A two-point sermon from my MP3 player

I got really convicted by my MP3 player a few days ago.

I don’t have a very big MP3 player.  It’s a little SanDisk Sansa 4GB job, about the size of one of those old Zippos your grandpa used to light his cigarettes, and I’ve got maybe 300 songs loaded on it.  Mostly contemporary Christian songs (what can I say, that’s my joint), and all of them upbeat, since I originally got the Sansa to use while working out.  (I haven’t had much energy for that lately, but hope springs eternal …)

More recently, I’ve used it while giving my son Sean his baths.  See, Sean may be still recovering from Leigh’s disease (and for that recovery, Lord, much thanks!), but in many ways he is a typical 7-year-old — such as hating to take a bath.  He can’t speak, exactly, but he moans the entire time, and in a small echoing space (like, say, our bathroom) that can really wear on the ol’  nerves.  So rather than turning into Jack Nicholson from The Shining, I pop in the earbuds, drop the body of it into my shirt/pants pocket, and sing along to a) drown out the moaning and b) hopefully keep the Seanster Monster entertained.

And it was Friday, during bath time (specifically, while drying Sean off) that God, via the Sansa, hit me with a heckuva two-point sermon.

Everybody needs a little K … GC?

This is something that happened awhile back, but I’m still playing catch-up here and I thought it might remain relevant …

If you live in the U.S., you’ve probably heard about the latest from our old friends at Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Several weeks back, venerable old KFC, that wonderful bastion of good ol’ American saturated fat, debuted their latest product: grilled chicken.  That’s right, they decided to try kicking the F out of their usual recipe and start offering unbreaded, non-deep-fried chicken as a healthier alternative.  Well, the fam and I were intrigued — especially I, who has been trying different ways to lose weight (without much success, alas) for several months.  So a few weeks ago, we went into our local KFC and picked up a bucket of … well, I guess you could call it KGC?  They had plenty in stock (apparently the rush created by Oprah’s promotion hadn’t quite hit Stockton yet) and it was being offered for the same price as their traditional 11-herb-and-spices don’t-hold-the-cholesterol recipe.  All to the good, right.

Well, except for one small problem.  The stuff was terrible.