Despite the distracting, nausea-inducing camera movement for which Cloverfield (2007) is now notorious, and the ridiculously fantastic incursion of a giant monster which precipitates the frenzied fight-or-flight response of New York City's inhabitants, I was actually able to pocket something valuable from my experience of the second feature-length film produced by J. J. Abrams. (Matt Reeves directed.) In the midst of complete carnage and devastation, the flick's male protagonist, Rob Hawkins, decides to return to the apartment of his ex-girlfriend to rescue her. The path back into the heart of the city is perilous, and few in Rob's group hold out hope that Lily still lives, but our hero is determined. The moment in which Rob makes his decision was, for me, the high point of the movie.

Too few of us will ever be blessed enough to experience this kind of test. Most will allow themselves to be whittled away by the daily, clumsy hacking motions of mundane circumstances, content to be slowly enervated by natural causes. We will live out relatively uneventful lives that end before war or natural cataclysm has had the chance to test us by fire. And we'll be fine with that. Anxious to conserve both life and livelihood, we will skirt around situations that might compromise health and hearth, avoiding risk in the name of convenience.

Today's Americans have dodged the bullet so successfully that we've convinced ourselves that we control our destinies. 9-11 and our country's response may have rearranged contemporary geopolitics in lasting fashion, but the more personal wounds inflicted on our collective complacency healed over relatively quickly for the majority. Within days, we had forgotten the life-and-death scenarios played out by frightened imaginations--had forgotten the prayers and plans we would have pursued in desperate attempts to save loved ones.

Fortunately, there are other, equally frightening ways of testing our character and shaping our soul that will come our way if large-scale disaster fails to do so. In fact, though lacking the flare of whizzing bullets or shifting tectonic plates, these more personal and intimate scenarios hold even greater opportunities for heroism.

Stage One: slowing down enough to recognize pain and discomfort in those around us. This is no small task for the modern American.

Stage Three: this may involve money and words, but it will more often require action and time--two things we are all loath to give away.

Every relationship we form holds the opportunity of life-changing sacrifice. The choice to serve a spouse instead of ourselves, to privilege time with a child over extra hours at the job, or to reach out to a hurting coworker in an honest and vulnerable way each require a difficult death to self. Such situations can also involve subtle self-aggrandizement if we're not careful; it is, of course, a question of motivation.

Fortunately, we've an actual blood sacrifice--made on our behalf--to inspire us.