Tag: Parenting

The Lesson I Learned from an Icee

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I’ve often thought about how some memories are stuck in my mind, and others seem to have slipped away from me. For instance, I remember waking up when I was five years old from a nap on the floor of my room. I don’t know why I wasn’t in my bed; I assume I was playing and merely slept where I was. That said, I awoke to a puppy licking my face. I don’t remember anything after that, but I remember the first time Samson, my golden retriever pup, and I met. It’s adhered to my mind.

I remember walking down the hill to the neighbor’s house, having been invited to come over for a cap gun battle, only to be ambushed on my way down by the three neighbor girls wielding their cap guns and blasting me away after jumping out from behind the trees that lined the hill. I don’t remember anything else from that day, but I remember being surprised and happy.

Yesterday, I was brought back to another time in my memory. My wife and kids and I had gone to Sam’s Club to get a couple necessities. In particular, I needed a new pair of jeans. I tend to kill pants. I’ve tried $100 jeans and $45 jeans and everything in between. However, no matter the price or the claims of the brand, the pants tend to die on me after about six months. So, several cycles ago, after a recommendation from my dad, I purchased my first pair of $10 jeans (although they have increased in price now to $14). These jeans lasted me, surprise, six months before giving up the ghost. So now, I buy cheap $14 jeans and save myself some money.

Anyway, after shopping for jeans and all the other random stuff you pick up at Sam’s that you never intended to buy before walking in there, we paid for our items and my wife walked over to the snack center and got the kids some Icee Slurpies as a treat. She took their picture as they stood there enjoying the sweets. However, my mind was taken back. When I was a kid, we didn’t have a lot of money. I don’t think we were poor, but there wasn’t a lot of money for things like Icee’s. My neighbor and her three girls and my mom and I often did things together during the day. They were home-schooled and I was an only child. So by default, we were all the best of friends.

One day though, my neighbor’s husband got a promotion at work. As such, when we went into the local K-Mart, all of us kids got an Icee as a rare treat. I know some of you reading this might think that it’s odd to believe that an Icee could stick out in my mind, but maybe the remainder of the story will clue you in as to why. Our neighbor, Chris, handed each of her kids an Icee.

Ashley got an Icee, and her response was, “Thank you!”

Courtney got an Icee, and her response was, “Thank you!”

Angie got an Icee, and her response was, “Thank you!”

And finally, Michl (me) gets an Icee, and his response is SLURP! SLURP! SLURP!

Suddenly, my Icee is gone, as if it has merely vanished from my hand. Looking up, I see my mom standing there, slurping on my Icee. She raises her eyebrows and glances down at me. I am shocked.

“Next time, you will remember to say thank you,” she says and walks away with my Icee.

She drank the entire thing. The saddest part is, she doesn’t even like cherry Icees. There was a similar lesson that happened earlier in my life with a Snickers bar, but that’s a story for another time. Some of you may think the lesson cruel, I’m sure. However, while I am sure I did cry, I don’t remember crying. What I remember was a lesson my mom taught me. To this day, I remember to be polite. It was ingrained into me to show respect and thankfulness to someone who is kind to me. It was a big deal for Mrs. Chris to buy us those Icee’s. At the time, the amount of money it took to buy all of us kids those Icee’s was a lot for her, and at that time, I didn’t show appreciation for that. True, I was just a little kid, but it was important for me to recognize the value of what I was getting. Just like a pair of jeans that obviously aren’t worth $100 to someone like me who is just going to kill them in six months, an Icee to a mom who is pinching pennies for the good of her family is a big deal. And it was a big deal to us, but I didn’t recognize it for what it was and my mom wanted to reinforce that value of thankfulness. She wanted to engrain that value into my head enough that I would remember it. I don’t remember crying, but I remember the lesson.

I was standing over to the side waiting for my wife to get the Icees for the kids and I didn’t hear if they said thank you to her when she handed them the treats. So, I can’t say if the direct lesson has been passed down to my own offspring. However, I can tell you that they are thankful for the blessings they have. True, like all kids, they must be reminded from time to time, but I think the value has been instilled. So, as I sit here sipping my coffee and thinking back, I must smile, I have a good momma, who taught me how to live life in gratitude and thankfulness; not just to her and my dad, but to God for all the blessings I have been given. I hope in the end I am able to give back some of that blessing to others.

D. Michl Lowe

The Loss and Gain from the Pandemic

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I was talking to some people a while back, about thinking positively and how this can impact one’s feelings about negative situations. I relayed to them some of the events from the past couple of years and how negative they could be thought of. The pandemic dropped into our laps as a society in January 2020 and by February, most of the world had shut down. We were in our homes and quarantined from February through most of the summer. In fact, schools really didn’t even go back to full-time and in-person until January 2021. During that time, my entire family caught COVID in July, during which time I was in bed for nearly two weeks, barely able to even sit up due to the disease.

A month after that, Katarina came down with MIS-C and was in the hospital for nearly a month. Some of that time we were worried that she wouldn’t make it. Sometime after that, my Mother had a heart attack and was in the hospital for a week, and then my Uncle Ron passed away after contracting COVID. All in all, one could argue that this has been some of the worst years of my and my family’s lives. However, as I told these folks, I am not sad. I choose to think about this time of my life from a different perspective. A more positive perspective. Truthfully, a more spiritual perspective.

My perspective is shaped by my trust in Jesus Christ. Have bad things happened? Of course, but let’s look at these events differently. There’s been a pandemic and life closed down for a long time and many people were hurt by this. However, for my family, my son was born in August 2019 and his mommy was able to take off from work from August till Christmas of that year. She went back to work in January 2020 and was only there for a month until the pandemic hit and she was “forced” to stay home… with our son, for the remainder of the year. Then we were on and off again beginning the next school year and many of the days she was able to be with him again. So honestly, my son has benefited from having his mommy and daddy home with him for most of his life; what a blessing!

My entire family caught COVID in July and I was severely sick. There was a point where I sat Alicia down and I had a very serious talk with her about what she should do if I were to pass away. However, I didn’t. I made it through the illness without having to be hospitalized. Thanks be to God. A month later, Katarina came down with MIS-C and nearly died. However, thanks be to God, she was spared a premature death. I understand the blessing our family has been given. Our lives have been forever changed by that hospital stay. Katarina will never be the same person she was before this. I will never be the same father I was before this. Not saying I was a bad dad, but I do some things differently. I feel differently about what it means to be a dad, what it means to be a Christian, and what it means to be a husband and man after God’s own heart.

