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I’m at the fall Direct Marketing Association convention in
Chicago this week. A few quick points from Monday and Tuesday:

Over 20,000 folks in attendance.

Web 2.0 is in the history books. It’s still alive, but Web 3.0 is in.

Web 3.0 is about dialog and engaging the individual.

Mobile marketing is getting a lot of attention. There’s some fun stuff here.

RSS is also getting attention, although not nearly as much as mobile marketing

Testing is vital, and it’s important to understand the right way to do it.  

Google now offers a way to do A/B split testing on landing pages.  

Making web sites more engaging is bigger than ever. You may be surprised at what you see in the very near future. I know I was amazed at what I saw…

Ever since she was a small girl, my daughter, Anne, has aspired to become an archeologist. Her mom and I both expected it to pass, but it didn’t. Even when she entered college, we thought, okay, a change of major will soon occur. But, now she about to graduate from college with a double major in archeology and anthropology and will be headed off to grad school.

I think my mom and dad would have simply died and gone to heaven if I had started off college knowing what I wanted to do and stayed the course until graduation.

During the past two summers, Anne participated in a number of digs. In fact, she actually got paid for a dig this past August! Dads always like this kind of news. You can actually make a living in archeology!

In June, Anne wanted me to go on an archeological dig with her. One doesn’t ignore such opportunities with one’s daughter. So, I joined the Texas Archeology Society and signed up to go on the dig. And, once on site, I attended field school (required). They spent an entire morning training us rookies on what to do and what not to do. But, the unspoken golden rule is, don’t stick artifacts in your pocket and walk away with them. It’s like the unspoken golden rule for pilots, which is, don’t run into the ground. There are just some things you know, and to actually ask the question will tarnish your intellectual standing for life.

The dig was at the San Saba Presidio in Menard. Now, if you’ve never heard of
Menard, Texas, you are not alone. We left civilization well over an hour before we ever reached the little town of 600. I’m telling you, we didn’t see a single gas station or convenience store for well over an hour before reaching Menard. Just lots and lots of open land.

The Spanish built a presidio and small mission on the San Saba River in 1757. It didn’t last long. Within ten years, all had been abandoned. The presidio (fort) had been a fairly large enclosure. Some of its limestone walls to the north were still visible, while much of the southern wall, which lies close to the river, had been completely covered in sediment over the years. Our job was to excavate the walls. Breakfast started at 5:00 a.m. and we were digging by 7:00 a.m.

Anne camped out by the site with her friends and classmates. I didn’t want to be  the hovering dad, so I said I’d stay at a hotel. The hotel selection in Menard is limited, to say the least. I ended up at the Motel 83 (name of the highway), which I suspect was built before 1960. I loved the hotel sign, which read, “Motel 83” and then just below, “Biker Friendly.”  The price was right, the owners nice, and since I survived, I’ll probably remember the experience far longer than any fancy hotel chain I’ve stayed in.

Overall, it was hot, dirty and a killer for my knees. But it counts as one of those top 25 memorable events in my life. Not because of the dig, although it was very interesting. Not because of the adventure of the moment, which took me completely out of my comfortable environment…but, because my 21 year old daughter asked me to join her in the experience.

Over the years, I have witnessed suffering in both friends and family, and have discovered that I struggle with words to say. I know there are those God-gifted souls who can say the right things at the right time, and I’m truly thankful they are around. But I’m not one of them.

However, I do my best. I sit and listen, shaking my head in disbelief at the suffering others experience. In some small way, I hope I help by just being there.  

