Know how you meet people later in life who remind you of someone from your past?  Their laugh…mannerisms…looks…walk?  Never in my life have I met anyone who reminded me of Ruthie.  Until recently when I was late to work, circling 5^th & Columbia.  I caught Ruthie out of the corner of my eye.  The sexy walk gave her away.  She turned the corner while I waited at a red light.  On green, I gunned it and turned too.  Yup.  It was Ruthie alright.

People used to say Ruthie faked that walk, but I lived with her for 9 months, and I know:  That walk was naturally Ruthie.  Arriver comme mars en careme.  That’s French for as sure as night follows day.  Ruthie was just born to walk that way.  

Girls like Ruthie fascinate us, and like most young women, I constantly compared myself to her.  It was tough sharing a bathroom with someone in such a perfect package.  Perfect size, perfect teeth, perfect skin & tone, perfect chest.   Even after our most barbarous early morning parties, never did she wake up looking anything less than darling.  Even the way Ruthie puffed on a cigarette was mythical.  Fresh on the heels of doing 4 years in the plastic environment of high school, I was conditioned to be a voyeur of the popular crowd.  And now here I was actually living with one of their trophies.

Of course, like all of us, Ruthie had issues.  And truth be told, Ruthie’s ran deep.  It’s natural to stuff our deepest wounds or avoid exposure to Light (we just keep throwing on more manure or bandaids), but inevitably there are those issues that seep out anyhow.  Like a drippy ice cream cone in the summer, they make regular messy trips inside out.  One battle for Ruthie was her permanent time lapses.  Say we’re watching a movie, and laugh at some scene.  Ten minutes later, Ruthie would laugh and comment.  We snickered and exchanged a lot of “yu boy” sideways glances at Ruthie’s belated expense.  As one guy put it, “Ruthie burnt out.”  Too many hard drugs in high school.  Plus, Ruthie could put away some vodka now.  Once she tried defending herself after a particularly humiliating time lapse, but we told her to quit being sensitive, and Denise rose her voice, and Ruthie never mentioned it again.  That was how it was with those two.  They had this co-dependant thing going.  Rarely apart from each other, they functioned (or dysfunctioned) like Siamese twins.  Denise the aggressor would parent slash dictate instructions, with Ruthie dutifully following through.  There really wasn’t room for anyone else.

One time Ruthie hid my boyfriends’ shoes, and when Denise tipped me off, I let Ruthie have it.  Of course, I figured out later on that it was probably Denise who had put her up to it, but Ruthie wasn’t ever going to expose these manipulations.  I think Denise made her feel safe, and no price seemed too high to maintain that cooky friendship.  Besides, they were still wrestling like most of the South with what was considered my boyfriend’s biggest issue - the audacity to be born black.

Still, despite Ruthie’s mental lapses and haywire passivity, like I said, she always looked great, and drew guys in like flypaper.  Okay, so they never stayed long, but to a naive hick from Montana, completely out of her element, minor details like what happens on the inside hardly mattered.  Life was surely deliriously happy if one had the outward goods like Ruthie did. 

Mike had stayed around a little longer than the rest, but after he dumped Ruthie, she stayed in her room a long time.  When she finally opened her bedroom door, she announced she was moving home.  Denise didn’t fight it because she was making plans to move in with her boyfriend anyways.  I think Ruthie felt completely lost without someone to boss her around, and I had enough of my own issues to battle and sure as heck wasn’t interested in climbing into that driver’s seat.  Though I always regretted trying.

A few of us went to visit Ruthie at home a few weeks later.  I’ll never forget the shock of walking up to Ruthie’s front door, and realizing she came from the poor end of town.  Just like me.  It just never occurred to me we had anything in common.  I guess I thought every beautiful person must come from a beautiful house too.  Ruthie’s house was a neglected ramshackle with weeds and old couches on the front porch.  She answered the door with a cigarette and bare feet, and the only thing I really remember was the shock of digesting the sexiest girl on campus coming from this.  Her family was out, which was too bad because I was sure curious about her brothers, and really wanted to see if they looked like the perverts they were rumored to be.  They say those boys did bad things to Ruthie growing up.