For the last 20-some-odd years, my Uncle Ron and I didn’t speak. There was a rift in our family and no one had contact with each other. Then he reached out. We were hesitant to even meet with him, but thank the Lord we did. Our relationship was able to be mended. The wounds of the past, while still scared were being healed. Words that had laid dormant for years were finally said. Forgiveness was given and God stepped into the gap that we had forged. For the first time in years and years, I was able to hug the man I had seen as my Grandfather. And then the pandemic came, he caught COVID, and he passed away.

I could look at this and yell at God, “It’s not fair!” However, I don’t. Not because there isn’t a part of it that isn’t fair, but because of how merciful and thoughtful God has been. He worked on the hearts of us all to give us the time we needed to heal the brokenness in our relationships. To look into ourselves and realize that we were holding onto the hate of the past and needed to seek forgiveness from each other and God. I praise His name that He had the kindness and mercy to give us that opportunity! He knows what the future holds. He knows what we need most. I look at the last several years and see a lot of pain, hurt, sorrow, and loss; but more than that, I see how God has been working through all of it, present and always seeking our best. Always looking to turn pain into understanding and thankfulness. I can’t look back at the pain, without knowing He was there throughout it, never leaving us, never forgetting us, and never stopping His love for us. Praise be to His name forever!

D. Michl Lowe

Even Stuffies Have Scars

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My daughter came to me with her stuffed bear. We referred to all stuffed animals as a “stuffy”, or the plural form, “stuffies”.  She was maybe three years old and already the bear had issues. His fur was bare in many places, rubbed off from love. The velvet of his nose was rubbed down to the plastic underneath. He had both of his eyes, but he had been hugged and drug around our house so much that his stuffing had been compressed. When I say compressed, I mean that he looked like a limp rag just out of the wash, but my daughter loved him. She loved him a lot.

We had no idea where this particular stuffy had come from. When we had our first child, many gifts came into the house from so many generous people that often, where things came from getting lost in the shuffle. However, whatever generous person got my daughter this bear may never know the impact they had on her life with that gift. Not to embarrass her, but she is currently thirteen and still sleeps with this bear. So back to the point, at the age of six, my daughter came to me and said, “Daddy, my bear is all lumpy. Can you fix him?”

I looked at the little rumpled thing, its head flopping off to one side. By all accounts, this thing should be thrown into the trash. As mentioned above, this little stuffy had been worn down the quick, in my eyes he was worth nothing more than the bin for sure. However, when I looked at my daughter, that was not an option. In her eyes, this was a precious companion; useful, needed, important, and loved. Throwing him away was not an option, giving up on him was not an option.

I took the bear in hand and looked him over. “I can restuff him,” I said. “But he is going to have a scar.” I can sew, but I can’t sew well. However, while my wife does sew, she hates doing it, so the task falls to me. I am the clear choice when it comes to these tasks. That being said, I knew the stitches would show when I was done. She agreed. I took some stuffing, a pair of scissors, and my needle and thread and got to work. I snipped open the little bear’s hip and began the process of replacing the stuffing inside. When the stuffing was complete, I sewed his hip back up. As I had warned my daughter, the stitches showed; there was a scar. Over the years, many a stuffy in our home received scars from “stuffy surgery” by my hand.

I think about this and wonder if this is how God thinks about us. We may look at someone who seems worn out, wasted, lost, and by all accounts ragged. But God, just like my daughter sees someone precious, worthy, and in need. He calls out to us to reach out and heal this person, but we reject the idea. If I get involved, I’m not going to be able to help. There will be scars. God is okay with scars. In fact, I think sometimes he uses our scars to remind us to turn back to him. He calls us to intervene in the lives of others, even if our help might produce some scars. Scars are evidence that healing has been done. They are evidence that someone cares enough to request the healing for us.

D. Michl Lowe

Roller Skating and Maturity

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-The beautiful skates my wife rented-

So my wife and I recently took the kids to a roller skating rink. First off, these still exist. Secondly. The one we went to could have been mistaken for a crack den. Or at least what I assume a crack den looks like. I nearly passed it for not realizing it was the place. It was built inside what I assume is a condemned school gymnasium from 1973. You might think I am kidding. I am not. See photo below. My middle daughter brought a friend and I apologized that she would need to get a tetanus shot after coming with us to this place.

-Literally an old grade school gym-
-The entryway was only slightly flooded-
-We weren’t allowed to go up stairs apparently-
-The skate floor (old basketball court) was nice-

Anyway, this got me thinking about how much things change. When I was a kid, going to the roller skating rink was a highlight of school trips. Thinking back on it now though, sure there was the fun going going fast, but the thrill of the place was finding a girl to hold hands with during the “couples skate” time. Also, the lead up to that time, there would be a whisper campaign of friends going to ask other friends if they wanted to be your couple skate partner.

As a child, that thrill of holding hands and the build up of who it was going to be was what made that time special. We were too young for real boyfriends or girlfriends, but playing the part was exciting. I walked out on the rink today and realized the thrill of childhood newness was gone. My wife skated by me and I realized I already had my partner to hold hands with. There was no mystery or thrill in wondering who, but that was okay.

That thrill has been replaced with the maturity of a deep and meaningful relationship. One that has led to my children being born and getting to see them experience things in somewhat the same way I did as a child. There was no couple skate today, but my girls come home from middle school talking about their friends who are “dating”. Alicia and I don’t allow boyfriends until they are 16 years old. Which might sound old fashioned, but we find allowing them to focus on childhood has worked out well so far.

I have often said that my current life is my favorite time of my life. I am 40 years old this year. That being said, I said that at 35 and also at 30. At 25 and at 20. I also said it at 15, and while I might not directly remember, I’m sure I said it at 10 and 5 as well. My point is, while I appreciate my past, I am happy with my life now and am looking forward to the future.

D. Michl Lowe

The Blessing of Lost Sleep

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I’m currently sitting in my son’s bedroom at 2:03 a.m. on a Saturday night. I have to be up for church in the morning, but at least I don’t have work. He woke up with a leg ache, a common problem for my kids when they have run themselves silly during the day. For him, it is often pushing a toy truck back and forth between the kitchen and living room, over and over. For my middle daughter Ellie it would be doing cartwheels over and over.

Either way though, the result is pain and a crying child in the middle of the night. After getting him some medicine for the pain, I sat rocking him and thinking. I have three children and along with my wife, we have spent many an hour awake at night with babies; truthfully, she more than I. That being said though, it has often upset me or made me cross; being awakened from sleep, drug out of bed, changing midnight diapers or soothing a crying child for any number of reasons. But as I sat here tonight, my little son, who just turned three, cuddling into my chest, I made a point to realize that I am lucky.

