In 1958, Paul made 85 cents an hour working in a limestone quarry in Oklahoma.

He was a man of character, integrity, and kindness.

He was quiet, smiled a lot, and was a wonderful listener.

Paul’s humility, kindness, and confidence gave him dignity and authority in the eyes of everyone who knew him.

He was happily married and had three little girls. On the day his fourth little girl was born he walked into a storm that could easily have ripped him apart.

It was with great heaviness of heart that Doctor Franklin told him that there was a problem with the Rh factor in the little girl’s blood and that she was almost certainly going to die.

She was barely, barely, barely hanging on.

With tears in his eyes Doctor Franklin told him, “And your wife is also fading fast.” Doctor Franklin dropped his chin to his chest as teardrops splashed on his shoes.

An ambulance rushed both mother and daughter to a larger hospital in a larger town.

Paul was all alone with eighty-five cents an hour and three little girls.

Several hours later, a happy and rejoicing Doc Franklin told Paul that both mother and daughter were going to live!

They were going to live.

The medical bill was more than a thousand dollars and there was no insurance; just a husband and wife and four little girls and 85 cents an hour.

Being a man of integrity, Paul went to see Doc Franklin the next day to set up a payment plan for paying that thousand-dollar medical bill.

Doc Franklin said, “What medical bill?”

Paul was confused, and it showed on his face.

Old Doctor Franklin spoke plainly,

“There is no medical bill. You do not owe any money. Just be a good father to those girls.”

“Just be a good father to those girls.”

I can testify that he was a good father to those girls. I met Paul Compton when I was 14 years old and in love with his daughter, the one who nearly died on the day she was born.

Here’s how I met him.

One week prior to beginning my freshman year in high school, my mother received an invitation to come to an open house at the school on a Tuesday night where she could meet Coach Jerry Meeks, my home room teacher.

He taught Oklahoma History, of course.

Attached to that letter was a list of all the other students who would be in my first-hour class.

I saw that Pennie Compton was going to be in that class with me. She knew who I was, but we had never actually met. This would be the first time that we would be in class together.

Mom couldn’t go that night, which suited me fine. I had a plan of my own.

I was the first person to arrive. The parking lot was empty except for the cars of the teachers. I met Coach Meeks, then took a seat at a desk in the back row. About 30 minutes later, a tall man came walking in with his wife and the girl that I knew I was going to marry.

After Paul and his wife exchanged pleasantries with Coach Meeks, I walked up to him, introduced myself, then shook his hand as I smiled and said,

“My name is Roy Williams and you’re going to be seeing a lot of me.”

Last week Princess Pennie and I celebrated our 49th wedding anniversary.

Paul never criticized me or gave me advice unless I asked for it. But when I did ask for it, he would tell what he thought, along with some true stories from his own life that explained why he believed what he believed.

He always spoke slowly and gave me his full attention. His confidence in me was a great encouragement.

In all the decades that I knew Paul Compton, I never saw him raise his head from prayer without having tears on his cheeks. When Paul talked to God, you knew that God was listening.

I always looked forward to

Extremis is a Latin word that says you are in extreme circumstances, a desperate situation, a dire predicament, or the edge of death.

“There is great tension in the world, tension toward a breaking point, and men are unhappy and confused. At such time it seems natural and good to me to ask myself these questions. What do I believe in? What must I fight for and what must I fight against?”

I’ll tell you who said that in just a minute.

Here’s another direct quote:

“It’s life or death for America, people tell you. Angry debates about taxes, religion and race relations inflame the newspapers. Everyone is talking politics: your spouse, your teenage daughter, your boss, your grocer. Neighbors eye you suspiciously, pressing you to buy local. Angry crowds gather, smelling of booze and threatening violence; their leaders wink, confident that the ends justify the means. The stores have sold out of guns.”*

Are you ready to hear the final two sentences?

“It’s 1775 in Britain’s American colonies. Whose side are you on?”*

That first quote about “great tension in the world” and men being “unhappy and confused” came from John Steinbeck in 1941. I’ll bet you thought it was more recent, didn’t you?

There is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say, “Look! This is something new”? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time. No one remembers the former generations, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them.

If that sounds familiar to you, it’s because Solomon said it 3,000 years ago in the book of Ecclesiastes.

Here’s my point: Yes, the world is in a state of extremis, but we have always been in a state of extremis.