This weekend, I was reading Rick McKinley’s book, This Beautiful Mess. Rick is the lead pastor at Imago Dei Community in Portland, Oregon. In his book, he tells the story of his son contracting a dangerous staph infection. And it was serious. Admitted to the hospital, the doctors pumped antibiotics into young Josh, but nothing seemed to help. Weeks passed. Other kids came and left the children’s ward, yet Josh never improved. The idea of him never recovering came into play. Looking back on those long, frightening weeks, Rick writes:

“During those weeks, some well-meaning people gave us the right answers. “God knows what’s happening,” they said. Or, “Josh will be fine because we’re praying.” The answers seem right to say, of course, and seem right when you hear them, but they don’t help much. To be honest, the right answers began to make us angry. Somehow Christians have a hard time saying things like, “I don’t know why the hell this is happening or how this will end. You guys must be scared to death.” I guess we all need to be able to explain life down to every last detail even when the answers don’t mean anything to us. We just can’t stand the questions. But in the kingdom of God, I have come to believe, it is all right not have all the answers, and I think Jesus likes it even more when we don’t make up ones that are safe and easy but hollow.”

Thankfully, Josh pulled through.

After reading Rick’s words, I feel less guilty about being at a loss for words when someone is in distress. Saying helpful words will always be a difficult matter. We all want to help others. We desire to encourage those who suffer. My prayer is for God to grant me wisdom for when to say words of encouragement and when to simply shut-up, listen, and be there to help shoulder the suffering.  

As I mentioned a few weeks back, I’ve been rereading some of Mike Yaconelli books. This weekend, I was reading through Dangerous Wonder, and in one of the chapters Mike writes about Jesus’ parable of the banquet. You know, the one where the rich man sends out invitations to all of his rich friends, but no one comes. So he orders his servants to go into the streets and bring all who will come.

Mike tells the story of helping a young man who was having difficulty in school. His father was an alcoholic and abused his family both emotionally and physically.  Mike and his wife became friends with the young man and dedicated a six month period of time to helping him.

A few years passed and then, in one of those unusual circumstances, they encounter the father of the teen. The Yaconellis were remodeling their home and needed someone to redo the tile in their kitchen. The tile company informed them that the only tile layer available was this young man’s father. Mike wrote, “‘Absolutely not!’ I yelled into the phone. ‘That man is an alcoholic, knocks his family around, and I don’t trust him.’”

But, he was the only one available, so Mike finally agreed to allow him to do the work. All went well until the final day of work, when the father cornered Mike and mentioned that he needed to talk to him about the bill once he completed the work.

“I stormed out to my office and angrily reported to my wife, ‘I knew it. I knew he was going to try and cheat us out of some money…’ I ranted and raved for another few minutes and then bragged to my wife, ‘Leave the door between our offices open so you can see how I handle this guy…”

Five o’clock rolled around and tile layer entered Mike’s office, sat down and wrote out a bill…

“I was ready for him and glanced at my wife with the look of testosterone on my face. He started to hand me the bill, but then paused for a moment and a said, ‘A couple of years ago I was drinking too much. I am an alcoholic and was at a very low point in my life. I almost lost my family because of my drinking. I mistreated my wife and my children, especially my oldest son. But you and your wife spent a lot of time with him at a critical moment in his life when he could have gone either way. Shortly after that time I went to AA, and I’ve been sober every since. Because of you and your wife, I still have a relationship with my son. I’ve never been able to thank you, but I’m thanking you now.’ He handed me his bill for $350.00. ‘Paid in full’ was written across the page.”

Mike goes on to write, “I was the one who had been too busy to show up at the banquet, and he was one of the people who came.”

The next time I get an RSVP from God, I hope I don’t decide to stay home and watch a football game.

As I sit here in a hotel room, I think of how people sometimes look at me with envy. As a consultant, I travel a lot. Many people think, “What fun and adventure!” It may be for some folks, but not for me. Being away from family and home is difficult. Hotels can be noisy places where sleep may be difficult.   Hotels are nice, but they are not home.

After thirteen years and over a million miles, I’ve learned a routine.  Once I get settled in for the night, I usually iron my shirts (yes, it’s true, I hate to admit). I may watch a little TV, but not much. I’ve learned it’s far more rewarding to either do a little work, read—or just sit there and think. I never seem to have enough time to just sit and think. I miss it. So, what better place to do so than while I’m in a hotel room?