First of all, I have a child to wake me up. Beyond that, I have three. I have three amazing children to worry about, be awakened by, and be able to provide care for when they need me. I and my wife are good parents and we can care for three children well. I work in the school system and get to see the children of many different families, as such, I see both the good and bad results of different families. I am thankful that my children are part of an amazing one.

I have help. My wife is an amazing mother and a stupendous spouse. She sacrifices and pursues excellence in all her endeavors. However, her charge as a mother is one that she has not only mastered but continues to teach me as her fellow parent. My parents live down the road, they are always there helping and loving my kids. My mother and father-in-law are there as well, providing support and love, always. Aunts, Uncles, Godfathers, Godmothers, friends, church members, teachers, and so many more.

They say it takes a village and my kids have one. I am often discouraged by the news these days. The hate, discourse, and outright violence of humans are at times scary and bleak. But when I look at my kids, I have hope. They are and will be a bright spot in that darkness. Christ’s love will shine out from them as I hope it does from their parents. I recently joked with my good friend that all Christians should have at least three kids if at all possible.

That way you can make more Christians than are going to go on to glory when you leave this word. But truthfully, no one can predict the course of one person’s life, even a life that is brought up in the church with loving and good parents. But dang if it doesn’t help. I am thankful for my son’s leg aches and the opportunity they provide. I am thankful for a crying child at night. God thank you for letting me hold my children and be a comfort to them. May I never forget the blessing of lost sleep.

D. Michl Lowe

The Hero We Need

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The shirt says it all!

My family and I enjoy going down to the Smokey Mountains. It makes no sense because we hate going to Myrtle Beach and the Smokey Mountains are basically Myrtle Beach without the water. However, we love this place and come sometimes twice a year. It’s one of our favorite places to visit!

This year, we have been staying at the Dollywood Dreammore Resort and it’s been pretty great. There are always a couple of standard events we do every time we come here. We always eat breakfast at The Apple Barn, and we always eat dinner at Paula Deen’s Family Kitchen.

As we were waiting for a table yesterday evening, we decided to sit outside in the rocking chairs and watch a lightning storm roll in. As we sat there, my son Nikolai was running around playing on the patio. Suddenly, a woman fell while walking by the curb. My little two-year-old son ran over to her, gently picking up her bag and trying to help her up as well. I ran over too, but she was already mostly up when I got there.

She turned to me and asked if he was my son. I said, “Yes, he’s my son.” She got tears in her eyes and said, “You’re doing something right.” She wasn’t hurt, she was just overcome with the emotion of the situation. I walked back to my little rocking chair, stunned in a way; feeling an overwhelming sense of unearned pride.

My girls, Kat and Ellie are fantastic! They are shining lights and amazing young women. I couldn’t be more proud of them. They aren’t perfect, but they are turning out to be fantastic Christian ladies. However, my little boy is only two; seemingly too young to be aware of honor, chivalry, or a sense of protection of others… Or so I thought.

His boyhood instinct was to run over to this woman and help her. As she said, maybe this old dad is doing something right. Maybe his momma is as well! Whenever one of us sneezes or coughs, Nikolai will always ask, “Daddy, are you alright?” and I or whoever sneezed will say, “I’m alright, thanks.” Compassion, love, and care; are common instincts we couch in Christian morality in our household.

I look around at the instability of our world. I wonder if maybe there were more Christian moms and dads out there who lived lives reflecting Christ, maybe we wouldn’t have as many issues in society as we do right now. Maybe if we lived like Jesus, we would have more little boys who would run to the rescue and fewer of them who run into places with murder in their hearts.

P.S. Nikolai’s shirt was perfect tonight!

D. Michl Lowe

Eight Christian Parenting Thoughts

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I stood at the door to her room and looked down at my watch, it was 1:21 a.m. nearly 7 hours had passed since I had put her to bed. I had to be ready to leave for work in about 5 hours. The door to her room slowly opened and a little face peeked out through the crack. I opened the door, picked up my two-year-old daughter and put her back in the bed, closed the door, and waited. Two minutes later, the door slowly opened again and a little smiling face looked out the crack; repeat. Raising kids is challenging. You will never be perfect and you shouldn’t try to be. You won’t succeed.

Just realize that you will grow in understanding as things go on. If we are going to talk about steps to making parenting better, you should make sure to fully discuss the topic of discipline with your spouse, future spouse, and/or boyfriends. Honestly, all of the above. Discipline is one of those aspects of parenting that if not agreed upon, will tear a relationship apart quicker than almost anything. Discussing this topic is a big deal! Make sure, whether or not you two fully agree on how it is to be done, that you both agree on what will be done. Consistency in discipline is a major key to success with parenting. So, here are several key ideas to keep in mind when disciplining kids and teens.

  1. If your marriage is not solid, your kids won’t be either. This is number 1 for a reason. I say marriage because actually being married is more than important. A solid marriage is the best thing you can do for your kids. I understand that sometimes it’s not possible to be married anymore or that the other parent isn’t willing, but if at all possible, marriage should be on the table and put up on a pedestal above all other relationships. Put God first in your life, then your marriage, then kids, then work, etc. Priorities of importance should be examined and agreed upon.
  2. Prepare by talking with your spouse about what you will do when discipline issues arise, and they will. Talk through issues you know you are going to face as they come up and before they happen. Don’t undermine each other, even if you don’t agree with how your spouse is handling a situation. Back them up, then talk about it later. If the way you all want to handle it changes, let the kids know that the rules have changed. Children are pretty flexible and can adjust to almost anything. If you need to change the way you are doing things, do it.
  3. Tell your kids what your expectations are for them and allow them to live up to those expectations. Let them know what the consequences of failure are. Hold to your commitment to discipline and make sure the kids fulfill their side of the commitment.
  4. Realize they are only (insert the child’s age here) and don’t fully understand things the way you do. If you need to do some research into age-appropriate discipline, that’s why we have google. For that matter, understand that kids are going to make mistakes and even outright defy you. Know this going into the situation of being a mom or dad and prepare yourself to take what your kids throw at you with a degree of humor, understanding, and firm diligence.
  5. Get on your kid’s level, physically and verbally, to speak to them and make sure to end ALL discipline with a discussion of the event, error, etc. Understand that those leading children to the feet of Jesus make a huge difference to them in connecting the truth of scripture to everyday life. Make sure to show them cuddles and love at the end. I find a discussion about how I feel about them and why I discipline them (because I love them) helps them to understand why they got in trouble and how they can avoid being in trouble in the future.
  6. Don’t give discipline in anger. If you are angry, it’s time to step back and distance yourself from the child. Regain your own composure and then return to the situation. Recognize your own frustration. Seriously, putting your child into the crib and walking away when they are screaming will not scar them for life. Sometimes you have to let them cry. Let me say that again, sometimes you have to let them cry. If they are older, step back and give them some space and then come back. They might need some time to compose themselves too. Distance gives you both an opportunity to consider your tactics for discipline.
  7. For a baby in a crib, that you are trying to get to sleep through the night, remember the 5,10,15 rule. Let them cry for 5 minutes and then go in to check on them and lay them back down or rub their back till they are calm. Then leave for 10 minutes; repeat other steps, return again after 15 minutes, and repeat the above steps again. Under no circumstances should you pick them up or remove them from the crib, unless there’s blood or you know they are wet, poopy, etc. Allowing a child to teach themselves self-soothing is important and you will thank me for telling you it’s okay to help them learn this.
  8. With teens, realize they own nothing, you own basically everything they have. Be willing and take the time to understand what is most important to them (this applies to all ages) and then be willing to take that away and give it back to get compliance of behaviors. If it’s not motivating enough for them to change their behaviors, then you are wasting both of your time in disciplining the child or teen.