The strange thing about this visit was how Ruthie kept wanting to talk to me, kept putting herself next to me to chat.  I was accustomed to she and Denise being in the spotlight, so was fully prepared to take my role in the shadows with our other friends.  Only, Ruthie wanted to be near me.  Shared her cigarettes with me, and gave me some old jeans.  Stranger yet, she didn’t seem to care much about Denise’s even being there.  It was – odd.  Ruthie seemed like she wanted to say something.  She seemed anxious.  Desperate? Kept talking about moving out again when she had enough money.  I’ll never forget her parting words to us.  Something like, “It was sure great to see y’all.”  Then she turned directly to me, “Especially you, Shelly.  I really liked seeing you again.”  She paused as if she wanted to say more, but she never did.  Just smiled and crushed out her cigarette on the front porch. 

I never forgot that last visit with Ruthie.  Have played it over in my mind a hundred times.  Shoulda.  Woulda.  Coulda.  What was she saying…what was she thinking…what really happened when Ruthie went home.

I wish like hell I could have fast forwarded my life about ten years, when I met Jesus, straightened up, found some answers and Hope, and then jumped back in time with my new life, grabbed Ruthie off that porch and never let her go.  Because I had so much more to say later on.  Only, Ruthie couldn’t wait ten years for me to straighten up.  Or ten days. 

Ruthie took her life not long after I left her on that porch.  Though dulled through process of years, the pain has never really left, and one of a hundred things I’ve learned and a thousand I’ve thought of in the aftermath is you really can grow to love somebody better long after they’re gone.  Like Bob Dylan wrote, “I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.”  At least, that’s what I was humming when I saw Ruthie’s look alike the other week walking down Columbia.

My biggest revelation back then was that it really did matter what happened on the inside, and realizing Ruthie kept a padlock on a lot of secrets there.  It remains my greatest hope that somehow, someway - one of those was Jesus Christ. 

(Conclusion to follow ~

Reconciling Ruthie:  Hope and a Father’s Pursuit)

Hers was the last bootie shaking.  Through the din of the crowd’s cheering and whistles, you could barely hear the fading lines of Billboard’s #1 hit, Eye of the Tiger, before the contest was over and the redneck crowd erupted in unanimous thunder, announcing its winner by shouting our roommate’s name.  It was the same cacophonous pitch we heard most every Friday night after the Best Bootie Contest in the muggy Coyote Ugly bar we hung out at in South Texas in the fall of 1982. 

“RUTH-IE!  RUTH-IE!  RUTHIE!”

I was going to a Christian college in the Bible belt, and as one of a handfull of rowdy party girls on campus, a few of us had hooked up and decided to rent an apartment together.  Funny how partiers always find each other.   (”Do not be misled:  Bad company corrupts good character.”  1 Cor. 15:33)

Denise was our ringleader.  She came from such a long line of respected HPU alumni and donors that her last name was minted on an entire dormitory.  Her parents were divorced, and I’ll never forget her showing me a picture of herself at the beach around kindergarten:  wet ponytail, little pot belly, and a smile as big and warm as the state she grew up in.  Her mother had written in capital letters, red ink “SUCK IT IN HONEY!” on the bottom, and after I met her in Fort Worth, I  don’t think the woman came up with another original criticism throughout Denise’s entire trek through puberty.

Lisa came from big money too.  Her father owned a chain of tractor dealerships, and when I would go home with her for breaks, they insisted on paying for everything.  “Southern hospitality.”  Lisa eventually moved out - had to.  Her mother disapproved of us and was cutting off the money if she didn’t.  And aside from her laughing in my face when I told her my hair wasn’t bleached (it wasn’t back then) and pinching her shoulders around us like we had a communicable disease, in hindsight I don’t really blame her.  I have a vivid memory as an 18 year old sitting lamely on the couch, watching the profile of Disapproving Mom cart out the boxes, and thinking “Dang.  You could practically ski off that nose.  If I had all that money, I’d look up a surgeon.” 

