Arent we all (part 2)

[I would like to begin by saying that the use of "Swedes" is pervasive throughout this blog.  What is written here are simply my conversations and the thoughts I had based on what I experienced and what I know.  My sample size is admittedly infinitesimal, in regards to the Swedish men and women I met and their take on Swedish belief and culture.  In truth, I know very little of Swedish culture or mindsets.  Many of the Swedes I met were some of the most kind and endearing people I've ever met - Samuel, Caroline, Henrik, and Rikard I'm looking at you.]

With Misti and Jeremy asleep and the drive still ahead of me I moved through a minute or two of small talk and directly engaged the driver on the topics of my greatest curiosity.  I realize this is an incredibly American thing to do, but then again, I'm an incredibly American guy so I guess it didn't matter (Besides, I knew that as a Swede he was too polite to refuse my questions).

Thought #1 (Low hanging fruit)
Tell me how you feel about the taxes which seem unreasonably high.  This thought was simply a warmup - a curious flight of fancy to loosen up the driver.  In all actuality, I am not all that concerned about the taxes in Stockholm, and judging by the conversation I had with the driver, neither are Swedes.  It seems when Swedes pay their taxes, the government gives them the very things they promise which happen to be the VERY THING SWEDES WANT!!! What a novel idea.  Not only taxation with representation, but representation that actually listens to it's constituency.  (For more on this topic if you're interested feel free to check out this link: representative taxation and for healthy counterpoint check out this one on irresponsible government entanglements.  It was very informative and incredibly interesting... well, incredibly may have been an exaggeration.)

Thought #2 (Not so easy)

We may have apple pie, but Swedish
and Caroline Hultmar's Cat Sauce
may just gives us a run for the money!

"How do you feel about the immigration crisis from your perspective as a native Swede?"  This question elicited a much less immediate answer and an unintended raise of the eyebrows (I had apparently touched a nerve).  He soon responded after some thought and said, "I don't mind the immigrants at all... but they need to abide by the rules.  They can't come over here and think this is their place to run - stirring up all kinds of trouble." He continued, "I don't mind them and their beliefs so much, I just don't want their beliefs changing who we are as Swedes."

This was a common sentiment among both Swedes and Immigrants.  Swedes feel more than happy to embrace the immigrant - so long as the immigrant adapts, adopts and assimilates into Swedish culture.  Immigrants often saw this request in a different way: they felt excluded and left out from the society at large - relegated to an ethnic enclave to spend their days constantly toiling to become Swedish - to understand how Swedish Meatballs and Cat Sauce can be SOOOOO GOOD!!!  

Cat Sauce also known as creme sauce
by every other human being

It became obvious that while my driver's compassion wasn't lacking in the least bit, his ability to empathize was unhinged.  He couldn't see where the immigrant was coming from or why they couldn't change.  He didn't understand why they held so tightly to their Islamic ways and why they just. couldn't. become. Swedish.

This round of questioning made me think though, "Why is it that my driver who is a perfectly thoughtful, wonderful human being (by all accounts) could not find a connection point to empathize with the plight of these men, women, and often times parent-less children?  Somehow, there was a disconnect for him.  But to be fair, I think the same could be said of me from time to time.  Why?

As I think back to my own situations, when I find myself continually annoyed by one segment of  society or another, I find I am thinking of them as less than and me as greater than.  When I lack compassion has less to do with my character and more to do with my connection to my own personal brokenness (or the lack thereof).  MY brokenness in MY face drives me to look at the one who heals the broken places to their fullest extent.  It's only out of that recognition of unmerited favor can I see the brokenness of others even when the cost is my own comfort and security.  

The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I can be neither truly compassionate nor truly empathetic apart from Jesus.  Outside of this great grace, my selfishness is impossible to overcome.    That may seem silly to many who read this, but in truth, my willingness to see my brokenness was impossible before I met Jesus.  I was deeply insecure (and sometimes still can be), among a great many other things I also felt out of place in the skin that covered my body.  I was never settled or at home and often was desperately lonely.  I felt like a foreigner trapped in a foreign land - language unknown, home unmarked.  Many who know me now (even family members) may be surprised by that confession.  While I was a resident of Jacksonville Beach, Florida - I felt homeless, transient, invisible, alone... I was an immigrant, but I was blind to my status.  I was an alien without hope of ever finding the dreams that would give me place, hope and joy.  But in truth, aren't we all aliens?