Discipline can be challenging. There are times that it will seem overwhelming to you. Don’t give up hope. Consistency in effort and a united front as a couple are the keys to good parenting. Remember, royally screwing up kids takes a lot of effort. Kids are very resilient. They bounce back from completely horrible stuff. They say, that as long as a kid has at least one adult in their life that actually cares for them, they can make it. Throughout my time working with kids, I have seen kids go through absolutely horrendous abuse, and yet once they are away from that abuser and are in a secure place with people who care about them and love them, they thrive. So basically, as long as you are loving your kids and giving them clear boundaries, most of the time they are going to be fine. It doesn’t take a village to raise a good kid, it takes parents who are involved and love their kids enough to discipline them.

D. Michl Lowe

Abortion Addressed

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Abortion; it’s been in the news a lot here lately due to the court leaks and the supposed upcoming overturning of Roe v. Wade. It’s a highly controversial topic with strong opinions on both sides of the aisle, but really, it shouldn’t be. Now, it should be mentioned that I am a white, Christian, middle-class, straight man and have been told quite frequently that my opinion on the matter isn’t wanted, needed, or valued. And I have been told that I need to (in a direct quote) “Sit down and shut up!” and “No uterus, no opinion!”

However, it really shouldn’t be an issue to admit that abortion is a moral issue to many people and in the square of public debate, moral issues are and should be debated by all people, regardless of sex or any other difference. I am also a conservative Libertarian. So when it comes to personal rights or liberty, I am very stern in my thoughts about rights and the values put forth by many libertarian ideals. So with that in mind, I am going to be writing about abortion today.

There’s an app I have been really enjoying lately called Rumble Debate. It’s an app where they give you topics to discuss and then you can have a one-on-one debate with someone who disagrees about the selected topic. Then others can vote on who they believe won a completed debate. For a person like me (who loves a good debate) it’s a fantastically fun app. You might believe that it just descends into complete chaos 99% of the time, like nearly every other argument online, but I have mostly been pleasantly surprised at the civility of the debates I have had so far.

That being said, they recently opened a debate on whether or not you agree with the Supreme Court ruling on Roe and I have been very unimpressed with the arguments I have had from those who disagree with me and have found very few people who are willing to really have a true conversation with me about it. It’s rare that they even have answers to my points and questions. Most of the time, I have presented some of my points and they have just refused to address them. So let me share some of the thoughts about abortion I have gathered throughout the years and see what you think.

1. Abortion ends a human life:

It seems like this shouldn’t even be a point that needs to be made, but I am making it because so many don’t want to actually acknowledge this aspect. Let’s face the reality here, the entity within a woman has human DNA, is a male or female (though most of the time it’s in there), has human features (through the majority of the time it’s in there), and most certainly is alive. From nearly every standard we have, it is alive. So when an abortion happens, this ends a human life.

2. Lack of development is a terrible argument:

The issue with this idea that is often thrown around is that you can extend it to humans outside of the womb. I have often heard it said that because the entity is an embryo, fetus, zygote, etc; it is not ending a human life and is not murder or killing. This is a very weak argument because my son who is only two and a half is not fully developed. I should also mention that he is very expensive and often loud, so am I free to kill him?

He is not fully developed, so does that make it okay? I really hope you say no. Beyond that, the human brain technically doesn’t finish its development until around the age of 28 years, so many of you reading this aren’t fully developed either. Should your mommy or daddy have the right to kill you right now? I mean, technically you aren’t fully developed. You laugh, but it’s completely true.

3. Location is a bad argument:

I have heard said a lot that because the entity is within a woman’s body, she should have the right to get rid of (murder) said entity. However, my personal location does not rid me of my right to live. I recently took a trip to Virginia with the 4th graders of the school I work at. My right to be alive did not end when I passed into a new state.

It doesn’t end when I leave my house. It didn’t end when I took a trip to South Korea several years ago. This is a God-given right that doesn’t end when a person changes locations or is in a specific location. Neither should the human entity within a woman lose its God-given right to life just because of its location within a womb.

4. Dependency is a poor argument:

This is one of the most popular arguments that pro-choice advocates like to make. Because the entity is dependent on the woman for survival, ending that dependency is neither murder nor ending a human life because that life was dependent on another human for its survival. However, that’s a very poor argument because once again, we can extend it beyond the womb.

Let’s take my son again, just a year or so ago, my son was breastfeeding from my wife (which is one of the most amazing things God ever came up with), and I would argue that he was (and still is) completely dependent on her for his survival. Without her body (literally) he would have died. He had to have her to live.

But even without the milk side of things, many people require others for survival. I had friends who had severely mentally handicapped children who completely depend on others for their survival and will for the entirety of their lives. Can we kill these people? They depend on other human bodies to live. I hope you would say no.

5. Consciousness or awareness are flawed arguments:

I haven’t heard this argument made as much, but if you dig long enough with someone, this one might come up. Either way though, it’s a poor excuse for murder. You will hear the pro-choice side say that because the entity is not conscious, or is not aware, it is not murder to remove and kill said entity. It’s a terrible argument because there are many people who don’t have a consciousness or awareness.

Fully grown adults who are in a coma don’t have consciousness or awareness during that time. They still retain a right to life. You can’t just go through and stab people who are in a coma. That’s still murder. Beyond that, everyone sleeps and quite frankly, you are neither conscious nor aware while you are asleep. Should it be fine to stab you while you sleep? I thought not.

