Dear Friends,
Do you ever feel like you’re running behind—with everything! Such have been the past two weeks.
With no simple thematic thought in my hurried brain, I took my wife’s advice (Debby suggested I do it more often) and have written about several things floating through our lives since my last podcast.
I hope you’ll enjoy the potpourri of thoughts. It’s not as random as the title would suggest, or, at least I think not, having touched on several of the items before.
For you in the path of the freezing blizzard coming our way—stay warm, stay safe—and as always…
My Deepest Thanks for You!
D. Paul
CATS, FIRES, DEATHBED CONFESSIONS, & HOPE!
I knew 2026 was going to be an odd year despite its even numbers when mid-December my wife’s annual Advent arrangement—four colored candles surrounding the Christ candle in the center, accented underneath by a wreath of pine needles and cones—caught fire on the middle of our dining room table during dinner. Arguably, this table is the one potential heirloom we own, assuming it survives a couple more generations and any subsequent fires. Its unusual provenance, though, is what gives the table distinction: It was the dining-room table used on the hit TV show “West Wing,” which my dear friend, actor Ron Silver, worked on for several seasons, playing Bruno Gianelli, the campaign manager of President Bartlett’s 2002 bid for reelection.
Over time, the table had been pretty well abused by the loquacious actors spewing forth their lines worthy of the crisp, staccato dialogue of West Wing’s creator and chief writer, Aaron Sorkin. It was not cheap, but the builder and furniture store owner in Studio City, who services various film and TV studios, gave us a good deal on it, and its beautiful, mahogany burled wood was refinished gratis, returning it to its former luster before the wear and tear of the table thumping, sweating, spitting, and tearfully emotive actors of the oft-politicized West Wing. Who knows whether the burn spot in the center of the table will be fixed or not, at least on our watch.
The fire, which was put out with a pitcher of water (the coffee pot) and various napkins (warning—the polyester ones went up in flames!), may have left a symbolic stain on the table for generations to come. The not-so-minor blaze, or so it seemed at the time, took place at the end of the second week of Advent—“Peace”—right on the cusp of the third Sunday of Advent— “Joy”—invasively reminding us that “peace and joy” are not contingent upon external circumstances. Even in the fiery furnace, there is peace, for Christ is there! And occasionally, as my wife and I are dining on the “West Wing” table, I recall when my friend “Ronnie” passed away. Summoned to his bedside by his adult children in the middle of the night, I walked into his bedroom as Pavarotti was singing “Ave Maria” on Ron’s rotating CD player. Any version of the “Ava Maria” takes me back to those final days—our reading T.S. Elliot’s “Four Quartets” together; his openness to being anointed with oil and having hands laid on him for healing; his asking me to say a closing prayer when his Rabbi visited him. Somehow, Ron’s “endgame” reminds me of this past week’s “controversy” surrounding the deathbed confession of cartoonist, Scott Adams, the creator of the “Dilbert” comic strip. The point of contention? Whether or not Adams’s confession was adequate, for though his final message (posted on his social media account shortly after his death) declared, “I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior and I look forward to spending an eternity with him,” conspicuously absent, at least for some doctrinaires, was any repentant, contrite confession of sin.
My dear brothers and sisters in Christ, how often we push people away from the faith; how often we fall short of living up to that commandment: “Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged (Matthew 7:1-2 KJB). Our example and hope should come from Christ and the dying thief on the cross, who can only utter, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” with the crucified Christ replying, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:42-43 NIV). What sparse words spoken between a dying thief and a merciful Savior.
And with that thought, dear friends, here may be the most cumbersome paragraphic transition I’ve ever written: Hope is all around us—just a whisper or a “meow” away—and so it is for the kitty I told you about a couple of weeks ago who arrived at our garage door meowing her(?) way into the house. We’ve been caring for her/him in the garage the past two weeks, but with the weather hitting 10 degrees and below this week, he’s taken up “permanent” residence in the old gatehouse and seems quite content. Yes—it is a he—which we’ve now determined (aren’t we clever folk!), and we’ve figured out he is not a feral cat, but domesticated and perfectly happy to be fed, held, use the litter box, and languish in the rays of the early morning sun coming through the dining room windows. Will he hop up on our fire-branded table? Yes, I assume so, and does it matter? Not really, I suppose, though this germaphobe will not relinquish territory so easily. I’ll try to be the gentle disciplinarian, but cats have always struck me as doing whatever they please. We’ll see who has the stronger will. But excusing, if you will, the extended comparison between a whisper and a meow, even as this cautious octogenarian heard the whimpering meows of a stray cat and couldn’t help but open the door, can we doubt but that the Good Shepherd of our souls will open wide the door to the dying man or woman who but whispers His name. Hope is ever present with our merciful Lord, for “He is not willing that any should perish!”
Speaking of hope, dear friends, and in way of a total sidebar: It’s been 132 years since the Yale Bulldogs won 16 games and the National Championship in 1894. Against all odds (100 to 1 at the top of the season, or so a friend told me) the IU Hoosiers duplicated the feat by beating a tenacious Miami Hurricanes team 27-21, thanks in no small part to quarterback Fernando Mendoza’s acrobatic lunge over the goal line—in the 4th quarter and on the 4th down! Kudos to the team’s “Master Builder,” coach Curt Cignetti, to all of the talented ensemble players, and to this Mendoza kid who comes running off the field “giving God the glory” the very first thing out of his mouth! How can you not love ‘em!
With some friends aiding my work this week (you know who you are!), and with IU winning a national championship in high style, and with Scott Adams proclaiming his faith in the living Christ, all I needed was a warm and contended Kitty-Cat to put a song in my heart this morning. You probably know the words:
All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful:
the Lord God made them all.
Amen!
Debby with the new member of the family. Shoot us a message if you think of a good name!