I like to think about the “big picture” of my life. So much of my time is spent on the details. To sit and think about where I’ve been and where I need to go is nice. To sit and think on God is nice.  

However, it takes a little getting used to—just sitting, thinking. Seems a bit strange at first. It often makes me feel lazy.  I always feel I need to be doing something—work, check email. Even watching TV makes me feel like I’m being useful to some extent. So, if someone tells you how easy it is, t’ant so. It takes work to think.

The real trouble is that I have to take it in spells. It’s like my college roommate. There was a time in college when dedicated time for prayer was high on his list. Unfortunately, the praying lasted only five minutes and the sleeping stretched out to thirty or more.  So least you imagine me sitting in my hotel room, thinking up all kinds of spiritual, creative thoughts, that doesn’t happen either. I can take it only so long before I have to check emails and catch up on work.

Yet, even with all of my restlessness, I have found the effort rewarding. In some incremental way, despite my weakness, God graciously meets with me, even when my mind continues to do jumping-jacks around a mired of other problems and issues yanking at my shirtsleeve. I’m glad he understands. It makes me want to seek him even more.

I’m often contacted by self-published authors wanting to know how to promote their book through the mail. I normally tell them two things:

1. It’s nearly impossible these days to make money selling a single title book through the mail. That doesn’t mean mail in general doesn’t work any more, because it does. But response rates for a single title promotion are generally too low to pay for the cost of a mailing. It’s not impossible, but the risk is very, very  high.
2. There are many other cheaper marketing channels available—especially the Internet—that should be explored and tested.

Of course, if you are an author and are convinced that your book will be the exception rather than the rule, here are a few quick tips for marketing a single title  through the mail.

“I’ll use an inexpensive postcard.”

Normally, the smaller the piece, the less the response. Postcards typically get very low response for book products. It’s cheaper, but it also gets less notice in the mailbox, so the risk is still very high. 

“I’ll write a simple, one-page personal letter,”

Letters are probably a good way to go if you must test selling a single title book. However, while letters generally pull better response than postcards, tests show the longer the letter the better the response. A 4-page letter will normally out pull a 2-page letter. An 8-page letter will out pull a 4-page letter. 

“I’ll design a large self-mailer that’s four color and looks great.”

A large, four color piece will get a lot of attention, but the cost of this more expensive piece will increase the need for even higher response. While the response may be greater than say, a postcard, it probably will not be proportionally great enough to overcome the additional costs of the more expensive piece. So, the risk is still high.

“I’ll simply pull names from my local phone book and test them.”

Mailing lists is a sophisticated, highly scientific business these days. Ideally, you will want a mailing list of customers who purchase books through the mail. Also, demographics and other factors can play a key role. As an example, gender, age, and the date of last purchase can be key segmentation elements for book products. There are professional list brokers who specialize in the list business and it’s usually wise to seek their help.

“I’ll mail in May so that readers can have my book for summer reading.”

Seasonality is important; however May normally is not a great time to mail. Typically, but not always, late December after Christmas is the best time for books. Christmas is over and cold January is coming up—folks are looking for a good book to read.

Once again, using the mail to sell your book these days is very risky, so if you must go this route, be very careful.

One of the great mysteries of the marketing universe is long copy vs. short copy.  Now, I know this isn’t very spiritual, but I thought some marketing comments might be beneficial to many of you.

Having been in marketing all these many years, I vividly remember the days before the web when we used the mail almost exclusively. When I’d tell clients that long letters almost always out perform short letters, the response to that statement was always the same—shock, groans and even boos.

But it’s true. Long letters will almost always out pull short letters. Long copy usually works better than short copy.

I realize such a statement goes against all logic, practical sense, and all that we hold dear.  Our gut tells us, “Well, no one will ever have the time to read all of that!”

So how do I know such is the case?

 A/B split testing.

When split testing a mailing, a four-page letter will normally out pull a two-page letter, and an eight-page letter will normally out pull a four-page letter. Of course, that’s assuming all letters are written well and other factors.

