(T) Radio Is Reaching Out

From today's R&R "Newsroom," a challenge to note: Radio Must Embrace The Younger Demographics.

Excerpt:

CBS Radio VP/News Harvey Nagler acknowledged that podcasting was just one of the many ways the network was reaching out to younger listeners. "Radio absolutely has to embrace the younger demographics," he urged. "Radio must also embrace new technology to attract a younger audience."

Nagler stressed the importance for radio to "get as much of your material out there on all of the various platforms." He added, "We don't know how much of it is working, but we know we have to be out there."

I love radio. So it is nice to hear a major network acknowledging that new delivery methods need to be utilized to preserve radio's reach, to get its content to new listeners, to stay current and not go the way of dinosaurs.

I'm especially aware of that as I start up my "Pandora" radio station for today's "radio" listening.

(P) Worms, Part 2

I chronicled about a dead worm a few days ago. Little T's deceased worm is nearly forgotten, now a week-old fading memory.

As promised, I did stop at a pet store - and learned they don't carry worms. Neither did my next stop. They recommended WalMart (sure, why not, they carry just about everything else!). So, I didn't deliver the goods.

Next day, a trip to WalMart. I avoid the place, usually. Too crowded. But I slipped in the recently opened Lawn and Garden Center entrance, quickly found the sporting goods area and the small cooler containing the venerated creatures. Minimum purchase: two dozen. A few too many. I only need one, really. Just one to replace that precious daughter's dead "pet" worm. So I reluctantly left. I know, I know...I'm a cheapskate, and missed the chance to brighten a little girl's life (with a worm!). Another missed opportunity, or a poor choice? I don't know.

So I was out of town the next night. And yesterday was spent entirely at home...not one occasion to hop in the truck and go to a store...and goodness, that was a good feeling.

Insert a note about the little worm she found in the backyard. It lasted about as long as the "domestic" worm from that Fun Science event. So, her track record is not terribly impressive with pet worms.

So today, perhaps I'll bite the bullet and stop back at WalMart. Little T's heart is on the line here! And I wanna see her smile again, so, sniff, I guess I'll go get a third worm.

(T) Online "Radio" Listening

Technology Report: Pandora is a neat "radio" service, and it is customized to your preferences. It is currently a favorite way for me to listen to music online.

From Pandora's website:

Ever since we started the Music Genome Project, our friends would ask: Can you help me discover more music that I'll like?

Those questions often evolved into great conversations. Each friend told us their favorite artists and songs, explored the music we suggested, gave us feedback, and we in turn made new suggestions. Everybody started joking that we were now their personal DJs.

We created Pandora so that we can have that same kind of conversation with you.

How it works: You establish basic parameters as you build one - or a dozen - "radio channels." The technology pays attention to your preferences - musical style, artists, specific songs. If you tell Pandora you don't like a particular artist or song, it will never play them again.

This is like creatikng playlists on an iPod, only the music selection is actually responding to your tastes as you listen. Fascinating!

Check it out, if you can, and tell me what you think.

(P) Learning Life Lessons From A Pet

She was so excited. It was a special. Her very own pet! Ah, but the lessons of life were to be learned all too soon.

“Science is Fun” is an event helping introduce the joys of scientific discovery to youngsters. My first grade daughter was pleased to attend this year. It became a very special field trip because of the pet “Little T” brought home.

A common earth worm, in a small plastic cup of dirt. That was her “pet.” Came with clear instructions on how to care for the thing, and equally clear directions to release the worm in our backyard after a week. Ecologically correct, I guess. My first grader couldn’t be more pleased. Her very own pet for a week! She was so proud to have her own…worm. Hey, we didn’t mind, because worms aren’t really a high-maintence kind of pet.

Later, when we left for the weekend, my wife put that little pet into the Suburban’s cupholder. But Little T couldn’t leave it alone. “I want to check on my worm, Mom.” We had to pass that cup back for her inspection numerous times on the two-hour drive.