So put it behind you. Get over it.

Better yet, use your recovery from extremis to unleash joy, passion, a flood of creativity, and a flamelike focus that will take you to places you have never been.

When you recover from a state of extremis, you open a trapdoor to the unconscious mind. It is a waterfall that doesn’t fall downward, but gushes upward into the sky.

If you want to ride that waterfall, all you have to do is exit your extremis. Put it behind you. Get over it.

Quit giving your attention to the news.

Do not say to yourself,

“But if everyone quit paying attention to the news, there would be no societal outrage, no oversight, no accountability!”

Let me make this clear to you. There is zero chance that everyone is going to quit giving their attention to the news. It’s an addiction like any other. In fact, I’m worried that you won’t have the strength, the willpower, or the discipline to turn away from it yourself.

If you monitor the news for the rest of your life, what are the chances that doing so will change anything at all, even a tiny bit? Does being aware of things that are beyond your control somehow give you the ability to change those things?

Turn away from the dark side, Luke Skywalker. Embrace the light.

And have a happy, new, year.

Roy H. Williams

PS – I gathered a few dozen quotes from Dorothy Parker and made two powerful productions from them. The first production is 4 minutes and 24 seconds long and was extracted from writings that Dorothy published in Vanity Fair and The New Yorker in the 1920s.

The second production is 5 minutes and 9 seconds and was compiled from the writings of Dorothy’s later years. The character arc between the two performances is sobering. You’ll find both of them on the first page of the rabbit hole. Click the image at the top of the Monday Morning Memo for December 29, 2025, and you’ll be there. – Aroo, Indy Beagle.

*Caitlin Fitz, “The Accidental Patriots”,

The best short stories leave out important information but evoke it in such a way as to cause a kind of explosion of associative connections.*

These are my secret rules for making that happen:

1. Lead your listener toward a conclusion and then let them arrive at it on their own. If you state a conclusion and then try to support it with evidence, you are robbing your listener of the joy of discovery.
2. Give your listener the new, the surprising, and the different.
3. If you must give them old information, reframe it; give it to them from a new perspective, so that they will see it again for the first time.
4. Leave out the parts that people skip.

My Christmas gift to you is The Story of the Universe According to Roy.

I call it “Way Back in the Long Ago.” You will find it at TribalGospel.com

It is an auditory opera, a campfire story of God and the Universe told under a starfilled sky by an old man who is accompanied by musicians who sit at the furthest edges of that circle of light.

But your seat is closer.

You feel the warmth of the fire as it dances the dance of the story, and the stars twinkle their agreement with glittering laughter.

This is chapter one.

Way back in the long ago, the maker spoke, and light exploded across the darkness. Energy radiated across the nothing.

Time and space and order appeared from the nothing of the long ago.

Bits of energy shot like shrapnel from a bomb into the grid that was created by the ordering of the nothing. Bits of energy bonded with other bits to become great lumps that went spinning across the grid.

Their spinning caused these lumps to become spherical.

Some of the spheres were made of gasses; ice giants and dwarfs, gas giants and dwarfs, and suns of every size and temperature were created by the energy within them.

Others of those spheres became great rocks.

Oxygen bonded to hydrogen so that water splashed in the hollows of those rocks.

The maker smiled.

Algae and moss and grass and trees emerged, and the maker smiled again.

Winged creatures darted through the air and swimming creatures darted through the sea, and the maker smiled again.

And then creatures appeared on the rock itself. Creatures appeared on the land.

The maker looked at us and decided to make us into little makers with the power to choose whatever we would choose. We have the authority to say “yes,” and the authority to say “no,” as we stare into the eyes of the maker.

The maker gave us this watery rock we live upon, and complete authority over it.

We have the freedom to be guided by our choices. We are no longer the captives of our instincts.

The maker is not held captive by time and space. The maker created time and space from the nothing.

It is only we – you and me – who measure time and space.

Our history of deciding for ourselves and living with the consequences has not been a good history.

Seven billion of us are crammed onto a rock that circles an 11,000-degree fireball as it shoots through the nothing… at 52 times the speed of a rifle bullet.

We are passengers on a world spinning out of control.

Having wrongly been told that the maker is in control, we blame the maker for every sadness.

You can’t have it both ways. You can’t have both free will and a benevolent higher power who protects you from yourself.

I hope you will take an hour to enjoy