Tilt Me Towards Betsy

There was a man who had two wives, Mary his first wife, and Betsy his second. Both wives had passed away. He loved both wives dearly. Still he felt a stronger love for his second wife. He went to buy a plot at the mortuary and they asked him where he wanted to be buried. “Bury me right between both wives,” he said, “But tilt me toward Betsy.”

On my drive home I listen to the radio. I alternate between Bill Carroll and Glenn Beck. Beck gets my blood pumping but sometimes (most times) his messages rob me of peace. I drive home expecting that by the time I arrive the government will have instituted martial law, emptied my bank account and forced my wife and child to enroll in a school where they wear red, white and blue bandanas while listening to Richard Wagner.

Bill Carroll keeps me apprised of human interest stories both in the Los Angeles area and abroad. He keeps me abreast of the local fads and fetishes that are making news. As a father and husband he manages to draw within the lines though sometimes he obscures them.

We tilt differently on different days. A mother I knew alternated between Gary Ezzo (Raising Kids Gods Way) and James Dobson depending on whether she felt she needed to be stricter or more lenient and gracious. I suspect there are Christians out there that alternate between John Piper and Joel Osteen depending on if they want solid theology or to feel good about themselves on a Monday morning.

The bottom line isn’t which way you tilt but where you come to rest on any given position---tilt me toward Glenn Beck.

Trial By Fire

I’ve read enough stories of suffering to know this isn’t unique. In an interview regarding her documentary “Trial by Fire” Megan Smith-Harris said that if given the choice of having had the experience or not all the victims would still choose the experience. Not that they would choose the pain all over again but that the depth of character forged via the trial was worth it.

Joni Eareckson-Tada has said in her testimony that she would rather be in a wheelchair with Jesus than healthy without Him. God has developed in us some bizarre hard-wiring. On the surface we want the life of ease and comfort. Still the conviction expressed in every biography, every good story, is that suffering produces strength of character that doesn’t come from a life lived at leisure.

This truth is difficult for me. I want the big house, the huge garden, the Sunset magazine kitchen and the Bill Gates pocketbook. I am the first to cry to God when hit by hard times. I want my ducks in a row and when God moves them it bugs me. The knowledge that God uses trials to deepen my character and to grow Christ like attitudes in me makes me cringe. It’s the Romans 7 principle. I know what is best for me but my flesh wants to live in comfort and self protection.

I want my cake and Christ’s character. It’s all I can do to recognize the principle and cast my frustrations on God. Mentally I must acknowledge, reckon in the old English, that God’s best for me will come down paths I have no desire to walk. The battle is to always ‘reckon myself dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus.” Or as Peter puts it, “even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ…”

Radio Addiction

My car is the ideal vehicle to encourage this addiction. It’s a borderline addiction. I don’t do it all the time but enough so that my wife and child have suffered it especially on long trips and coming up to every November. Confession is good for the soul and I’ve gone too long without admitting this. I am a talk radio junkie.

I drive a lot. I am in the car two hours a day on work days. There are always trips to Orange County or the San Fernando Valley. There are some key guys I listen to; Bill Carroll on KFI, Hugh Hewitt, and Michael Medved, and because I can’t get much else in the desert, Laura Ingraham. I listen for political news. If I’m in the car Thursday nights though I have to play along with, “What the Hell did Jesse Jackson Say?”

This remains a painful result of moving to the desert. There is little radio reception. When I lived in Ventura county I could listen to every talk radio show. I could even drive to their publicity events (I could have been a roadie!). In the desert there are horses with no name but there is little radio reception. In my car if I’m charging my cell phone A.M. radio makes a huge screeching noise. I’ve learned to compromise minor screeching for listening to the few shows I’m able to access. I need the fix clean signal or not.

For those that know me and are always wondering why I know so much trivia, like who Octomom is, talk radio is why. How do I know about Arnold Schwarzeneggers’ kid? Talk radio. How’d I get interested in blogging? Talk radio. How do I form my political opinions? In part due to talk radio.

It may be time to get a Droid or Iphone. There is a talk radio app. No more night sweats seeking George Noory. Truth is I can stop any time. As long as I can access a computer and stream it.