Apparently, the Aliens of Tensta
like the Simpsons, too

So then, in my brokenness, I'm forced to ask this question again.  Aren't we all immigrants?  Aren't we all strangers in a foreign land - castaways, refugees, aliens?  Whether our immigration is to the World or to Christ, this earthly existence seems constantly devoid of actual place.  It's tricky, because no matter what decision you make rejection is an inevitability.  Choose the World and the rejection of Heaven is staring you in the face.  Choose the world in the wrong way and your rejection is from the World and from Christ. Choose Christ and I guarantee, the world's rejection is hot on your heels because we live in a world that it is fundamentally built upon layers of rejection.  It embraces no one and nothing outside the lines of it's own selfish intent.  We are a race of rejects who are purposed to be champions, longing for an acceptance that transcends the shadowlands of our existence and calls us back to our birth rite.  We long to be conquerers, but as vagrants those dreams seem as tenable as building a skyscraper on a foundation of cotton candy.

So in a way, I too am an alien in a foreign land, but an alien in peace.  It is a peace imbued by the absurdity of the cross - of a pre-existent, all loving, supreme Christ making new what was broken and displaced.  It is truly absurd.  It is skyscrapers on a foundation of cotton candy, or castles floating on the air.

I think I understand the plight of the refugee in a way that my atheist driver can not (Editorial note: I do speak from pride or self-righteousness, only weakness).  I can understand the desperation for peace - for a shalom so deep that you're willing to risk everything just for the chance to find a satisfaction that never runs dry - for home.  Sadly, there is no rest for the immigrant outside of Christ - never rest.  Rest is peace and without christ there is no peace, only a spiraling abyss of darkness into the insatiable appetites of a "might makes right" existence.

My driver will neither admit his brokenness to me, himself, nor to the God he [politely] refused to believe in.  So until he does, they will always be them - the unnamed masses, wrecking his existence
and hopefully in the process, drawing him to the very heart of God.

--- 

Aren't we all (Part 1)

The MAX

I find that when I go to a new place I'm desperately searching for something familiar.  Something that gives me a sense of place.  Belonging.  Home.  For me, it was seeing the signs for the Max.  The comfort this provides has nothing to do with Mark-Paul Gosselaar or Lark Voorhies.  Seeing this closed (for the day) burger stand in the airport lobby reminded me of my Sweden team, in particular - Elizabeth Rummel, Bo and Cal Brickle, Bobby Wilund, Samuel Arlebrant, and Rustin McAlister.  It was as if someone said, "You're not a total stranger here." As my trip down memory lane started to pick up speed, in the blink of an eye I was snickering under my breath about the Swedish cattle and their polite way of speaking, Lion King references, less than delicious Max burgers, swimming above the arctic circle, Oscar the Swede, midnight volleyball with locals and many other memories.

They were only moments, but sometimes a moment is all you need.  

---

[Before I continue, it is worth noting that at this point in our trip I haven't slept for more than 2.5 hours in the last 36]  Our driver met us in the main hallway of the terminal.  It was clean, quiet and small as I had come to expect. As I looked out the windows of the terminal everything seemed incredibly bright, almost as bright as when you wake up before the sun in wintertime, stumbling into the bathroom and in one half-awake, thoughtless movement you turn on the lights, nearly falling back into the wall, wholly unprepared for the jolt of lumens filling your still sleepy retinas.

Christopher Plummer

Werner Herzog

As we approached the driver, he held up a sign that said, "Willis."  This is the first time I've ever had anything like that - it's amazing how little is required to make someone feel important.  He was kindly and tall (this is apparently a marked trait that Swedes have cornered - being tall and kind).  He reminded me of a mixture between two actors, Werner Herzog and Christopher Plummer (Baron Von Trapp).


