JCC Ministering in New Mexico

Las Cruces, New Mexico
Just to prove we did something besides eat.
We sang, talked and smiled for the camera!!

At least I'm not dead!

Lord, save me from doctors!!!

I was wondering what to post about. It's been a busy, busy week. My mind is numb. Okay...more numb than usual? And my sister reminded me that the last time we talked, I was on my way to a doctor and asked for status. Let's see:

Rheumatologist: Your pain isn't arthritis or rheumatism. It isn't vitamin D deficiency. You have more restricted movement than myofacial disorder (Official diagnosis). I don't know what it is. Here have more pain killers. Let's double the dosage.

Primary Care Physician: Your blood pressure is a little high. Your cholesterol is high. Call for an appointment. Me: Oh sure. Soon.

Gynecologist: We can't get a good tissue sample. Everything is too dry. You probably need some estrogen...oh, you can't take that, you're on estrogen-killers, aren't you? Come back soon, now!

Oncologist: Your red and white blood cells are good. No cancer markers. Yes, you need to take the estrogen-killers for 4 more years. The symptoms will lessen with time. The neuropathy in hands and feet may or may not get better. Your blood pressure is within normal range. Everybody has high cholesterol these days because they changed the numbers. Used to over 200 was high. Then they changed it to 150. Soon it will be 100 and everybody will have high cholesterol. And good luck losing weight on these pills. They make it very difficult to lose weight.

Summmary:
Good News: No cancer (And I don't say that lightly, I'm grateful!!!)
Bad News: Unidentified muscle pain and restricted range of motion; dried up plumbing; high blood pressure, sort of; high cholesterol, maybe; peripheral neuropathy.

Diagnosis: old and dried up; battered and overweight.
Overall: It's better than the alternative!!!!

A beautiful orchid

The most lovely orchid plant . . . in my family room!

A Grace Gathering

Las Cruces, New Mexico

April 18-19, 2008
A Grace Gathering

Grace Gathering

Ministry team

I just realized that all of my photos are in eating places....I guess I must have been thinking about food. I shall have to borrow someone else's photos to post anything but landscape or food. :)

Jennifer, Shelby, Rob and Rachel

Bonnie and Maria

Bob and I with Michael

Laura's plate. It just looked good to me!
Laura and I
Even the waiter gets in on the photos!

NEXT DAY

Rick and Becky at the Gathering...eating

Are these the champion tamale eaters?

Are we having fun, or what??

Who ate those tamales???

Who? Us? We did not eat all those tamales!

Did you eat all those tamales, Doreen?

What tamales? Somebody ate tamales? Couldn't have been Josh.

And in yet another restaurant...we are...eating!

Cesar and Tim

Rod stops eating long enough to chat

Asia finishes off the evening with a bowl of chicken noodle soup

Truthfully, we did sing, worship, present the Word, and pray. But since all I have are photos of us eating, what else could I talk about??? Really?

Happy Easter!

Happy Easter

It was a lovely day. I hosted; Christy made that marvelous cake!! Rob made the best scalloped potatoes ever; Neal brought the turkey and ham; Laura made the deviled eggs and yams; I did the fresh asparagus, designed the tables; Bob brought the edible creations centerpiece and set up tables. My grandbabies were with the other Grandmother, but I saw them at church in their Easter dresses. We took pictures there!!

Thank God for a lovely day!

Pastor Phylis

Finding our way

A few years ago a friend came to talk about her anxieties. She was frustrated, couldn't get anything accomplished. She was spinning her wheels in activitiy, but couldn't find peace.

"What are you avoiding?" I asked. "What is there that you know you have to do, but don't want to do it?"

I had seen her frenetic activity and recognized it. Did I mention that I had been there too?

Immediately she knew what it was, took care of a task she'd been avoiding, and voila' her anxieties were relieved. Life leveled out again.

In II Kings 1, Ahaziah, son of Ahab and Jezebel was having a bad day. He succeeded Ahab, then Moab rebelled. Next Ahaziah had an accident. He fell through a lattice and became very ill. He wanted to know if he would be alright. So, true to his heritage, he sent messengers to inquire of Baalzebub for his prognosis.