“Wormy” had a place on the kitchen counter of the cabin. Throughout that first day, Little T checked in on him (her? it?). Unfortunately, the next morning my wife noticed a conspicuous lack of water in the cup, and a correspondinglack of meaningful movement. Uh-oh. The worm had passed on. “Gone to meet its Maker.” This would be hard.

My dear seven year-old daughter cried. Her little pet worm had died. And it was precious to see.

I guess it’ll be a stop at the pet store tonight to see if I can buy a replacement pet. I can’t wait to see her face when I bring her a new…worm.

(G) Leonid's Devotion

Thoughts from a recent trip...

At a downtown hotel in Nashville for a conference. So far, some great conversations with a variety of folks. Have connected personally, have seen some possible open doors for partnerships professionally, and look forward to a dinner tonight with old friends from Texas.

The hotel is pleasant enough, but the AC has not been adequate. Especially noticed it yesterday afternoon, when the sun was pouring into the room and adding unneeded heat. Despite having the thermostat cranked as low as I could make it go, it stayed quite warm in here, even until almost midnight.

Finally called the front desk, and a “technician” was summoned. A few minutes later, I met Leonid at the door, and greeted him with appreciation for his prompt response. A shorter man with graying hair, he had his little cart full of tools, lightbulbs and supplies. Quickly he asked me some questions about the direction of the outlet vents, and the fan speed, and how cold I wanted the room. I told him I’d had the unit going full blast, and that the current temp was just too warm for my comfort.

Leonid pulled off the face plate, tinkered around in there for a few minutes, changed out the clogged filter (ewww…), and put it all back together. After carefully cleaning up after himself, he pronounced the AC fixed, and showed me the venting arrangement between the bedroom area and the bathroom, in case I wished to direct 100% of the cold air toward my ‘living space.” I thanked him.

“I wonder if you can repair toilets,too?” I explained that the handle had to be adjusted, as the toilet did not flush without it being fully depressed for almost 30 seconds. Most inconvenient. Leonid took a quick look, and two minutes later was finished with that job. Wonderful, thank you!

Noting his foreign name, I asked where he was from? “Oh, where you guess,” he asked? “Well, it seems to me that you probably grew up in Eastern Europe or Russia.” “Ah, Ukraine,” he replied. Turns out Leonid came to the USA 15 years ago, hoping to give his children better opportunities than were possible while back home. Indeed that has been the result. Now he is working to help his 26 year-old son complete his MBA from Wharton. His daughter, in her early 20s, is in law school. “Now I know that is why so many people come here (to the US). The opportunities here are great. That is why we come.” It occurred to me that Leonid’s kids will eventually earn bigger salaries than he could possibly have imagined making back in Ukraine.

I showed Leonid a photo of our son, adopted from Russia. He smiled, as if knowing that the boy’s life will probably change significantly, much as his own children’s lives have undergone transformations since arriving in America. We talked a bit more, and I expressed my respect for him for what he did, all to benefit his family. After thanking him once more for taking care of the AC and the toilet, Leonid left.

As I reflected on the exchange, I felt a variety of things. Gratitude for my own situation, for the many good things God has given to me personally and to my family. Glad to live in freedom, in a culture that allows a person to chase their dreams, whether that is to go into business, to study law, or to work maintenance jobs so his children can pursue those vocations. Happy to see a father so devoted to his children that he go beyond his comfort zone and leave everything familiar to see them succeed. Anxious to get home to Colorado, so I could see my own children, hold them close, and tell them I missed them a bunch, and that I love them dearly.

And I was glad my AC unit needed some attention.

(G) At 30,000 Feet

We’re at 30,000 feet, and the setting is…cozy. I am aware of one empty seat in the entire plane, perhaps there are two or three. For the most part, though, this aircraft is packed. One of the less pleasant aspects of flying commercially these days. And there are plenty of reasons to avoid air travel. This one, though, hits anyone taller than six foot or bigger than a middle school football player pretty hard. Sardines have more room in their little cans.

There are a lot of people on this plane to watch. To listen to. To be near, like it or not.