While our driver played trunk Tetris, pondering how to fit all our luggage in the taxi, I shuffled my sleep-deprived wife and son to their seats and took my own seat in the front next to our driver.  Our congenial driver buckled up and confirmed the destination address, and with that we were off. Driving unimpeded through the outer boundaries of the Stockholm, for a short few moments Jeremy was cracking us up looking cute and alert taking everything in as we drove, but it wasn't long before he was asleep.  Similarly, Misti interjected a few sentences into the conversation engaging in the time-honored tradition of awkwardly carrying on forced small talk with people we will likely never come into contact with again.  I remember sitting in my seat thoroughly impressed with my wife's level of engagement, I thought, "Wow, She must really be excited for this adventure.  She's such an awesome woman!  I never imagined that she would be able to make it this long without falling asleep.  Honestly, she's like super woman, to fight through what I know must be an unbelievable desire to lay her head on that seat back and just sleep all so she can fully immersed in every aspect of this trip, I think i'm going to tell her how impressed I..."  then I looked back and saw her out cold - mouth agape.  Looking at her, I was reminded, "My bride is beautiful."

Some days her elegant beauty is more conspicuous than others - today is one of those days... sound asleep.  She is always there and yet there is always something unexpected, unpredictable about her.  It hits in these moments, in waves as though the wheels of time ran through thick mud and slowed down to a crawl - caught in a stare that seems to last an eternity.  Her loveliness is unintentional, it's not contrived or preconceived... it's just who she is, she's lovely.  I guess that's one of the true joys of marriage, it's constant newness - I see her anew every day and it's never a disappointment.  Life with her isn't boring or mundane, it's rich and vibrant.  I never have to wait with a romantic comedy like anticipation for the next arbitrary encounter like Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan (i.e. You've Got Mail or Sleepless In Seattle.)  I experience her every day, good and bad; sickness and in health; till death do us part... and my heart is blessed for it.

I love seeing my wife.

---

The drive from the airport is mesmerizing.  Granite outcroppings of stone litter the side of the road, solid walls rising and falling as we drive.  Their dull grey blackness punctuated by the emerald green grass interspersed throughout.  It was almost as if the boulders were reaching up through slits in the carpet of grass to welcome us to the most glorious city as we wind through the serpentine streets of the outer belt.

The road snaked around the rocks as if it's design was conscious of every stone and crag.  The designers seemed to treat the rocks less as obstacles to be overcome and more as individual statues, meant to be admired from every angle.  These highways flowed with the rising undulations of the land, countless rivers and neighborhoods that predate vehicles.  They are somehow smooth, clearly marked and a welcomed addition to the natural landscape.  Don't get me wrong Stockholm has interstates (or the equivalent) and lots of them - long, unexciting highways stretching north to south and east to west. But I'm thankful our driver took us another way... a way that allowed us to more deeply appreciate the natural comeliness of this country.

As the volvo wound through the outskirts of Stockholm and Misti snoozed in the backseat, I did my best to engage in dialogue with my new friend (to be perfectly honest, I'm only calling him my "new friend" because I can't remember his name).  In my defense, I rarely remember anyone's name.  I have equal opportunity forgetfulness.  This is generally problematic when it comes to sharing the Gospel or just generally not looking like a jerk; sadly, my brain seems to disagree with this most general assessment.  Knowing my penchant for near instantaneous namenesia, I have to work doubly hard to make sure that conversations I engage in are well thought out.  I like to think through the the things that are of interest to the person I talk to because while I may not remember their name I'll never forget the circumstances that surrounded our meeting.  This trip would be no different.  I did some research about Sweden and its place in the world at large.  But even more so, I wanted to know the issues that Swedes are quietly dealing with, the things they're proud of, and the things they secretly despise.  

The conversation that ensued, took us down a rabbit hole that I was more than happy to chase him into and eventually became a very insightful picture of the Swedish soul - "What do we do with Immigration now?  How much longer can this be sustained?"  

But more on that in Part 2 of this blog...

Bringing the Gospel

My sweet friend and reformer, Sarah Bedi

There are certain scriptures that help to define who I am as a believer.  Listed below are my top 3 (Special thanks to Scott Moffatt who taught me more about the bible than any of my seminary classes):

1. Galatians 2:20 - For I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me. And the life I live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave his life for me.
2. Ezekiel 36:24-28 - I [God] will gather you from the foreign nations and gather you from all the countries and bring you into your own land.  I will sprinkle clean water on you and you shall be clean... I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you.  And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.  I will put my spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey mu rules.  You shall dwell in the land that I agave to your fathers, and you shall be my people and I will be your God.  And I will deliver you...
3. 2 Corinthians 5:17 - Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation  The old has passed away; behold the news has come.  And all this is from God, who through christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation... Therefore we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us.