6. The Rape/Incest argument does work:

If a person is raped or there is an incestual pregnancy the pro-choice folks will often call the pro-life people monsters for suggesting that the woman be “forced” to carry the child to term, saying that it re-traumatizes the woman over and over again. I’m not going to say that it wouldn’t re-traumatize a woman to carry the child to term. However, saving her from further trauma is not a free license to end the life within her.

If we understand that the entity within a woman is a living human life, then ending her life is morally wrong regardless of the trauma its allowance to live brings others. It continues to have the right to live. The man who committed this evil upon a woman does not and should not give license to murder an innocent child. That child should not be punished for the evil their father committed.

That evil lasts, long after the actual act is done. That evil may even be lasting into the birth of a child that came from that original evil. It’s a terrible thing, but awful things happen in life. All we can do is love and support the woman through the pregnancy and birth of the child. All these pregnancies should be automatically put up for free adoption right after birth unless the woman wants the child.

Closing argument:

I understand why the pro-choice folks are passionate about this. I’m convinced most of them have the best intentions. They want women to be able to lead productive and happy lives and an unexpected child can certainly impact that. However, no one’s life or quality of life should supersede another’s life or quality of life. People have equal rights. All peoples have a right to live, including those entities within a womb.

D. Michl Lowe

Striking Out in Fatherhood

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The other day I saw a comment from one of my buddies from college about his kid playing a sport. He was talking about trying to encourage his kid in the sport she was playing and how that is often difficult. I shared with him an experience I had with my own daughter Ellianna and how I as her dad have tried to encourage her. I think I would like to share it with you all as well, not to toot my own horn, but to hopefully encourage other parents to follow suit.

So Ellie started playing softball last year. She did extremely well that year. It was coach pitch and she was blasting those balls every other pitch it seemed like. She’s always been a speedy kid and is as competitive as they come, the complete opposite of me. When I was a kid, I played t-ball and I think my coach just decided that if he placed me far enough in the outfield, he could forget I was on the team and just play the game down a man. Which, honestly was most likely for the best since I was more interested in chasing butterflies in the outfield than playing the actual game. Ellie however is serious about this stuff and is almost always on point with her head in the game.

Anyway, this year they started doing “kid pitch”. While most of the games are just a revolving door of kids getting walked because of ball pitches, occasionally the kids will just swing and basically get themselves out by swinging at pitches that would never have been a strike. That being said, during one of our games this year Ellie came off the field in tears after being struck out. She told me later that she was upset because she hadn’t gotten a hit in two games.

I found her behind the dugout crying with two of her teammates attempting to comfort her (good teammates). I went up to her and while hugging her, I whispered this into her ear, “Darlin, if you never hit another ball in your life, I would still be bursting with pride for you. I am proud of you and I love you! I love watching you play your games and I am excited every time you are playing. As long as you are having fun out there, you have fulfilled every expectation I have ever had for you in sports.”

Now, to be fair, she continued to cry and be upset. She has very high standards for herself. However, I always want her to know that her winning or losing at something doesn’t affect my feelings or thoughts about her. She is my daughter and I am proud of her just because she is mine.

I remember one game we were at, I was standing by the fence watching the game, and a man was standing next to me. Apparently, his daughter was at the third base, covering it. He started growling at her, “Hey (kids name), you better catch that ball if it comes to you! Do you hear me? You have to make up for that last inning and you messing up like you did! Don’t embarrass me like that again! You hear me?” I had to bite my tongue. I was ready to let that dad know what type of dad I thought he was being. Maybe I should have, but I will tell you that I vowed even then that I would never be like that man. That’s not who God has called me to be.

D. Michl Lowe

When I Die, Freeze Me And Pound Me In The Ground

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My mother used to say, “When I die, just freeze me and pound me in the ground.” This is a great saying and honestly made me really think about what I wanted to be done when I died. Maybe that’s a morbid thing to talk about or think about, but honestly, it’s never been that big of a deal to me. My death is not the end of me. I know where I’m going and while I might not know all the details of what is going to happen, I am ready for it should it come soon. I do not fear death.

So I have been thinking about it for a long time now and I have realized that I am unlike many of my fellow West Virginians. The people of West Virginia value funerals… a lot. It is a big deal here. I however do not. While I understand why these rituals are valued, I myself do not value them at all. Well, let me step that back for a second. There is value to me, in that I see that they help people I care about go through the grieving process. That is valuable to me, but me personally, no.

I believe when I die, if my wife and children are still around (I hope), then I don’t want a funeral. I suppose that if the kids need something then that is fine, but honestly, I hope they don’t spend much money on it. If anything is needed to be done, then just have a picture of me up front at the church and have the pastor preach a short sermon. Then maybe people could bring some pot luck so people could eat and share memories of me, that would be great.

I have seen the bills that funerals leave behind. I don’t want to saddle my family with anything like that when I pass on. I don’t need a fancy coffin. I don’t need a new suit to wear. I don’t need formaldehyde in me to preserve me. In fact, I don’t need anything done to the body besides to get rid of it. That’s not me any longer. I am not in there. Who I am is no longer present with that husk. I am somewhere else, with someone else.

I understand that grief is a part of losing someone. I am okay with the grief, but it has nothing to do with my body. I have spent a little time looking into how to donate your body to science, but it seems like it is a more complicated idea than I first thought. It’s not like being an organ donor, where you just check the box and it’s taken care of. There’s a little more to it apparently. I need to spend some more time investigating it. I would rather allow my body to help future doctors learn than to make it all “pretty” so people can gawk at my body and say things like, “He looks so natural.” Yeah, I’m a fan of that.

Death, for me, is not a loss. Sure I don’t want to have it happen any time soon, there’s still a lot left to do on this plane, but neither do I shy away from it. I’m not worried about it. When I was younger, there was certainly some existential dread going on, but I think that was because I felt like there was still so much left to do. Much of those desires have been fulfilled for me. Let’s look at some of those, I got to marry the love of my life, and our life together has been fantastic so far and as much as I can tell, it will be for the future as well. I have three amazing kids who are already turning out fantastic. Now of course there’s a lot left to do with them, but they are here and will continue to be as fantastic as they are now, I have no doubt. I guess in the end, as my Momma said, “Just freeze me and pound me in the ground.”

D. Michl Lowe

The Monster Outside My Window And My Dad

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When I was around five years old, we still lived in the little red house on White Oak Dr., but now the house is white. However, as a child, it was a stark red color with wooden shingles and a leaky basement. When you entered the house and turned to the left, you would go down the only hallway in the home. My room was the last bedroom on the left.