In hindsight, Lisa was probably the brains of the bunch.

I chose HPU for 2 reasons:  One, I knew the Baptist bent would make my mother happy, and two, it was conveniently located in Texas - about as far away as I could get from her. 

Denise, Lisa, Ruthie and I were as different as chalk from cheese, and how we all ended up together only God could manage.  The only thing we did have in common was that we fit into a conservative Baptist college about as well a white glove fits in a pig pen.  Because deep down we all felt dirty.  For different reasons.  But as it turned out, Ruthie kept filthier secrets than most.

This is for Ruthie.

(to be continued)

I can’t believe its been a year since my mental reconciliation of the French tattoo artist carving a sugar skull tattoo on my daughter’s forearm.  And for those of you who’ve never been to the, now’s your chance!  Plus, this year you can register to win a Les Paul Vintage Sunburst guitar!  If that’s not reason enough, let me tempt you with my other Top Ten Reasons for Attending :

 10.  Live Music.  Bands who came up with names, on purpose, like DragStrip Riot , Viva Hate and Witchburn absolutely must be seen.  In person.

9. Low-key.  I’ve went for several years, and it’s not like there are hoards of people trouncing over each other.  Especially if you go on Friday. 

8.  A trip through  Fun Forest or the Seattle Center afterwards.  If you’ve been keeping up with politics in Seattle, they may end up closing this historic attraction after Labor Day in 2009.  When was the last time you rode Windstorm or took the kids on the carousel?  Got your toes wet in in the fountains or watched the seniors dance in the pavillion? 

7.Kat Von D.  Liar Liar Pants On Fire.  Okay, she isn’t really going to be there.  But it’d be cool.

6.  One of the main organizers loves Jesus and contributed content to one of Pastor Mark’s books.  And if you’re still wrestling with the whole “Christians:  To Tattoo or Not to Tattoo” issue, check out the VoxPop article, p. 7.

5.  You could enter to win the Les Paul Vintage Sunburst and give it to your favorite Mars Hill band member. 

4.  Contests.  Best Leg, Best Sleeve, Best Religious, Worst Tattoo.  Speaking of which, in my honky-tonk era of youthful folly, I brazenly allowed  Porky (the name says it all) to tattoo a cowboy boot & hat on my shoulder.  Turns out prison isn’t exactly the best place to learn the this trade, because over time his work bled and melded into what looked like a fat, er, mouse?  Thank you Jesus for laser removal technology.  P.S.  Lasers hurt WAY MORE than tattoo needles.  P.P.S.  A 2003 study revealed 17% of Americans with tattoos regretted getting them, per a recent program I watched on the History Channel.

3. If you’re over 18 and seriously thinking about getting a tattoo, this is a good place to get educated, even if you don’t actually go through with it.  Browse the books for a good look at the artist’s work.  (And if it’s full of pictures only, move on).  This is sort of like a wine tasting event ~ you really start getting the different flavors of the art and artists and what they excel at.  Especially if you don’t really know what you want, you’ll come away with a lot of new ideas.  If, however, you’re serious about going under the needle, go early.  The best artists are booked fairly quickly for the entire weekend.

2. People who attend.  Wow.  Seriously cool folks to pray for.  People are what matter.

And my Number One reason for attending is,

1.  The Tattoo Artists.  Evidence the variety of God’s amazing creativity first-hand.  These body artists fascinate me, and they travel from as near as Pike’s Market to as far as Jacksonville and London.  Eclectic bunch.  Hard core.  Traditional.  Chatty.  Quiet.  Funny.  Thoughtful.  Crazy.  Endearing.  I’ve seen them wearing everything from self-portraits to the Mona Lisa.  I’ve read shoulders with poems by e.e. cummings, and Latin Bible verses around one guys throat.  These are incredibly talented, professional artists who do things with a needle and skin that most of us could never imagine, and it’s fabulous to watch them work.  Did I mention people are what matter in life?  Yeah baby, and these artists rock.