These verses drive me back to the still waters of truth when I'm blown off course by the squalls and hurricanes of lies and deception.  When I'm tempted to believe that God is the great watchmaker and not the great lover of His people, the power of these scriptures comes flooding back.  I can experience time and again His intense, self-perpetuated love for His people and know that regardless the situation I am in, it is truly for my good, even when the situations seem very much the opposite.

Whenever I'm in doubt in ministry, struggling to find a reason to push on I am generally struck by 2 corinthians 5:17.  That God would see fit to use me as the vessel of honor - the crown of his love - make no sense to me, because I know me.  I know my failings, my thoughts, and my doubts.  It makes no sense, but I keep on moving forward.  That's how we ended up in Sweden... come to think of it, I guess that's how all missionaries end up mobilized.   Their lives run headlong into the vortex of Isaiah 52:7 - how blessed are the feet of those who bring the good news.  Or in my case, you see Romans 10:14 and realize that God is planning on MY involvement in His salvation plan.

I have heroes too.  Scott Moffatt, Ray Vaughn and Sarah Bedi.  These are saints that I've sharpened and been sharpened by - Iron on Iron.  Maybe this is an evangelical heresy, but I no longer revere the dead bones of saints from long ago.  While their voices sing just as true, and their efforts shine just as bright - I just can't say I ever held Jonathon Edwards accountable to maintaining his standards of holiness, or confronted Hudson Taylor in his sin, and I definitely never sat under the tutelage of either Wesley.

Scott taught me more about being a believer than any other person I've ever known, Raymond taught me how to be a good friend of sinners, and Sarah... well, Sarah is difficult to describe.  Sarah Bedi is our missionary on the ground in Stockholm.  She is who we flew in to connect with and work alongside.  She has been teaching us what being a missionary in this foreign land could look like.  Ultimately, she is our Jewel of the North... the reformer, the reconciler, the renegade missionary taking back what the kingdom of darkness stole.  In short she is my hero.

These are people the world is not worthy of, but thankfully the Lord saw otherwise.

Style Is A Myth

When we arrived to Sweden I was greeted by the welcoming site of a bathroom.  There is nothing so nice as a clean, spacious single potty bathroom when coming off of an 8 hour flight with a 17 month old who slept only 3 hrs.  You inevitably feel gross and tired - physically tired, tired of sitting down in a cramped seat, tired of movies, and ultimately tired of feeling trapped in the clothes you've worn for nearly 36 hours.

Beaker

Antoine Griezmann

This sanctuary of aluminum, porcelain, pine, and mirrors provided me a moment to readjust, to breathe in stale Swedish airport air instead of stale airplane air mixed with the piquant flavor of dirty diaper.  Mostly, I took a moment to collect myself and change.  I splashed cold water on my face and quaffed my hair so I'd have a much closer resemblance to French soccer player Antoine Griezmann and less like the Muppet, Beaker.  I took this opportunity to change into some different clothes too.  I wanted my first moments in Sweden to be somewhat stylish.

In an effort to fit in better, I bought some new pants before we left.  This came as a total shock to my wife who has never known me to give a great deal of thought to my wardrobe selection.  But I am turning over a new leaf of greater preparation and planning for bigger and better things.  Who knows, maybe someone will see me walking the streets of Stockholm and arrogantly think to themselves, "now that is one put together Swede...  Surely he can't be an American!"

---

Micheal Scott once said, "Negotiations are all about controlling things.  About being in the driver's seat.  And make one tiny mistake, you're dead.  I made one tiny mistake,  I wore women's clothing."   I feel his pain.  My new purchased pair of pantaloons were not woman's pants but they were not far off.  Maybe Skinny jeans are a bad idea in general, but even if they aren't, this particular pair of pants were a bad idea for me.  They were so tight.  That being said, I really wanted to look sharp, so I stubbornly put them on anyway.