One night, my dad put me to bed and said his customary “love you” and then turned off the light and went to his room. I sat there in the dark and being a little kid, got scared. I can’t tell you beyond just saying that I was scared of a monster, what that monster really was, but it was terrifying enough for me to call my dad back into the room with a loud call of “Dad”! He came back into the room and asked what I wanted.

“Um, I’m scared that there might be a monster outside of my window.” To be fair, my room had two windows and while one of them was a story up over the top of the garage, the one I was scared of was about four feet above the backyard. Dad went over to the window and beckoned me to come over and look out the window. “No…” I said, still slightly scared. “Get over here.” He said. I came over to the window. “Look out that window. Do you see any monsters out there?” He asked. I shook my head no. “That’s because there’s no such thing as monsters and there certainly aren’t any outside of your window. Now go to sleep.” I went back to my bed and dad walked from the room giving me a slightly gruffer version of “I love you; goodnight!”

Several minutes went by while my little boy brain continued to spin tails of monsters clawing their way into my room via the window to the backyard. Finally, I yelled again, “Dad!” … slowly he appeared in my doorway. “What?” It was a question devoid of desire for the actual answer. “I’m afraid a monster is outside my window…” Dad looked defeated. His logical argument had failed to suppress my imagination in the darkness and boredom. “Come here.” He said again. “No…” I said, shrinking back from his gruff utterance.

As scared as I was of the monster outside the window, I was much more scared of dad and the possible solution he was churning away at in his head. “Come. Here.” He said in a deliberate and just slightly menacing way. I slinked from the bed, sliding out from under the covers without even throwing them back. Like a magician pulling the tablecloth out from under a dinner place setting without even clinking the glasses.

Dad opened the window. “Stick your head out there and tell me what you see.” I slowly peeked my head out the window. The light was still holding on in the evening. It was summer and there was still mugginess to the West Virginia evening despite a slight tinge of coolness in the air. Thinking of it now, it was an evening that should have created a sense of comfort and home. Of sitting outside on the front porch in the evening with a glass of sweet iced tea and talking with a neighbor.

Instead, for the little boy in that room, the evening was full of possible fear. Fear in spite of the knowledge that my dad was there, protecting me, sheltering me, loving me. “Do you see a monster?” He asked again. I shook my head “no” once more. He closed the window. “Go to bed, I don’t want to hear from you again. If you aren’t bleeding or dying, I don’t want to hear your voice. Got it?” I got it and nodded my head.

I sat alone in my bed once more. It should have been a peaceful aloneness. Darkness that comforts you and wraps you up in the silence and stillness of a night. There’s the knowing that you aren’t alone in a house where your loved ones are safe and sleeping or just being quiet in another room just beyond your door. But this wasn’t my way of being this night. I lay with my head draped over the side of the bed with my face looking up at the dome of the ceiling light. The patchwork of textured ceiling melded together and blurred out as the blood would pool in my brain. The white of the glass globe slowly slides into and melds with the white around it. I sat up again, the blood cascading back into my body. I sat there… crisscross apple sauce on my transformers bed sheets, waiting for sleep that didn’t come.

I honestly believe I made it around fifteen minutes before the fear crept back into my mind. It was long enough for dad to believe his tactic of opening the window had worked and perhaps even time enough for him to go to sleep as well. However, given that I went to bed fairly early in those days, I am assuming dad was not only still awake, but just relaxing in his room with my mom. I debated for some time in my mind whether or not I should risk calling my dad into my room again. For a little boy, this was a very difficult decision. In the end, my imagination won out and I called out again. “Dad!” … It took him some time to get to my room. I could hear him having a discussion with mom in the next room. In the end, I could hear him as his feet pounded down the hall. He was mad…

He came into my room without saying anything and went straight to the window. Opening it, he gestured for me to come over to it. I shook my head “no”. He didn’t open his mouth, but hissed the words through his teeth, “Now…”. I came over.

Dad then proceeded to throw me out the window.

Now it wasn’t a graceful action in any sense of the word. Let’s be clear, I fought tooth and nail to stop him. When the dance of the adult man and wiggly little boy was done, I was clinging to the window sill crying for all I was worth, molten tears creating an emotional river on my cheeks. “No daddy no!” I screamed. He was holding onto my wrists and I tried and failed to climb back in the window. “Look here. Listen to me.” He said, in a calmer voice than he had any right to use after doing what he had done. “I’m going to prove to you that there are no monsters out here.”

My eyes were wide, and I listened very carefully to what my dad said next. For all I knew, my very life depended on following the directions he was about to give. “I’m going to shut the window, and you are going to go over there to the back door and knock on it. I will let you in the house through the back door. That way, if there are any monsters out there, they will have ample time to eat you up before I get to the back door. However, if there aren’t any monsters out there, then you should be fine.”

My eyes were the size of softballs and I glanced towards the back door. In reality, it was maybe fifteen feet away if that, but as a little boy, it seemed as though the back walk was made of lava, and getting there was an impossibility. “No! No, daddy!” He pried my hands from the sill, still holding my wrists. “See you in a sec”, he said. Then he shut the window. I might as well have flown to the back door, grabbing the handle to jerk on it to see if perhaps it was already unlocked; no luck there.

I began pounding on the door. My father, on the other hand, meandered out of my room and stopped in the hall to stretch and yawn. He turned into the kitchen and stopped to check the fridge to see if any of the mac and cheese from dinner was leftover; there wasn’t any. Closing the fridge door, he walked over to the back door and calmly unlocked the deadbolt, and then opened the door.

I slid into the kitchen like a Hall-of-Famer getting home as the pitcher crashes in just behind him. Getting up I went after dad, pounding on his chest and crying hysterically. He was laughing at me, a big smile on his face. “Hey…” he said, in a much too jovial tone. “You’re alive! You made it!” … I looked around the kitchen. I looked up at my dad. “You didn’t get eaten.” He said. I stopped crying and wiped my nose. Walking me back to my room, he got more serious, “Now, go to bed.” He said.

I walked into my room and laid down on my bed. You might say the adrenaline surge had tuckered me out. You might say that the rush had spent all my brainpower so I was able to then sleep. Or, you might say that I was not much more afraid of my dad than imaginary monsters, and all that might be true. Or you might say that my dad had taught me a valuable lesson in trust and reality. I believe the latter. In any case, I slept soundly that night and many more in the future and was no longer afraid of monsters outside my window. 