Now, it wasn't that Ahaziah didn't know about God. Elijah was the prophet of God and Ahaziah well knew it. But he didn't want to hear from Elijah. He didn't want to hear truth. He wanted to hear good news. So he sent for the "Lord of the Flies" to give him a positive message. (II Kings 1:9)

Sometimes the answer -- or where to seek the answer is right in front of us. Frantic activity results when we are so determined to avoid what we perceive is bad news, a relationship we're afraid to fix, or a job we don't want to do.

True Jehovah style, God aroused Elijah and instructed him. Elijah arrived, prophesied death, and departed. True Ahaziah style, he sent captains to inquire of Elijah, trying to get him to change his mind. It took the death of two captains and their men before the third wised up and acknowledged God.

I wonder what would have happened had Ahaziah been man enough to inquire of Elijah in the first place? I

I think I need to spend some time contemplating just what it is that I'm avoiding.

Pastor Phylis

Just a Girl

You're Just a Girl

Growing up, I don't think there was any phrase I hated more than, "You're just a girl. My immediate reaction was always to show "them" that I could do anything that a boy could do. My Dad actually encouraged me. He was the epitome of the Southern outdoorsman (I'd say Hillybilly, but some family members read this. My Dad objects to the term Hillbilly although I frequently call myself a transplanted Hillybilly. You know, Jeff whats-his-face's "You might be a redneck jokes?" They ALL fit our part of the country!) 

My Dad taught me some of his country craft. I could out shoot my male city slicker cousins; I drove tractors; I could put together the transmission on a car; I could re-wire small appliances and pick cotton. I could also skin a squirrel; dress a chicken (That involves this icky, messy process of removing feathers and "innards"); scale a fish and milk a cow. He wouldn't let my sister or I drive until we could change a tire to his satisfaction. He had his limitations, though, on what his daughters could do. Things my Dad deemed inappropriate for girls included changing the oil in a car, using hammer and nails, bucking bails and chopping cotton for hire.

When my uncle received two pair of boxing gloves for christmas, I was anxious to try my hand at a new skill, one I knew was not intended for "girls."

"Aww, c'mon. I can box," I wheedled.

"You're jest a girl!" He challenged me. "And besides you're only eleven years old. I'm fourteen," he added.

The "just a girl" remark did it. My mind was made up. 

"Okay. We'll make it fair," I bargained.

After some consultation with the troup of younger cousins and an uncle there, a deal was struck. Dale would box with one hand behind his back. I could use both gloved hands.

The sparring began. I started with short jabs that he easily blocked. He tried some jabs that I blocked. The cheering section was bored. They egged us on. Finally he got a good cross to my nose. I retaliated by going in head down with hard body hits. He wasn't expecting this pummeling of his midsection and staggered backward more in astonishment than at my attack. Unfortunately, there was a window behind him.

The tinkling of falling shards of glass broke the sudden silence.

Then we sprang into futile action. Dale and I quickly jerked off the boxing gloves and stashed them under the couch. Someone brought a rag to stop my nose bleed. No one touched the glass as we all raced to sit properly on the sofa and chairs.

His mother entered to an idyllic scene of her lovely children and grandchildren seated primly on the furniture, hand in their laps, smiles on their silent faces. Did I mention there was broken glass everywhere?

After much inept hand-wringing and moaning about the broken window and my bleeding nose, she wandered back into the kitchen still muttering, "What will Roy do?". We looked at one another in amazement. Mostly her diatribe was aimed at Dale, which I thought unfair since I knew I was equally if not more guilty than he.

"That's it?" We were never sure who said what we were all thinking.

"I can't believe she's blaming me for it all," Dale pondered.

"Maybe it's because I'm a girl," I offered tentatively.

"Just wait 'til your dad gets here!" Dale reminded me.

"What will Roy do?" Ah yeah! Roy was my dad, noted for severe discipline, as I knew well. The girl thing didn't usually matter to him.

We spent the rest of the afternoon quietly, playing chess or checkers, staring at a book, or just sitting around wondering what our fate would be when "Roy" arrived. He was the one who'd have to fix the window, too.

To my immense surprise when my Dad arrived to pick up my sister and I, his anger focused on Dale. He reamed him out royally. When I recognized the lay of the land, I smiled angelically at Dale from behind my father's back, mouthing, "I'm just a girl."

It lessened the sting of that remark just a bit to know that, sometimes, it worked in my favor.

Pastor Phylis