It’s worth six minutes of your time to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody on a solo ukulele.

Now, I know nothing about how it works, but here’s a fascinating episode showing what the left and right hemispheres do.

I have heard that the video posts were causing difficulties on some computers because they took a long time to load.  In order to counteract that, I’m including only the links this time.  Let me know what you think of the change.

Vivienne observes her hand.

Joseph has learned to say “I’m sleepy now” from the book Grossmutti gave him.  It’s his favorite bedtime book by far.  And we love to hear him say “I’m sleepy now,” especially with his consonant inversion.

Joseph doesn’t always perform.  Here Mommy tries to get him to say please for the camera.

He’s gained impressive skill at building blocks.  Our favorite skill is his exclamation: “Nice tower!“  That’s why we’ve ended up with a few videos of Joseph with towers.

Another activity he’s taken to is doing dishes.  Start running the water, and Joseph starts running, shoves his stool to the counter, and starts putting whatever’s next to the sink into the sink.  Sometimes he makes me nervous, particularly when he fills large glasses with water one-handed – and I’m torn between teaching him caution and telling myself I shouldn’t worry over cheap IKEA glasses.  At any rate, I want to sustain his enthusiasm for this chore.

Vivienne is much more of a sleepyhead than Joseph at her age.  He’d pop up wide awake; she has more trouble waking up.

Joseph’s fascination with counting has spread to calendars and buttons.  He also reads license plates everywhere – that’s geek cred for you right there.

Next to having discovered her hand, Vivienne also is learning to grip things, such as this ball.

We’ve posted similar videos before, but does watching a sleepy kid ever get old?  This, however, is new: Joseph is starting to spin objects by himself.

Easter brought with it Joseph’s first serious exposure to chocolate.  He likes his “Schoggi.”

Joseph plays peek-a-boo with Vivienne, and blows out candles, too.

The videos are roughly in chronological order, except for one of the “Nice tower” episodes.

This is the third part of my three-part summary of John Ortberg’s Everybody’s Normal Till You Get to Know Them.  If you haven’t already, you may want to read my Part I and Part II summaries first.  Again, the chief purpose of these summaries is to act as memory props, not provide an exhaustive, accurate literary summary, and they are clearly summaries through my eyes, with my choice of what to include as important and where to add commentary.

After detailing in Part I how everybody comes with more or less noticeable flaws that have the potential to hurt others, and looking at how we can get closer to others despite the flaws everyone has in Part II, Ortberg turns to the characteristics that make relationships great in Part III.

Ortberg first takes a look at forgiveness, the miracle he hinted at at the close of Part II.  Books could be and have been written on the topic, so Ortberg’s chapter is little more than an outline based on the parable of the unforgiving servant.  He begins by clarifying a few things about forgiveness.

“Forgiveness is what is required precisely when there is no good rationale to explain away why someone did what they [sic] did.  (…)  When an action is excusable, it doesn’t require forgiveness.  (…)  Forgiving is what’s required precisely when we can’t forget.  (…)  Forgiveness takes place within the heart of one human being.  It can be granted even if the other person does not ask for it or deserve it.”

Ortberg splits forgiveness into three stages.  The first stage is refraining from retaliation: “When I forgive you, I give up the right to hurt you back.  Even though you may hurt me deliberately, personally, and deeply, I suspend the law of vengeance.  (…)  Of course, letting go of vengeance doesn’t mean letting go of justice.  (…)  The next stage of forgiveness involves a new way of seeing and feeling.  (…)  When we hold fast to unforgiveness toward another person, we tend to believe only bad things about them.  We want to think of them only in terms of the hurt they have caused us.  We want to forget their humanity.”  (I consider the [sic] above to cover all further references where Ortberg uses an unwarranted plural.)  “When we forgive each other, we begin to see more clearly.  We do not ignore the hurts, but we see beyond them.  (…)  The third stage of forgiving (…) is when you find yourself wishing the other person well.”  I agree with his three stages, but believe there’s no sharp dividing line between stages.  We progress and regress largely in sync with circumstances – wishing the other person well on a good day and stewing on a bad one.