By Tera Miller 

Editor’s note: Tera Miller loves Jesus, is a Mars Hill Member at the Ballard Campus, is a hilarious Cranium teammate, and wrote for the former Vox Pop Magazine. She is real and she is gutsy. Look for more to come.

When I was first invited to go to a Korean women’s day spa, I was elated at the idea of soaking in therapeutic whirlpools with hydro jets, breathing in the aromas of the Mugwart steam sauna, and meditating in one of the heated rooms lined with different elements like jade, sand or clay.  I could almost feel my skin getting smoother by the second!

But when I learned that it was a naked spa, I literally heard the record player scratch in my head and the music suddenly go silent.  NAKED?  Are you for real?  How naked are we talking?  Well, apparently, naked means nothing but a pink fabric shower cap over your hair and a bracelet with your locker key around your wrist.  That’s pretty naked by my standards.

You see, Korean bath houses are a centuries-old tradition, beneficial for (more…)

At some point in the high-speed connection of city life, you will inevitably hear someone say to you, “You’re doing too much.”  These are opportunities to check oneself. 

There are a few questions you can ask yourself.  Some are good.  Some are bad.  Some are  ugly. (more…)

by Mindy Lee Irvine, Mars Hill member at the Wedgwood Campus

I had the great opportunity to sit courtside at a Sonics game last week. I am a sports fan; I enjoy events with lots of loud obnoxious people, because I usually join them in their madness.  I do whatever it takes to get on the jumbotron! And I suppose at this point I feel like I am doing some civic support when it comes to watching the Sonics.

If you are a virgin courtside watcher like I was, you have no idea the perks that come with such an event.  There is a special “courtside seat” entrance.  No waiting in line.  They check your coat.  They check your ID for those who will be partaking in the alcohol perks, and the kind man doing so offers a delightful piece of history as he reads your birth year.  Your ticket is checked a few times by ushers to ensure you are in fact a courtside member, and then you then walk into the arena. 

The loud music the squeak of rubber soles on the court is intense and (more…)

On Friday night I realized I have a lot of junk. I went to find something in the garage early in the evening and found myself five hours later surrounded by all the stuff that I’ve accumulated and stuck in the garage. A garbage can, recycling bin, and entire car-load-to-the-brim-to-Goodwill later I am feeling about 100 pounds lighter and convicted about all the extra stuff that is so easy to collect!

I can be extra sensitive to “too much stuff”, in part because of my job. I work with different clients as a personal assistant and continually find myself helping to clean-out, organize, and relocate other people’s junk. The more stuff I sell for people on eBay and Craigslist, or organize in plastic containers in storage units, or simply beg my friends to take off my hands for free, not only do I realize just how much unesscessary stuff our culture collects, but also how expensive and time-consuming it is to simply maintain or get rid of it!!

I could go on and on with examples that are both humorous and sobering, but the main question I want to pose is, Just how much stuff do you have and does it rule your life and dictate your time? Do you worship the things you have (or the things you don’t have), or do you worship Jesus? I’m not saying that having fewer things makes you more righteous or living in poverty is somehow better than gathering material possesions. I think often times people who have nothing are worshiping all the stuff they wish they had! I am saying that now more than ever its is so easy to accumulate things and have to take care of, insure, or store things. I get an overall sickening feeling when I see how much stuff I have that I don’t use or won’t use. I can thankfully say I feel like I’m well on my way to recovering from thinking that I need a lot of stuff to realizing the real cost of the things I buy and keep around.

