When I checked out of my hotel I told the desk clerk, “You may want to have someone check the thermostat in my room. I never could get the room to warm up on the chilly night.”

I shared that the thermostat had numerous functions that made the simple process of making the room warmer almost impossible to figure out.

The desk clerk replied, “Yeah, that remote is pretty complicated.”

I don’t like to brag but I was third chair Sousaphone player in high school band. I could puff out my cheeks right along with the best in a three county radius. My West Texas public school education learned me a lot about good music.

But enough about me. I wonder what we could learn by comparing the design of a radio station to that of a great song.

Let’s start at the beginning. Perhaps you’d like to take notes.

Programming consists of two distinct elements – music, and the stuff that isn’t music. (Well, now! THAT’S some fancy talk!)

For almost a year now life has been very different for most of us. Many aren’t commuting to work resulting in morning and afternoon drive radio listening being very different. Some are homeschooling their kids through no choice of their own. Many have experienced restaurants at minimal capacity, social connections significantly limited, and churches closed. (I’m a part of a new church launch that was shut down longer than we were open.)

Are we grateful for our listeners? Are we grateful they still make us a part of their daily lives?

“Gratitude unexpressed is perceived as ingratitude.”

Andy Stanley

For the last twenty years I’ve spent enough time on airplanes and in rental cars that they’ve awarded me me special status. I get to board before the family of 17 heading off to Walt Disney World, a can of Fresca delivered with my licorice chewies, and I get assigned cars with fancy GPS systems that tell me, “You’re going the wrong way!”

So, what do those companies think of me when I’m hardly traveling at all?

We can all remember the first time someone said, “I love you.” (We can also painfully remember when someone didn’t).

We are created to be known. From the early playground experiences of “Mommy, mommy, look at me,” to the moment you discovered the pretty girl knew your name.

“To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything.”

Timothy Keller

Being known means we’re valued, seen as special. Being known validates who were are, that we have worth.

There is no place this is more evident than in the greeting card aisle at your local supermarket or drug store.

Take a look at your high school yearbook. I dare you. It’s embarrassing to think about how we used to think.

How could we possible have… thought that was cool… dressed like that… worn our hair like that?

In my not-so-effortless transition from thinking that programming a radio station was about 1) playing cool songs I like, and 2) evaluating talent on the basis of “he’s got a good voice and runs a tight board,” to embracing things like strategy, branding, and actually mattering to people, one of the first books I came across was Al Reis and Jack Trout’s “The 22 Immutable Laws of Marketing.” (Do yourself a favor and read it.)

One of the concepts shared was “The Law of Sacrifice.”