After talking about the structure of forgiveness, Ortberg adds a few more observations.  “As a general rule, where there is hurt, I am both the victim of and the agent of wrongdoing.  In most relationships where deep pain is involved, I must both forgive and seek forgiveness.  (…)  God commands us to forgive whenever we’re hurt, and reconcile whenever we can, because life is too short not to do so.  (…)  [F]orgiveness is not the same thing as allowing someone to avoid pain.  It is longing for their spiritual well-being, which includes desiring that they become loving persons.”

Ortberg begins his next chapter with a Bonhoeffer quote: “Nothing can be more cruel than the leniency which abandons others to their sin.  Nothing can be more compassionate than the severe reprimand which calls another Christian in one’s community back from the path of sin.”  Confrontation, Ortberg says, is how people “get on the scale” in community.  “We need someone to remind us of our deepest aspirations and values and to warn us when we may be getting off track,” and this despite “our nearly endless ability to justify what we do or say so that it is consistent with our self-concept.”  He again quotes Bonhoeffer: “One who because of sensitivity and vanity rejects the serious words of another Christian cannot speak the truth in humility to others, [but w]ords of admonition and reproach must be risked.”  I believe it’s important that the person doing the admonishing realizes the risk inherent in his words, or he will not have the gentleness and caution required to make the admonition heard.

Ortberg then quotes the questions that accountability groups under Wesley asked new members before accepting them.  “Does any sin, inward or outward, have dominion over you?  Do you desire to be told of your faults?  Do you desire to be told of all your faults – and that plain and clear?  Consider! Do yoou desire that we should tell yoou whatsoever we think, whatsoever we fear, whatsoever we hear concerning you?  Do you desire that in doing this we should come as close as possible, that we should cut to the quick, and search your heart to the bottom?  Is it your desire and design to be on this and all other occasions entirely open, so as to speak everything that is in your heart without exception, without disguise, and without reserve?”

Ortberg seems to hold this up as a model, contrasting it with the prevalent conflict avoidance in today’s churches.  He has a point, but I think he misses two important ones.  First, Wesley’s questions are fair warning.  Apparently, Wesley’s groups only entered into totally open accountability with willing participants, and excluded those who couldn’t agree with these questions.  If our church culture is to shift back to this more ruthless openness, it needs to be balanced with a mechanism that keeps the unwilling and the untrustworthy from participating.  Second, according to Ortberg Wesley called this accountability “watching over one another in love.”  This presupposes something that’s missing from the questions: Are you committed to love, support, and encourage us?  Will you stick around when you fail? when we fail?  Without this foundation of firm gentleness and long-term commitment such open accountability will be hurtful, not helpful.  (It’s also a pretty good reason to stick with a church long-term.)

Later on, Ortberg does talk about love as a prerequisite.  “There is a kind of person who speaks ‘truth’ recreationally, but does it without love.  Such a person blasts away and passes judgment in a spirit of arrogant superiority, which they cover up by saying. ‘I am a prophet.’  (…)  [I]n the heart of a true prophet,” Ortberg writes, “what burns deeply (…) is not just anger but love.”  Sin cannot be handled alone, Ortberg concludes: we all need someone who loves us enough to be our truth-teller.

Inclusion is the theme of the following chapter.  Every little mouse needs a hole, and our tendency to exclude others in order to feel more exclusive prevents others – and us – from truly belonging anywhere.  “At the core of Christian community is the choice (…) between exclusion and embrace.  (…)  When people truly begin to follow Jesus, they find themselves becoming Embracers.”  Ortberg mentions the sociological difference between bonding (connecting with people with whom you have a lot in common) and bridging (connecting with people across diverse social cleavages), and points out that “Jesus is the greatest bridger the world has ever seen.  When the church understood his heart, it became a community like nothing else the world has ever seen.”

“[W]herever the spirit of exclusion reigns, it marks those farthest from the Fellowship of the Trinity.  When we exclude, we don’t just hurt those we keep outside; we damage our own souls far more.  And when we embrace, we ourselves are the ones who receive the greatest gift.”  So: Notice.  Care.  Act.  Give.  But what Ortberg doesn’t talk about is how to include those with exclusionary tendencies – which, if we’re honest, we all are.  In a strange reversal he probably didn’t intend, it sounds like we’re supposed to include all except those exclusionist types.  Certainly those who would exclude us are hardest to meaningfully include, but do we really get a free pass?  It reminds me of the “tolerate everyone” mantra, where “everyone” only applies to those we deem tolerant enough.

