled up with tears. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “Thank you so much.” His parents, initially hesitant, were overcome with gratitude.
As we walked away, a sense of warmth filled my heart. It was a reminder that even in the face of adversity, the human spirit could shine through. The simple act of kindness, of reaching out to a neighbor in need, had created a ripple effect of compassion and support.
That evening, as I tucked my own children into bed, I told them about the little boy and his dog. I explained that sometimes, even the smallest acts of kindness could make a big difference. “Remember,” I said, “we’re all connected. We’re all part of a community, and we need to look out for each other.”
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of birdsong and the gentle patter of rain. The memory of the boy’s grateful smile warmed my heart. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope, and that the kindness of strangers can truly make a difference.
That day, I went about my business with a renewed sense of purpose, determined to be more mindful of the needs of those around me. The world, I realized, was full of small acts of heroism, waiting to be discovered. And in the quiet moments, I would remember the little boy and his dog, a testament to the enduring power of compassion and the unwavering kindness of the human spirit.
Leave a Reply