I think there are possibly many factors that may help explain this phenomenon. However, more than likely, the main reason is that people who are really interested in a product  want to know as much about that product as possible before making a purchase. A two-page letter may seem like it’s easier to read, but it actually may leave a lot of questions unanswered.  

I’ve long suspected such is the case with emails and landing pages. Of course, I know there is the same concern: “No one will read long copy, it takes too much time.” “That’s not what the Internet is all about.”

And I can understand such concerns. However, it now appears that there is A/B split testing evidence that long copy will out pull short copy in our electronic world. You may want to check out Marketing Experiments. They have performed a number of great A/B split tests on this topic. Now, I think there’s more testing to be done, but the data is interesting.

If long copy vs. short copy testing on emails and the web holds up, it just goes to prove an axiom I’ve long observed—our logic and our gut feel doesn’t always hold up to how people will actually respond.  

I’ve been reviewing Matthew, a volume in the new Brazos Commentary. I say “reviewing” because I’m not sure how many folks actually read a commentary volume from cover to cover. Or, at least I don’t. 

Authored by Stanly Hauerwas, Matthew is engaging. The new Brazos Commentary is unique in that it is designed to provide theological exegesis. This commentary is written by scholars whose primary expertise is systematic, historical, or moral theology. To my knowledge, this is the first commentary to venture down this road. Interesting stuff.

Right after 9/11, I remember reading First Things. A response written by Stanley Hauerwas on the new war on terror caught my eye. I enjoyed reading his comments, but what really impressed me was his writing style. It seemed to be so fluid and natural—as if he did only one draft and sent it off. I have no way of knowing, but after reading his comments, I thought, “I bet he wrote this entire piece in less than an hour.”

I wish I could write that easily. Surely, it must be some kind of sin for those who can. I can’t find such a sin in the Bible, but it’s probably there somewhere.

For me, writing is a process. Most days it goes something like this:

Write, write, write, write…

I wonder if the mail has arrived? I’ll go check…

Write, write, write…

That bookshelf sure looks like it needs dusting…

Write, write…

Hey, it’s time for lunch…

I may not can write as fast as many, but I bet my bookshelves are cleaner.

Last week, we checked out the movie, 300.  Now, I must admit, I enjoy action adventure—but probably not as extensively as my daughters think I do. In fact, my favorite movie for the past twelve months is the Robert Redford movie, “An Unfinished Life.”  But, when my two daughters were young teens, they thought action adventure movies were the only movies for me. When they categorized a movie as a “daddy movie,” it meant action adventure. This one is a “mommy movie” meant upbeat, happy and sure to make mom cry. Of course, they never coined a phrase for the ones they enjoyed (sappy teen romance movies).

The movie 300 was okay.  For the most part, it is what it is meant to be—an action movie. But there was this element about 300 that bothered me from the very beginning.

It’s this notion that how you die is more important than how you live.

Now, I realize such conversation is complex—courage, freedom, country. For those who love the movie, I’m sure they will set me straight in no time. Yet, it bothered me.

It brought to mind T. R. Fehrenbach book, Fire & Blood, a compelling book about the history of Mexico. During the 15^th century and the early part of the 16^th century of the Mexica Empire, human sacrifice was common. People were frequently sacrificed on high alters for a variety of reasons. For most, to die as a sacrifice was an honor. In one account, the line of those being herded for sacrifice was reported to measure some three miles long. Numbering in the thousands, one would think they could have easily resisted and many escape. But these were willing sacrifices. In another account, one of Cortes’ soldiers, Bernal Diaz, estimated he saw a hundred thousand skulls of sacrificed victims around the main plaza of Tlazxcala.  As Fehrenback writes, “The Amerindian culture never escaped its primordial belief that the manner of a man’s death was more important in eternity than the manner of his life.”

I’m thankful we’ve moved past such thinking.  At least, I hope we have.