Ortberg then moves on to the connection between gratitude and love.  “People who live deeply in community,” he writes, “learn to discern and express the value of other human beings.  They are masters of expressing love in word and gesture.”  This requires understanding the etiquette of the corresponding culture, for “[e]very society adopts ways to welcome and host people, to honor and value people whom we treasure, or to ignore and hurt those we choose to demean.”  If we don’t understand our society’s etiquette, we run the risk of unintentionally hurting people, and their hurt and our blame is real regardless of how noble our motives may have been.

But on to the connection between gratitude and love.  “We think of people having the capacity to love who have mostly gotten life right – healthy people with high self-esteem and low regret factors.  (…)  Jesus says the great lovers are those who have come face-to-face with their own great brokenness and have been undone by great grace.  (…)  The greatest command is the command to love.  The greatest sin is refusal to obey the greatest command.”  Love treats others as children of God (and that, I would argue, regardless of whether we’ve heard them make a proper confession of faith).  Do I speak love and encouragement into the lives of those who meet me, or just hard truth and correction?

In the last chapter, Ortberg turns his pen to heaven, because heaven is where God “is building a community of blessed life, and he will be its primary sustainer and most glorious inhabitant.”  He talks about how all will be made right in heaven, redeemed; how we will be home; how we will finally be normal.  Here is were his tendency to insert comic relief trips him up most.  Nearly every set of imagery or explanation of symbolism includes a goofy joke that calls into question how serious he is, that shatters the image and longing he hopes to evoke.  It’s unfortunate, because I think he is right: we have a poor, incomplete notion of just how great heaven will be, which is betrayed by our lack of enthusiasm to go there now.  And heaven is indeed where people and their relationships will be restored, and should therefore function as a guiding star for us, helping us to “choose hope (…) and live in hope that one day God will set everything right,” helping us live his love in difficult circumstances.

For if what’s broken will not be redeemed, what keeps us from judging and excluding, from wheat-and-chaffing in order to be more efficient and successful down here?  The promise of redemption speaks hope to our broken souls, and a warning to our haughty spirits: God treats that untouchable better than you do.  Take heart; take heed.  And take action.

This time, only a few pictures of Vivienne.  I’m trying to keep the albums shorter, so the work of making albums is not concentrated on one big effort but smaller, more frequent uploads.  We’ll see how well it works…

The pictures are at the usual place, with the usual sign-in.  Write me if you don’t know it.

I’ve already begun summarizing John Ortberg’s “Everybody’s Normal Till You Get to Know Them” – you can find my summary of and thoughts on Part I here.  If you’ve already read my Part I summary, you’ll know that I’m summarizing mostly for my own benefit.  I will omit parts I don’t find helpful or interesting and include comments and further thoughts of my own, making no claim whatsoever to completeness or accuracy.  My goal is to support my memory, and if you, dear reader, benefit in the process, so much the better.

In Part II Ortberg talks about how to get close to others without getting hurt.  We’re all in various stages of this dance in each of our relationships, though it’s not a given that our partner is at the same stage.  Perhaps we’re asking someone to dance who’s persistently ignoring us, or we’re missing the cues that someone is hoping for a few steps with us; perhaps we’re stepping on toes unawares, or trying to embrace someone salsa-style who’s wearing a hoop skirt and expecting a waltz.  Unfortunately, it’s harder to tell than in an actual dance hall, which is why Ortberg can write a few chapters on it.

One point he makes is that in each relationship, the disclosure of who we are happens in a cautious progression, because of our “awareness that there are parts of us that are not too attractive.”  This, Ortberg says, is a consequence of the Fall.  We are no longer normal, we know it, and reveal it only to those we trust.  This progressive revelation is to be respected, Ortberg writes: “[N]o one – not even [God] himself – can get another person to be in a relationship by brute force. (…) [I]n authentic community, people are never coerced or manipulated into self-disclosure.”  This respect is a form of grace, an echo of how God treats us.