It was really therapeutic to go through my things, face them once and for all, and realize that if I haven’t used some of them for a few months or a year, chances are I won’t miss them if I give them away. I’ll offer a few suggestions if you’d like to take a mental inventory of the stuff you have and what might be more of a drain on your time rather than adding to your life and mission:

Books
I love ‘em, I read ‘em, and recently I’ve gone back through my bookcase and started selling them on half.com. A lot of books are great to read once, but there are so many more books on my “to-read” list that I know I’ll never re-read a few of them. So far I think I’ve made about $50! Think about using the public library system more often instead of buying every new book that someone suggests…

Clothing
As a fashion design major, I could really go on and on but I won’t. Just remember that this isn’t about anyone but you. It’s not about “do I have more or less than my friend so-and-so?” but about how much do you need, wear, and use? Just be honest with yourself. I like to regularly clean out my closet and head to the consignment store with a bag. This week I went by and picked up a check for $44! More importantly, I’m really trying to be disciplined and only buy the clothes that I really love and will wear. I try to only go to a clothing store when I actually have something I need to buy, rather than going to browse to see what’s there. And unless I’m looking for something specific I never go to the clearance rack - pretty much 100% of the things I buy on clearance “because they’re a good deal” always end up going to the consignment store after being worn once or never! Another place I really avoid is the $1 section at Target. Seriously - if it’s not on my list and I don’t need it, the fact that it’s only $1 really doesn’t make it a better deal! It just means that it’s probably something cheap that I’ll end up throwing away or selling at a yard sale. I wouldn’t do that with a dollar bill and I really don’t like doing it with cheap junk imported from China…

What about clothes that are too small or you just never liked? Figure out a way to wear them starting tomorrow, or get rid of them!

Entertainment
This is different for everyone, but do you ever stop and take an inventory of the things you keep around for entertainment but never use? Music you don’t listen to, DVDs you don’t watch, etc. Time to clean them out and commit to not buying things unless they fit with your overall mission - to worship Jesus with your life and everything you have! Again, I’m not saying entertainment is bad; just that it’s really important to use moderation and not let it rule your life!

Office Supplies/Organizers/Personal Products
You know who you are! There are some of us very administrative types who love to walk through the office supply area thinking that just a few more sticky notes, paper clips, or another plastic organizer is just what we need to be organized. Nope. Use what you have, organize what you have into the containers you already have, and if you really find a need for more storage, go out and get it, but purposefully!

How about five-year-old half-used bottles of lotion, nail polish, and hair products? Clean out, clean out, clean out! And then stop buying some of everything! Decide what you like to use and need to use and stick with that.

Whew, obviously this is close to my heart, but it really saddens me to hear people say “wow I have so much stuff I really need more space.” No you don’t. You need more space when you have children, get married, start a business. You don’t need more space to hold more stuff! Remember, this is about what you are worshiping and where you time, money, and energy goes. When you buy gifts for people do you just give them stuff? Or do you give them something meaningful? One of my favorite gifts to give is a gift certificate for a massage. If I don’t give that, then I try to listen well and get something that a friend has expressed a need for. Don’t contribute to other people’s closets full of stuff!

So just in time for Spring I propose a little Spring Cleaning. As you work through the things you own ask your self “is this necessary?” And if you don’t own anything, ask yourself, “how much time do I spend thinking about all the things I want?” It’s great to use things and stuff to help you accomplish the mission set before you but remember to worship Jesus!

“Better is a little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble with it.” Proverbs 15:16

Charity, strangely, has found its place in the primetime television contest show trend. Enter Oprah’s Big Give, a new reality game show. For those who may not be familiar with it, the premise is that several contestants are given an amount of money and a challenge to, “Give big or go home.” The end goal is $1,000,000 (though only viewers know this) and the title of “The Biggest Giver.”