D. Michl Lowe

Our Trip To Florida And How I Nearly Died

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When I was around seven years old my family decided that it was time for us to take a trip down to Florida and go to Disney and then head over to Daytona Beach. We decided I needed a buddy to take with me, and so Cousin Randy went with us. Because we wanted to save money where we could, we decided to drive down there. On the way down, when you are coming out of Georgia and heading into the northern part of Florida, you are driving on a large highway that is very straight in one section. I remember looking up from my Gameboy and seeing that our side of the highway was empty, with no cars at all. However, on the other side of the highway, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic.

I mentioned this to dad and he thought this was odd as well. So turning on the radio, we discovered that Florida was being evacuated because Hurricane Andrew was going to be hitting Florida very soon. Now I don’t know about your dad, but my dad’s reaction to this news was to comment that he would be able to get some really cool video with his camcorder while we were down there. And so we continued our trek down into the sunshine state. Our first stop was at Disney and our first park was supposed to be The Magic Kingdom. Now, I have been to Disney several times since this first trip and have never had the same experience as we did the first time we went.

Upon entering the park, there is a large boulevard running down the middle of the park with Cinderella’s Castle at the end of the road. The road is lined with shops, restaurants, and little boutiques. Every other time I have been to this park, there have been so many people crowding this area, that you can barely see five feet in front of you and are shoulder to shoulder the entire time. It is always packed. However, this first time we went, there were maybe twenty people on that boulevard. No one was in the part hardly at all.

You might think I am exaggerating, but I am not. Normally, each ride has a good hour-long wait to get on it. We walked directly on every ride we wanted to. No, wait at all. In fact, we rode a couple of the rides twice. By lunchtime, we had ridden every ride we wanted to ride in the Magic Kingdom. We went back to the hotel to eat, then decided to go over to the Animal Kingdom to check it out. By dinner, the time we had experienced everything we wanted to at the Animal Kingdom as well. When I tell you it was the best Disney Vacation we have ever had, it’s not an exaggeration. It only rained once, for about twenty minutes.

After our time at Disney, we went over to Daytona Beach. This is where things get a little more interesting. The storm had begun to really become fierce. There were days we were stuck in the hotel room because of torrential rain. Dad was having a ball filming it all and mom kept asking if we needed to get to the first floor of the hotel since she believed we would be blown away. Dad informed her that if we were lower, we were much more likely to be flooded so it was better to stay on the higher floors. I don’t think that made her feel better.

So on Randy and I’s first trip down to the sand, we decided that playing in the surf was the best idea. However, that idea was quickly dashed when we realized that about every twenty minutes or so, a ten-foot-high wave would come along and crash so hard on us that we thought it would rattle our teeth loose. So we moved a little further out into the water so that it was about up to our waste. For some reason, the waves were not nearly as bad at that depth, but it presented a new problem for us; jellyfish.

Apparently, the storm had blown in a very large school of quarter-sized jellyfish. Their tentacles weren’t but three to four inches long, but they could still sting, and sting they did, a lot! The problem was, it wasn’t a bad sting. Let me explain. With a normal jellyfish sting, it hurts bad enough that a little kid might be done swimming for the day. But these little jellies weren’t terrible, and that was the issue. It wasn’t a bad enough sting to make you get out of the water. I would compare the sting to the bite of a horsefly. So you would yelp, and swat at the water, but then keep on going, with only a little red line to show where they had got you.

At the end of the first day, we came up out of the water and it looked like we had red spider webs all over our legs. That’s how many sting lines we had down our legs. Not that we minded really though, we played that entire day in the ocean. So it wasn’t that bad, but by the next day, we were ready to see if there was another way to have fun. Other than swatting at jellyfish.

The deeper out into the ocean we went, the fewer jellies there seemed to be. So we moved out deeper and deeper, which, thinking about it now was very foolish; considering rip tides and what I am about to tell you about. Either way though, we moved further and further out into the ocean until we were around a football fields length out in the water. It was around ten feet deep at this point. We were diving for shells. Both of us were expert swimmers even at such a young age and had no trouble diving to the bottom to search in the dark for the shells.

We had been out in the water for around ten minutes or so and were treading water. We were facing each other talking, I was facing towards the shore, and Randy facing out to sea. Suddenly, as I was swimming there, a large fin rose up out of the water, just behind Randy. It passed by him and silently slipped back down into the water. I was almost speechless, but managed to sputter out,

“R-R-Randy… th-th-theres a shark!”

His eyes went wide, “Where?”

“Just behind you.”

“Well we gotta get outa here then!” he said.

We started swimming as fast as we could back towards the shore, but we only made it about halfway back, before three more fins rose from the water just in front of us. We stopped dead in our tracks. But should take a moment and explain something to you. In the ocean, there are two main types of fins that you should know about. One of them, is a large triangle, like the one I saw just behind Randy. It was nearly a foot long with crisp edges. The other type of fin though is more like the crest of a wave, where the tip of it curls back. This second type of fin was the type we were seeing now, the three of them begin to circle us.

As you may have guessed, this second type of fin is not a shark fin, but a dolphin fin. The three dolphins were about eight feet from where we now trod water and slowly circled us. We were scared, of course. Dolphins are big animals and these weren’t the trained ones you see in Sea World, but wild dolphins of the Atlantic. However, as we continued to swim towards shore, they kept up with us, circling us the whole way into the breaks where we could stand.

Now, I don’t know how you would have taken that situation, but from that day forward, I have believed that the dolphins were protecting Randy and me from the shark. So that’s the story of how Randy and I went to Florida during Hurricane Andrew and nearly got eaten by a shark, only to be saved by dolphins. True story.

D. Michl Lowe

Why I Write

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Robert Lowe

I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but it had to be some time after I was seven years old because it was in our new house. Dad and I were scrounging around the attic when we came upon a cedar chest. Asking dad about it, he pulled it over and opened it. Inside, were piles of loose cut-out newspaper clippings and old yellow legal pads covered in handwritten stories, observations, notes, and editorials.

My grandfather Robert Lowe, was a prolific writer apparently. The newspaper clippings were all letters to the editor he had written about many issues that were concerning to him. Some of the writing was stuff he had copied down and others were original writings. In this box was a collection that in some ways laid out who my grandfather was. I know dad poured over the writings trying to get an understanding of who his father was since he had died when dad was only 13 years old. There was a sense that reading what he had written allowed an aspect of who he was to survive his death; beyond just pictures and memories.