Ortberg makes a point to distinguish this hiding of our unattractive parts from solitude.  Hiding is a sign of our weakness: it results from the Fall.  “The capacity for solitude,” Ortberg says, “is an indication of strength,” and predates the Fall.

Having established the progression of disclosure in our relationships, Ortberg proposes three stages of openness on the way to community.  The first stage is guarded communication.  Expressing every thought and feeling, according to Ortberg, is “[n]either wise [n]or biblical. (…) Scripture writers caution people to use wisdom about what they reveal.  In particular, don’t do deep disclosure with an untrustworthy person.  You can get badly hurt.  There is a place for guarded communication.  But that’s not where true community lies.”

The second stage Ortberg identifies is everyday authenticity.  Everyday authenticity is the opposite of image management.  Ortberg uses the example of makeup, which covers up blemishes and underscores strengths in an effort to present a prettier face.  (Unfortunately, I read this section just before boarding a plane with an old logo on it.  It flew just fine, but I can attest that sometimes makeup does powerfully influence my trust level.)  But makeup is trivial; we use more sophisticated methods of image management (which Ortberg calls veils): “Some people hide behind their humor.  (…)  Some people use their intelligence as a veil.  Others use ignorance.  Some veil themselves in busyness, in their work, in their vast competence and success.  Some people have high-tech veils with remote controls or mouse pads.  Ironically, many people in the church veil themselves in spirituality.  They quote Bible verses or speak of ‘having deep peace’ or speak of ‘God being in control.’  They may say things that sound impossible to argue with, but their words are moats of protection, not bridges of relationship.  (…)  What’s your veil?” he concludes.  “If you’re not sure, the people closest to you can tell you.”  Marriage comes in handy here: Janet observes me daily and had a few pointers.  Their general thrust (not surprising for a guy) is that I tend to project superior competence or knowledge, for instance by passing an absolute judgment that isn’t open for discussion (“the composition of his photo could be better,” “that was a lousy parking job”) or by claiming certainty that my mistake won’t matter in the long run (“You bumped the other car!” “Ehh, no biggie.  Just a Boston kiss.”).

If you’ve observed children, it’s obvious that these veils or masks are a learned behavior.  School is great at teaching it, for what is school but a great game of guessing and fulfilling expectations?  And after playing that game for years, it’s hardly a surprise it remains a habit, even though nobody wants it: not friends, not employers, not our church.  “The irony of the masks is that although we wear them to make other people think well of us, they are drawn to us only when we take them off.”  A corollary of that statement is that the best way to deepen a relationship is to make yourself vulnerable first.

The third stage, deep disclosure with a few trusted friends, Ortberg defines as “telling another human being those aspects of our lives that make us most vulnerable.  At this level we dare to unveil areas of failure or embarrassment that are quite intimate.  This kind of disclosure should not be entered into lightly.”  But “[y]ou cannot be loved if you are not fully known. (…) Sin causes us to seek hiddenness and separation, which in turn destroy community.  In confession, we enter back into community.  We come out of hiding. (…) One of the greatest steps you can take toward living in community is this: Move toward having someone in your life who knows all about you.”  Ortberg mentions warning signs not to disclose deeply, such as inappropriate use of humor, judgmental statements or premature advice, and violating a confidence – but no matter how aware we are, “[r]isk is an indispensable aspect of authentic self-disclosure.”  In other words, self-disclosure should always be a mite scary.  If it isn’t, you’re probably disclosing trivialities.

Ortberg stops to make sure readers understand that disclosure isn’t the be-all end-all.  “We don’t just need disclosure.  We need forgiveness, healing, and grace.”  We need the cross.

We can foster disclosure, Ortberg says, by practicing acceptance on our part.  “Every word we speak has the power either to give a little life to people or to destroy a little bit of their spirit and vitality.”  How often have I carelessly spoken and carelessly quenched someone’s spirit?  Ortberg illustrates the principle with the story of the adulteress caught red-handed, which includes Jesus’ oft-quoted words: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”  He argues that we all carry our sins of the spirit as figurative stones – judgmental thoughts, superior attitudes, impatient words, bitter resentments, lovelessness.  “What is so insidious about the sins of the spirit is that the carriers don’t have a clue.”  But, Ortberg says, “[t]here is no room in Jesus’ community for throwing stones.  We are all too broken.”  We come in “two (…) categories: sinners who admit, and sinners who deny.”