In a rare moment of channel surfing this past Sunday, I happened to catch the most recent episode. The remaining seven contestants were each given $100,000 and told to give it away in one day. Sounds easy, but of course there was a catch. They couldn’t actually give cash away or spend more than $500 on one person, or $10,000 at one place.

Contestants’ competitive versions of charity ranged from buying computers, iPods and various electronics to donate door to door in an impoverished neighborhood to organizing impromptu shopping sprees at Target and buying $18, 000 worth of pet toys to donate to an animal shelter (Hello Seattle?).

After spending as much as they could in the time given, they returned to the resort to report on their day of donations. They were judged on their creativity, management under pressure and their stewardship of the resources given. The two who “just didn’t give big enough” were sent home.

Halfway through the episode, I caught the irony of watching it on Easter Sunday. I’ll admit I’m a sucker for analogies and parallels, and this was not about to be lost. I had already teared up during Extreme Home Makeover earlier in the evening and was feeling contemplative. As I sat in my living room, eating popcorn with chop sticks, my mind wandered to the Big Gift of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, and resurrection that we celebrate on Easter. It had been less than 10 hours since I had witnessed God moving in a beautiful and powerful way at MHC: Ballard, resulting in more than 150 spontaneous baptisms, so it was a logical connection. 

I was also intensely challenged to examine my own stewardship and giving. As usual, Oprah’s doctrine is not directly on target, but the concept isn’t too far off. Giving is completely Biblical. Though for the record, Jesus has outgiven Oprah by a lot.

2 Corinthians 9:7-9 (ESV)

Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.

As it is written, “He has distributed freely, he has given to the poor, his righteousness endures forever.”

Many years ago, I began noticing the frequency by which I passed a little blue Maverick tooling around Shoreline.  Always around the Aurora - Fred Meyer area.  Behind the wheel was an aging little man, looking somewhat determined as he drove.  Despite what could easily be tagged a scowl, it never quite registered that way.  I liked him.

My children turn into teens and go to Shorewood High.  Understanding my intrigue for this little man, they report a steady stream of siting him.   

“I saw your friend at Fred Meyer today, mom.”

“Hey!  Guess who I passed today!  That dude in the junky car you like so much.”

“Everyone says he lives in his car.  We pass him at lunch every day in the parking lot across from Fred Meyer.”

They know this news brings me happiness.  I purposefully drive by his “home”, (the Shucks Parking lot) on every trip out of Shoreline.  He is either in his car, bumbling over towards Fred Meyer, or under his hood.  He’s interesting.  Unconventional.  Out of the box.  Intriguing.  For a quirky writer who shuns the party line that all-too-few recognize in anything from Christianity to secular society, I am drawn to him.  I start to pray for my mysterious ghost-friend every time I pass him.

My son gets a job at Jack-In-The-Box.  Comes home with wide eyes and a huge revelation.

“Mom!  Know your friend, the homeless guy in the Maverick?  I met him today!  He comes into Jack-in-the-Box all the time, buys coffee, and sits in the corner.  You won’t believe it - His name is Jack.”

Jack.  One of my favorite names of all time.  So much so, that I have christened my last son Jack Cash Ryley, after Johnny Cash’s brother that I admire so much.  Another minor fringe character in life with humongous influence.  Of course, mainstream society will always idolize Johnny, and in many ways, so do I.  But the minor character in Johnny’s life was his biggest influence; a fact party liners miss completely.  A fact that Johnny, Jesus, and Jours-Truly, completely get.

Armed with the manufactured confidence his brilliant name brings me, I am determined to approach him on my next trip out of town. 

I pull over next to him.  He’s in his car.  Napping.  I tap on the window.  His eyes pop open, and he immediately cranks down the window.  Manually, of course.  Not sure what to expect, I’m half expecting him to smell or ‘feel’ like the homeless people I have chatted with on 3rd Street downtown.  He’s none of that.  Sure, he’s a little grisly.  And there is a slight waft of alcohol.  But he’s groomed with no odors.  A little shakey, but oh!  So kind!  Immediately I think of one of my favorite movies.  John Merrick and The Elephant Man. 