They were so tight that I couldn't comfortably bend over to put on my shoes.  After two failed attempts to tie my neon yellow and blue running shoes, I took a deep breath, sucked in my stomach and bent over with a mild groan, and managed to lace my shoes together.  I took one last self-congratulatory look in the handsome devil in the mirror and confidently (if uncomfortably) sauntered out of the bathroom with my green canvas messenger bag rakishly slung over my shoulder.

I had I imagined a crowd of eyes turning to my radiant handsomeness; the affirming whispers of stylish Swedes wondering if I was one of the actors on the TV Show Mad Men and a big thumbs up from my approving wife at her ridiculously good looking husband all as Jeremy breakdances to the Swedish House music playing in the background.  It would be glorious!

The reality was far less exciting.  Sadly, there was no one else there - no whispers, no music, no break dancing baby; just a tired, mildly annoyed wife who said, "What took you so long and why did you change into that?"  

Moral of the story: Fashionable is not the same as comfortable.  And right now I am neither.

The world is yours...

I woke up from my 22 min. of sleep on the overnight flight to Sweden and 3 things became abundantly clear:

1. United Airlines isn't that great... no matter how inexpensive the flight.

2. Flying with a 17 month old is INCREDIBLY TRICKY

3. When life gets you down, look out the window and get some fresh perspectives

Here's the inflight movie I watched on my flight to Stockholm

While I recognize nearly everyone posts this same picture, I was profoundly struck by a new understanding of Psalm 24:1 "The Earth is yours and all that it contains, the world, and those who dwell in it."

I started thinking, "You know... there are a lot of people in this world beneath me, and they all matter to God. And somehow his name will be made great!"  Nothing earth shattering.  No new revelations or clever thoughts.  But that's the great thing about God's promises - they remain true, even if we're not surprised by them or taken aback by the shear intensity of their implications.

1 Chronicles 19:11
"Yours, O LORD, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty, indeed everything that is in the heavens and the earth; Yours is the dominion, O LORD, and You exalt Yourself as head over all"

 

At The Corner of Fear and Truth

Our trip started a little inauspiciously.  We woke up on time, we were even leaving on time.  There was nothing wrong, except for a little disconcerting news about a Turkish airport, a terrorist, and an exploded bomb!  What a way to start the day.  Nervousness aside, we loaded up little Jeremy, got in the van and proceeded on our way to Detroit.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of nerves you get before a trip like this.  It's a mixture of excitement and general trepidation; somewhere between "did I forget my wallet at the gas station in Tennessee - I feel like I'm going to throw up!" and "they'll never take our... FREEDOM!!!" Maybe a better example is Frazil ice, (too fast to freeze, too cold move freely).  As much as I like adventures, this part I could do without.  It's a necessary evil I guess, hard to truly appreciate the choices we're making without first experiencing the doubts that circle overhead like vultures.  Come to think of it, I guess it wouldn't be too far off base to look at these moments of doubt as an opening round between boxers - shifty punches to test speed and movement; strategies of defense and attack.  In chess, a whole match can be won or lost on the decisions made in the opening moves.  How you see threats and most especially how you respond to them when they make their way upon you.  The way I see it, these little nervous moments - as innocuous as they may seem - often stem from and uncover some of the biggest fears we hold so deeply in the basest reaches of our souls.  These fears are the stinking, rot that you smell long before you can see.  The fear is driven by a seed of doubt in the character of God that has become rooted and shouts above the truth, "How WEAK the father's love for us, how SMALL beyond all measure.  That he should care... not likely chump!  You're a wretch, not a treasure."  This doubt's final word says, "the father can not be trusted, because he chooses not to love you that well.

---

Before we left for Sweden, I would have said there are only 2 things that really frighten me into inaction:

• Zombies.  The idea of someone being dead, but still alive is incredibly troubling for me.  This became more troubling after Dawn of the Dead when they gave a logical answer for how this could happen.  To this day, I have still only seen 3 zombie movies (only one of which I liked) - Sean of the Dead (which was hilarious.), Dawn of the dead (because I hate not dealing with my fears head on and it was free), and I Am Legend (because I was tricked into seeing it).
• Failure.  Since I got married this fear has stopped me from doing more awesome things with my life than I can shake a stick at.  In my Spirit I will know, God is saying to me, "move here", or "do this thing... Just trust me, Shea" and in disobedience, I will stand still because the comfort of inaction is so much more... comfortable.  At least until God decides to move me out of disobedience by spiritually breaking my legs.