The woman next to me is a talker. She is engaging the fellow by the window in conversation, although it is primarily a one-way discussion. He offers an occasional word of acknowledgement. She, however, is doing the talking. Church, business, friends, housing, entertainment; she is covering many subjects. She knows a lot, too.

I am sitting toward the aisle, feeling especially cramped, as the woman is overweight. Profoundly so. Probably weighs 200 pounds more than she should. And that means she is spilling into my seat. Her leg is taking up a third of my seat. We’re jammed in here, and there’s precious little leg room, and even less elbow room. Still, I take up my little laptop and try to type, hoping I don’t permanently injure myself. Oh well, the flight is less than three hours. I can get up a couple of times. I’ll only type a bit. Mighty awkward, though.

Across the way, the gentleman pulls out his laptop. He fires up some videogame. What is it, Doom? Halo? I am not sure. Of this I am certain, though: It is a violent game. I watch from the corner of my eye as he searches through a dilapidated building, firing some sort of weapon at creatures that arise out of the shadows and race toward him. He shoots a lot, and seems to be successfully defending himself. I wonder if any child behind us is watching him exterminate so many so effectively.

Around us people are doing the usual: talking quietly, sleeping or reading. Some watch the in-flight “entertainment.” Actually, the show on the little overhead video scfreens right now looks interesting. How to vacation cheaply. The hostess revels in finding bargains, especially in regards to meals. She has some good looking food, and it is priced reasonably for a Colorado ski resort. Have to remember that place, in case I can hit the slopes again next year.

So here we are. A planeload of people, mostly ignoring those around them, careening 30,000 feet in the sky at 500 mph, bound for who knows where? At least 150 people, bound for probably more than 100 different destinations. We choose to fly because it is fast. Not because it is all that fun. We put up with removing our shoes, being screened at security lines, long waits on the jetway, turbulence, stuffed overhead compartments, stuffed passenger seating and “complimentary beverage service.”

Thank you, Lord, that I don’t have to do this very often. Thank you that I have never been on a flight that crashed. Thank you that I’m not hanging over my seat into the adjacent seat.

Thank you that I am not trapped by the window. I have it so good.

(G) A Long Embrace

Waiting to board my flight, I was cognizant of the children. Everyone was, really.

They were wound up and full of life, even though it was only 5:15 a.m. Looking out the window at the planes, which in the darkness stood like gigantic frozen insects, the little boy and girl giggled and exuded excitement. They were probably 3 and 5 years old, and reminded me of my own kids, 1,500 miles and two stops away.

Hearing their mother trying to calm them down a bit, and surmising that they were on a family trip, I smiled at the wonderment and enthusiasm of preschoolers. What child doesn’t enjoy the adventure of airports and flying? And who knows what they were going to see on this trip? Time with relatives, or an amusement park vacation, or perhaps a visit to another country? I’d be excited, too!

My thoughts turned to the upcoming three and a half hours. I wondered if I would have the “privilege” of sitting nearby these precocious children when we took our seats on the MD80. That’d be okay, I would welcome the reminders to my family and the expectation of seeing them later in the day. I was in the mood to be around children, even someone else’s.

As the boarding process began, the gate attendant made an interesting announcement, one I had not previously heard. “At this time we’d like to welcome our soldiers, bound for Iraq, to Flight 436 and invite them to board the aircraft.” It was then that I realized there were about a dozen individuals dressed in military fatigues scattered around the area. While I had overheard a couple of them nearby sharing stories, I hadn’t seen the others. Now they began to line up.

Something inside of me went out to these men and women. I wanted to stop each soldier and express my gratitude to them for their hard work and service to me, to my family, to our nation. Lately I’ve tried to do that, to show appreciation to the military folks I meet in airports and on planes. I smile and offer some affirming words. I tell them that there are a lot of folks across this country who are grateful for their dedication and sacrifice. I assure them that we know they are fighting courageously for our freedom and security. That there is far more success in this battle than is being reported by the mainstream press. That the majority of folks I know are behind them 100 percent.