We exchange a greeting and he is pleased with my gift.  Home made cookies.  Thus begins my relationship with Jack, and the following dance repeated over several years:

Light knock knocks on the drivers window.

“Coupons, Jack?  For Jack-in-the-Box?”

“I thought of you when I brought coffee today.  Here.”

Jack is gracious.  Jack is kind.  Jack is sweet and mysterious, and every visit inspires another.

Snow arrives.  I’m concerned. 

“Hi, Jack!  Chrismas cookies?  Pretzels?  I bought you this down blanket.  It’s cold.”

Jack is always delighted with goodies, but steadily refuses blankets or other comforts.  He’s always “fine” and “has plenty of those”.  Looking into his little car-apartment, I’m skeptical, but would never push my sweet friend.

Jack never says much through the years.  There is something wonderful and divine about this soul created in God’s image that I grow to love.  You come to understand he is uncomfortable with too much prying or conversation, so despite your hearts longing, you respect that, and are forced to relate on Jack’s terms.  Nevertheless, you dream about building a rapport wherein he would trust you to come home for Thanksgiving.  Or Christmas.  Help him find a real home.  Bring him to the doctor.  You know, properly loving him, real good.

Years roll on.  Hundreds of trips and prayers past Jack’s Maverick.  There is something very comforting about seeing Jack and the blue Maverick.  He is part and parcel of our life now. 

Last Thursday my daughter called with a crushing blow.  I crumble on the phone, and my heart is ripped open. 

Help me, Jesus…and Good Bye, Jack.

Interesting pattern this [old at least for MH standards] gal has noticed over the years.  (Characters, churches, and situations subject to change; interesting factor does not) :

[One] attempts to encourage [one other] in a small group, whom, for instance, is say frustrated with marriage and having difficulty submitting to [one's] husband.  However, the [one] attempting to encourage is likely a “nobody”, just Somebody in God’s economy that Jesus has divinely appointed in good Providence to the small group with Biblical wisdom to share for [one struggling].  However, the ["nobody"]’s advice is easily dismissed by [one other] because she is [a lay person? 'just' a member? ie, a 'nobody'?], however lovingly and graciously said.  In this scenario, [nobody] may share Scripture passages from 1 Peter 3, or Ephesians 5, or bevy of other appropriate prescriptive and descripture passages that absolutely apply to [one struggling's] situation.

Interesting.

Small encouragements from Scripture given by [nobodys]. Week after week.  Lovingly and graciously shared.

Forgotten?  Easily dismissed and discarded by [one struggling].

 Then!

[One struggling] comes to group, thrilled!  [One] has met with a [Pastor's slash and/or elder's slash and/or other such titled] woman!

[Titled] woman has encouraged [one struggling] to, low and behold, [!] think about Scriptures from 1 Peter 3, or Ephesians 5, or bevy of other appropriate prescriptive and descriptive passages from Scripture that apply to [one struggling's] situation.

[One struggling] is thrilled!  She appears revolutionized!  She applies Scripture and is amazed that it WORKS!  She extols [one Titled] woman as Brilliant!  Spot on!  A God-send!

The [one or nobodys] i.e., lay-woman[en] in small group is [are] baffled.  Silent(ly amazed). 

Truth is truth, after all.  

Yet, [one "nobody"] is happy that the Word is now believed.  And applied.  And working.

Sure, it’s human nature.  It’s just…

Interesting.

“As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the Lord is flawless.”   2 Samuel 22:31

“It is written:  Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”  Matt. 4:4

“Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.”  John 17:17

“For the word of God is living and active.  Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.”  Hebrews. 4:12

“All your words are true.”  Psalms 119:60

Truth is truth.  No matter who Jesus chooses for the mouth piece.  He can even use a jack a**.

**Numbers 22:28