Of course, as I sit here pondering my movie experience, I’m not so sure.  Maybe we’ve simply become more sophisticated. In the business world, I worry we sometimes consider our position and title more important than how we live our daily lives. To become Vice President will make Mom proud.  To fail to achieve that promotion places us on the list of unsuccessful. These are difficult issues, and certainly there’s nothing wrong with being rewarded a promotion—heavens no. But with everything else in this life, it’s where we position it on our measuring stick of importance.

I remember the story of Lynn (not her real name). She was an up-and-coming young woman in a large corporation. Everyone felt Lynn was destined for greatness. Bright, creative, hard-driving, she was a poster child of the new generation of successful leaders in the company. Her boss frequently applauded her hard work in front of the staff. Lynn began to envision herself as Vice President one day.

But, as often happens, events occur which are out of our control. When the Vice President of the division suddenly decided to retire, everyone knew Lynn would be given the nod—but it never happened.  This bright young woman was mysteriously passed over, and someone outside the company was hired for the position. Although devastated, she boldly continued to be loyal to the company and do her job faithfully.

However, everyone soon noticed a change.  Her edge of confidence grew weak. She spoke less in meetings. Life became more serious and less fun. The wounds went much deeper than anyone imagined. Eventually she left the company, and in fact, left the industry all together. The company desperately needed her talent. Her staff desperately needed her creative leadership and drive. While certainly she can’t be faulted for moving on, her presence was greatly missed.

Now, there are certainly times when it’s time to leave. But there also may be times when leaving removes us from those who need us the most. I often witness very talented people leave jobs because of a since of failure for not climbing the ladder. Managers leave because they were overlooked for a director’s position; directors leave because they didn’t make Vice President. And it’s not just in the business world. Pastors leave the ministry because they feel stuck in a small church.

Of course, I struggle with these issues, too. We’ve become geared to think this way.

Success is the road up.

Failure is the flat land.

It’s easy in such a culture to dismiss our God given talents, those that will make a difference in the lives around us, as a secondary benefit.

Yes, we 21^st century folks find it absurd to consider the way we die is more important than the life we live. But I wonder if we’ve really convinced ourselves that the true value of our lives is not defined by promotion, title, position or church size. I can say all of this myself, and I can say what truly defines my life is how I invest in the lives around me every day—but I fear somewhere deep in my heart, I’m not sure such is really true.

 I’m sure the Mexia souls in that long three mile line probably thought the same thing.

I’ve always enjoyed Mike Yaconelli’s writing. I feel sad that he’s no longer with us. Every now and then, I’ll pick up one of his books and read. Just yesterday was such a day—I needed a break, so I pulled out Messy Spirituality. Mike’s story of Margaret caught my eye.

As a nine year old girl, Margaret didn’t get along with her teacher. One day upon being tardy to class, the teacher reacted by marching her to the front of the room.

Mike writes, “Ms. Garner ranted, ‘Boys and girls, Margaret has been a bad girl. I have tried to help her to be responsible. But, apparently, she doesn’t want to learn. So we must teach her a lesson.’” Then the teacher instructed all of the students to walk to the blackboard and write something about Margaret.

Mike continues: “One by one the students began a silent procession to the blackboard. One by one, the students wrote their life-smothering words, slowly extinguishing the light in Margaret’s soul. ‘Margaret is stupid! Margaret is selfish! Margaret is fat! Margaret is a dummy!’ On and on they went until twenty-five terrible scribblings of Margaret’s ‘badness’ screamed from the blackboard.”

Obviously, such shame is not easily erased. Mike tells of how after forty years, the memory was still vividly burned in her mind, and how she was “cursed to live the rest of her life in the shadow of that nightmarish experience.” There are many lessons here, far too many to discuss in this small space. However, yesterday, it brought to mind the power of our words.

Words are a dangerous game. Once said, they can never be taken back. I’ve said words that I regret. I wish I’d never said them, but now, they are forever. I try to be more careful these days. If there is any doubt of the words I’m about to say, restraint and silence is the first thing that comes to mind—at least until I’ve had a chance to pray and sort it out in calmer circumstances.