I didn’t greet the soldiers. Instead, I was distracted by another scene. As I watched in them line up and hand the attendant their tickets in silence, I became aware of another dynamic. The little boy and girl were still running around, now unattended. Their mother was standing to the side, hugging her husband closely. They held each other tightly, and it was obvious each desperately wanted to suspend time and stay in that embrace longer. This was not an easy parting.

His fatigues made it clear what the man was doing. Returning to the war. His furlough was over. His conversations with his wife were too few and too rushed. His time with those precious children went far too quickly. The weight of leaving was heavy upon him, heavy upon his beloved. Oblivious to the emotion of the moment, the boy and girl chased each other around the chairs, while Mom and Dad grabbed one last moment together. Then, her eyes wet with tears, they tenderly said goodbye, and the soldier turned to get on the plane. To go to his job. Overseas. To war. To face uncertainty and danger. To say to his wife and kids, knowing that it would be far too long before he could see them again.

Sitting quietly, letting the emotion of the moment touch me, thinking of my own dear family. I thanked God for them. For the soldiers who were going back. I thanked Him for the men and women of our military who leave their spouses and children so I can see mine ‘most every day and night. And for the families left behind, I whispered a prayer…God please watch over them, keep them safe, and reunite them soon. Thanks, and amen.

(P) For Future Generations

It may be that when we finish the parenting process, at least the first part of it in which we prepare our child for adulthood, we’ll sit down and thank God for how well it all went. We’re happy with the way our son turned out. Or it could be that we’ll fall down in sheer frustration and ask God what in the world happened, wondering why our daughter rejected all we did and made such a mess of her young life...and asking if she will ever be able to salvage a normal life.

Of course, we are ultimately not responsible for the end-result of parenting. That grown child is really an individual on his or her own, free to make decisions – bad or good, to accept or reject the training we have instilled within them, to make whatever they choose of their life.

It is helpful to remember that our role as parents is to prepare the way, and then to allow our child to walk in it. Or not. We aren’t charged to force a proper approach to life upon our kids, only to make one possible. And the truth is that we probably won’t live to see or know just how that child finishes out their life.

In the New Testament, Peter wrote about (in chapter 1, verses 10-12) the prophets, who, like parents, really didn’t know how everything was going to turn out. In his first letter, Peter indicated that the prophets spoke about the grace that was to come to the Gentiles, but they did not understand just how God was going to save the world through His Son’s death and resurrection. The prophets foretold the coming of a suffering Messiah, and his future glory, but they were unable to distinguish when he would appear as a humble servant, nor could they grasp that his second coming would be as King of the world.

It is clear that God compelled His spokespersons to speak of that which they could not fully understand. They were to prepare the way for the coming of the Christ. They told of that which they could not understand, nor would they live to see the blessed Messiah’s arrival. They knew they were appointed for a time, but not privileged to participate in that which they spoke about. They would not live to see how you and I have benefited from God’s gift of salvation and how we are living out our lives in light of His grace.

In a sense, parents and prophets are very much alike. We are given a role to prepare the way, and then to step back and let the future generations make something of our work. We may not – we probably won’t – see the true end product. We cannot control what those who come behind us will do, how they will choose. Yet we strive with everything in us to provide them with what they need. We do this, not to serve ourselves, but to serve them. And their children’s children.

Here’s to work that will last a long, long time…for future generations.

A Good Question

If God were to take you home today... what would your wife and children hold in their hands tomorrow that would let them know that they were the treasures of your life?

Greg Vaughn, Founder and President of an organization called Letters From Dad, thought about the question and admitted this:

"As I pondered that piercing question, I had to sadly answer…NOTHING, just like my father left me NOTHING."

He continues, "Shortly after this garage event, I called twelve of my closest friends and asked them to go with me on a journey I was calling Letters from Dad. It was during our months together that God revealed a marvelous plan whereby we could leave a legacy of faith, hope and love through the lost art of letter writing. Upon completion of our time together every one of these Godly men told me that it was one of the most significant events of their lives."

Interested in making a difference? Check out Greg's website. And start writing your answer!