Note: Acceptance isn’t lazy indulgence or toleration.  The story ends with Jesus telling the adulteress to “go, and sin no more.”

An integral part of acceptance is empathy, and Ortberg devotes the next chapter to this skill, in particular to non-verbal communication essential to reading others.  “One dangerous aspect of this skill,” Ortberg writes, “is that generally people who don’t read others well aren’t aware that they don’t. (…) The good news is that relational intelligence can be learned.”  That’s a pretty sneaky way to make sure everyone feels obliged to read on.  Here are some bits that stuck out.

“When we practice [Proverbs 10:19, i.e. we curtail our talking], we begin to learn amazing things.  We can live without getting the last word.  We can live without trying to make sure we control how other people are thinking about us.  We can live without winning every argument, without powering up over every decision, without always drawing attention to ourselves.”

“When we stop talking, we also have the opportunity to engage in the most important intimacy-building skill in the world: listening.  (…)  It is ironic that we try to impress people by saying clever or funny things, yet nothing binds one human being to another more than the sense that they have been deeply, carefully listened to.”  Deep, careful listening includes asking questions, too – questions designed to draw out the other and learn more about him, without stopping the flow of his account.

“[O]ne of the hardest things in the world is to be right and not hurt anybody with it.”  Otherwise we end up “winning disagreements and losing friends.”  In addition, “[b]eing fully right rarely brings as much life to people as simply being human.  (…)  ‘Seeing someone you admire do something stupid or clumsy will make you like him more.'”  This challenges me especially as a father, where I have the tendency to think my greatest asset is being right and knowing what the kids ought to do.

“Without proper attention, relationships tend to drift.”  But attention doesn’t equal attention: the emotions of those interacting play a great role.  “Emotions are more contagious than the flu” and exchanged like a relational economy.  “Relationally intelligent people ask, ‘Who are the biggest contributors to our emotional economy?'”  I need not become dramatically expressive to be a contributor.  I need only to build up the vitality of those around me.

“You are a guardian of the human spirit.  You have the power to manipulate and coerce if you want to.  You can avoid and ignore if you choose.  But you can also ennoble and inspire.  You can lift up and appeal to all that is good and honorable and holy.  You can remind fallible and finite people around you that they hold their lives and calling as a sacred trust, that their best efforts matter, that their worst failures will one day be redeemed.”

Ortberg ends Part II with a chapter on conflict, because “community is worth fighting for.”  Ortberg uses Matthew 18:15 as a guideline, which could use a little more examination for the cases in which the second party doesn’t respond well at any of the stages.  Personally, I found his discussion of anger helpful.  He likens anger to a smoke detector: it’s a useful indicator, but it needs to be understood as such and only go off when warranted.  “Anger exists so you will be motivated to make it go away.  However, taking wise action while you are angry is exceedingly difficult.  As the arousal level goes up, you suffer from what therapists sometimes call ‘cognitive incapacitation.'”  Ortberg suggests stopping and asking “two key questions. (…) The first key question is, ‘Why am I angry?’  The second question to ask is, ‘What do I want?’ What would I like the outcome of this situation to be?  (…)  When we get angry, we start thinking about what we can say that will win the argument or inflict pain.  (…)  [A]nger makes us feel that we are absolutely in the right and are justified to do anything to hurt the other person.  So a very good thing for people with anger issues to say is, ‘I could be wrong.'”  It need not even be an urge to hurt and would – I much more frequently see my anger leading to defensive justification.  And justifying myself doesn’t encourage the other person to open up to me.

“The litmus test of spirituality is not the absence of conflict; conflict will not disappear until we die.  The litmus test is how we handle it.”  “[I]f you’re going to involve a third party, you should do it with the goal of finding reconciliation.”  “[The] need for sensitivity is one of the most important – and often misunderstood – aspects of healthy anger management.  (…)  Three major reviews, covering dozens of studies over several decades, did not find a single study that demonstrates that catharsis – letting anger fly – is an effective way to manage anger.  It just creates more anger.”

