All the Lloyd-Jones sermons, irreparably.
Half the AW Tozer sermons
Half the Ravenhill sermons
Half the Paul Washer sermons
All of the Piper Biographies.
All of the Tim Hawkins.
Most of Dr Nick Needham’s talks.
all of the J.I. Packer talks.
The Lynyrd Skynyrd.
The John Waller.
Yesterday, I hooked my iPod to a pair of cast-off speakers, and prepared to play through all my interesting, edifying, and (annoying?) playlists. The hold switch was off, as a lightbulb when the switch is turned down; I pushed the menu, as a leprechaun pushes a bowling ball towards the pins: and the screen was blank, blank as a letter from a disinterested lover.
(Disclaimer: the stupid attempts at poetic descriptions, that are void of either beauty or poetry, that modern fantasy and fiction employs is being made fun of in this instance)
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh! It’s blank!” –Po the Magnificent
I mourned as the cat-lover mourns at the felinocidal demands of Universal justice, that I should be fated to do the one thing that I most did not wish to do-ith.
I had to restore my iPod.
For the ordinary users, this doesn’t mean much. I mean, restore, and then reload all the music off of your computer. Big deal.
But, if your like me, and you change the settings on your iPod so that you can hook it to as many PCs as you want (legally, legally [clears throat]) and glean all the wonderful sermons, audiobooks, lectures, classical music, and southern rock that you want on to your little Pod-Boy, it poses a serious problem. Because all that media to which you were so attached is now scatter about the country (I need help, Caleb), so that when you restore your toy sophisticated tool to its factory settings, all that is wiped, and you are left with a completely blank slate.
Lesson learned: next time, listen to all your good sermons first, before you lose your iPod, and let the rest wait. Don’t put it off.
There’s a moral to everything, isn’t there?