Turns out those aren't my only fears.

---

If you're going to bring a 1 year old as cute as Jeremy you'd better be prepared to talk to people.  It's a given, that someone will say to my wife or myself what a sweet boy we have.  I think it's because he has a severe case of contagious happiness.  He's had it ever since he was little.

I'm not kidding when I say, he came out smiling [of course at that point it was because of gas] and without missing a beat everyone who saw him would smile in response.  It doesn't matter how tough, scary, closed off, or mad you may be - one smile from that kid and every defense just melts away.  Before you know it, you're left standing there - a grown adult - with this stupid grin on your face saying gibberish in a voice that is 2 octaves higher than normal.  I guess that's what happens when pure innocence collides with the human soul.

At the Detroit airport it was no different.  His charisma charmed everyone from the ladies at the ticket booth, security line operators, and finally to the manager of a few shops in the airport named, Mohammed.

I waited in line and saw the dour expressions of everyone at the restaurant kiosk, I saw Mohammed get frustrated at how things were going and I think that somewhere deep down I wanted to buy my food and leave the premises.  Not because I had any concern that Mohammed was going to blow up a building or shoot all the patrons, I didn't think he was a terrorist. I wish I could say there was a good reason for being nervous near him, but I can't. I was nervous because he is Islamic.

My new friend Mohammed

I can try to give myself some grace and say that it was because I just heard about those bombs in the Turkish airport and the news was still weighing on my mind; it debilitating the better parts of my humanity that refused to look at another human with feelings of "danger" based solely on a system of belief.

As is usually the case though, the truth is much uglier than the lie.  In my case, the truth is that I was afraid of Mohammed because he believed in Islam.  I feared his reaction to the my sharing of the gospel - I feared his rejection and his questions I was too ignorant to answer.  To my shame, I feared talking to this man who has probably been feared by Americans (not so secretly) ever since he came to reunite with his wife and daughter 3 years ago.  This was not my proudest moment.

---

As I mentioned earlier, I'm not one to back down from a fear, especially when I become self-aware of the problem. This was no different.

My son's absurd cuteness brought Mohammed over to talk.  We talked about being fathers of daughters and sons, we talked about Libya, we talked about the insanity of radicalized religion, about brokenness, desperation, fear, failure, loneliness and before long we talked about Jesus being the only way available to find true satisfaction.  I told Mohammed that there are no amount of good works he can do to earn his place before God - that only Jesus was able to bear that burden.

Funny how it was because of Jeremy and that disarming smile that Mohammed and I both got to hear about the Gospel.  Turns out Jesus wasn't kidding when he said, "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven."  Sadly, Mohammed never accepted Christ as being the only way, but he invited me to come back and say hello when we come through town.  I can't wait to do just that.

1 Cor. 1:27 - "But God chose the foolish things of this world to shame the wise, he chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong."  

Fear and Doughnuts...

We are slightly nervous.  I'd like to say it's just misti who is nervous and that I'm a bastion of confidence - charging into the great unknown of spiritual conflict like Patton charging into Sicily, but but if I'm totally honest, I think I relate more accurately to Lord Cardigan as his Light Brigade charged the Russians.  Needless to say, (though I will) I'm a little bit nervous too.

After 12 hours of driving it was good to stop in with the in-laws.  We were able to give an overview of everything that we were doing and why we were going.  In some ways, it's good to be reminded myself.  Sometimes  it's easy to forget the why's and wherefores, in the midst of all the planning and preparation.  It's funny really, you can expend so much energy going after a goal, or a dream that you sometimes forget the original vision for going in the first place.  It's only when someone asks that you are left with this stupid grin and 10 seconds of awkward silence, as you ask yourself, "Why is it that I'm going again..."  Then you remember, and when you do it's as if there was no other possibility.  Almost indignantly, you respond to your own lack of assurance saying, "Of course, I'm going to do this thing" as if someone asked you if you planned on breathing this afternoon?  Or if Krispy Kreme doughnuts are best fresh or microwaved (which if you don't know the answer to that last question you may not be saved.)