One point Ortberg makes is the difficulty of “saying the hardest but most important truth.  We fail to say the last 10 percent.  We get vague and fuzzy precisely when clarity is most needed by the other person.  Instead of saying, ‘You talked too much at the meeting,’ I might say, ‘It was hard to have a good conversation.'”  Ortberg puts this down to fear and pain avoidance, which may be partly true.  What he doesn’t mention is the risk taken at this juncture.  Confronting someone with something that hurt me makes me vulnerable to further hurt if the other party denies wrongdoing, especially when the offense isn’t directly provable.  His framework offers a good illustration.

“Here is a general framework for the last 10 percent:
a. Describe clearly what you observed: ‘You weren’t really listening to me.’
b. Explain how it hurt you: ‘I found myself feeling that I don’t matter to you.’
c. Tell what the consequences have been: ‘This could cause distance in our relationship, and I don’t want that.’
d. Ask for the change you would like: ‘I want to connect when we’re together.'”

Now what if the other party answered after the first statement, and said: “No, I was listening.”?  Regardless of how clearly you formulated your observation, your reality has been denied, the other party has declared his reality superior to yours, and there are now no more grounds for you to feel hurt.  Not only are you still hurt because he didn’t listen, but you are now also rejected and implicitly told to feel guilty for your feelings of hurt.  Ortberg fails to address what to do when the other party is unresponsive, which I find is a weakness in this section.

The main point is Ortberg’s last: “Aim at reconciliation.  (…)  If you’re not ready to do this, you’re probably not ready for the first six.  Direct confrontation doesn’t always do good.  Sometimes it escalates the conflict.  Sometimes it leads to violence.  Confrontation can do tremendous damage.  (…)  Sometimes we get deep scars and wounds from people.  Then we need something more than anger management.  We need a miracle.”

The miracle, Ortberg writes, is forgiveness – but that’s Part III.

There are 56 books in the giveaway box, and it’s so heavy I’m not sure I can carry it into the basement without unloading some of the books first.  Have a look at the book giveaway page, request a book, tell your friends, etc… because I’ll donate the books after a certain time.

There are new photos up at the usual spot.  One of these days, I’ll stop reiterating that whoever doesn’t have the login data should write me.

Here are the March videos, with a bit of delay. Joseph still is the more thankful subject for videos, but I’m sure Vivienne will catch up in a few months, or weeks even.

Joseph counting his numbers. He’s a bit sloppy in the interest of speed, but the numbers are there – if you have ears to hear.

One of Joseph’s first encounters with Grandma’s word cards.

Life with a big brother.

Joseph counts his fingers. There are ten.

Joseph counts Bappe’s fingers. There are also ten!

Joseph likes to zip around with the Bilibo – until he spots the camera.

The tempo tap button is great!

Tummy time for Vivienne, who rolls over at the end.

Bappe playing with Vivienne.

Joseph loves his owls!

A few hitches and distractions, but it’s the entire alphabet!

Useful vocabulary skills. It will be even better once he learns how to use one!

This is how “seven” is said in different languages.

Joseph declaims, then plays with his tube. (And I do like grape nuts.)

How to read yourself to sleep.

Alphabet all by himself.

Fun with the Bilibo.

Intentional oopsies.

Joseph reads “Polar Bear” with Bappe.

Joseph tries to entertain Vivienne.

Bappe teaches bad sign language.

Playing with the colored blocks.

Vivienne entertained.

I just poured the second half of the original bag of Kaga Bocha tea into the tin, and want to toss the bag without forgetting the tea.  As so often, my blog will serve as a memory prop.  The Kaga Bocha tea has several characteristics that made me buy and later enjoy it.  It’s from the Kaga area, near Kanazawa, where I spent my first three months in Japan.  It’s a roasted green tea (houjicha), and the Nippon Steel Corporation canteen served water and houjicha.  Those two points got it chosen.  Its slightly sweet taste and uncomplicated preparation made it enjoyable beyond standard houjicha and favorable emotional circumstances.

Now I can toss the bag.