I remember believing that the chest had great value. I still believe that. As his Grandson, I could find a lot of insight into my family and who I was by reading his work. That being said, much of what he wrote was not directly about him, but about things he cared about. I wanted some more personal writings; something that told me more about who he was, what his life was like, and how that fit into who he was. I wanted to know his thoughts and beliefs about life. I wanted to see who he was as a man. Some of his writings give that, but other times, it just wasn’t personal enough.

So with my writings, I hope to give my own children and future family insight into who I am and was. I want them to see what my life was like. My plan for my writing is to write about myself, my beliefs, and what I hope for my family. I would also like to write stories that capture not just their imagination, but the imagination of others as well. I have a lot of worlds in my head and I would like others to be able to share in my wonder. Maybe I will be able to do that.

This is my hope anyway, that my writing will be just as meaningful to others as my Grandfathers were to me. As to the quality of the writing, that’s in question. My narratives are spotty at best. Good luck.

The Coming Of Nikolai

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Let me talk about the end of 2018. Kyle and Natalie, our music pastor and his wife, came to us and told us that they were pregnant with their third child. I don’t remember the exact date, but it was mid-2018. In my heart of hearts, I can assure you (my reader) that I was done having children. All through college and perhaps even before that, I had always said that I wanted two little girls; no more, no less. And at that moment, I had my two girls and beyond that, Ellie was already seven years old. Having another child wouldn’t make sense at all.

However, when our friend’s words rang in my mind, a spark began to burn inside of me. I couldn’t shake the idea of another child from my mind. It nearly consumed me. God was pulling at me, causing me to question my conviction. At first, I didn’t talk to Alicia about this. How could I? If I told her about it, she would get excited and if these feelings turned out to be nothing, just a passing fancy, then I would have hurt her a great deal. Inside myself though, I knew she wanted more children. She had always said four, but we had compromised on two. She always said no way to three because she didn’t want the third to be left out. Or for there to be a middle child.

I went and spoke with Kyle about my feelings and thoughts. His immediate response was, “You need to have another kid!” Now I know he must have been a little biased since he and his wife had made a very similar decision. I spoke to him about my hesitations. About all the reasons why it was a crazy idea, why we shouldn’t do it. And then I said that despite all that, I was still convicted about it. I didn’t know why. He told me that he had similar feelings before they had made their decisions and that he had come to have peace about it through prayer. He told me I needed to be in prayer and that I should seek Christ’s will. While I appreciated his enthusiasm and advice, I was still unsure.

I went home and spoke to Alicia about it. I came out of our closet just before bed and said, “What would you think about us having another kid?” She stopped. “Are you being serious?” she asked. “Now, you can’t just bring this up with me, if you are serious you need to let me know. Because I had a peace about us not having any more kids, even though it’s something I have really wanted. You can’t just throw this out there you know.”

I paused in the doorway, considering why I had even mentioned it without having come to a solid conclusion just yet. “I haven’t come to a consensus yet on how I feel, or what God is telling me about it. I don’t have peace, but I felt like I needed to tell you what was on my heart. What do you think about that?” I can’t be sure, but I remember her beginning to cry. “I have a peace about it, I say let’s do it!” I regaled her with all my logical reasons as to why I thought it was a bad idea, and still she held firm. When I spoke to my mom and dad about it later, they held to my beliefs about the bad idea of having another kid. It would be too hard, too expensive, and just overall not a good idea. I didn’t have peace about it. I wasn’t sure.

During this time, I was working up in the sound booth for our local church. I can’t tell you what the sermon was about. I can’t tell you what really was even going on in my own mind at that moment. However, while working the sound for our Facebook live feed, Pastor began to speak and my heart suddenly lurched. All I can recall is that for a moment in time, Pastor was no longer speaking to the congregation, God was speaking through him to me.

All my fear was gone. All my reservations were gone. The logical reasoning, I had built up in my mind seemed like foolishness. God had a plan. I didn’t know what it was, but He had one. I needed to trust in His ability to see us through the challenges. Which is interesting. Nikolai was born on August 31, 2019. It was a mostly uneventful birth, but just a day after he was born, he had to be taken to the NICU because he had an infection in his blood. He was there for about a week until he was strong enough to come home with us. It wouldn’t be the last time one of my kids had an extended stay in a hospital.

Looking back at this time now, after Niko was born, Alicia was able to take off enough time from work so that she could get all the way from the beginning of school in August to Christmas break staying at home with him, fantastic. But God took us a step further. One month after Christmas break, the COVID-19 Pandemic of 2020 hit and we worked from home for the most part until that Summer, giving Alicia just about a full year of staying at home with Niko.

Even when we did have to go back to work (sorta) in the next school year of 2020 in September of that year, Niko was able to only go to daycare part-time, Mom and Dad kept him two days a week, saving us money and allowing him to spend a lot of time with family. God has a way of working these things out. In ways, we will never understand and will often never see until a long time later.

Now, I continue to look at my son (he’s two and a half now) and Kyle’s little girl and I think about these kids. Who they are becoming and who they are right now. The world is a better place with them in it. A friend of mine recently went through a similar situation as I did and I got to hold his little girl (just a couple months old now) in my arms. We were at dinner with them the other night and I looked over at my son and then down at this little girl in my arms. What a blessing children are. I feel like the meaning of life and love and laughter are brought into clarity through these kids. They will grow up in our church, they will be loved by everyone in it, and they will be loved by us. There will be difficulty, pain, heartache, and tears, and it will all be worth it. All the difficulty that comes with having kids and raising kids will be worth it.

D. Michl Lowe

A Mother’s Discipline

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At one point, I don’t remember my age, I had done something wrong and needed to be punished. My mother sat me down looking out a set of windows that faced the backyard. “You sit here until I come to let you up!” She said. I pretended I didn’t care, that the punishment was no big deal. She then went over to the telephone on the wall and called down to the neighbor’s house just below us. These neighbors had three little girls and a little boy. The middle little girl was Ashley, mentioned above. “Hey Chris, would you send your kids up here to play in Michl’s treehouse for a few minutes? Thanks!” and then hung up the phone. I didn’t hear this conversation.

What I saw next was the point of the exercise. All my best friends suddenly appeared and began playing in my backyard. “Hey, mom!” I yelled. “The girls are here; I’m going to go out and play with them!” I was very excited. Mom came into the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, but little boys who don’t listen to their mommies don’t get to go play with their friends. So, no. You are not going out to play with them.” Big tears welled up in my eyes and began running down my cheeks as I suddenly understood the reason, I was facing the backyard. The kids were only playing back there for maybe five minutes at the most, but it was enough to get my attention as a little kid, four or five years old. “Now, if you decide that you are going to listen to mommy for the rest of the day, then maybe tomorrow we will invite the kids up to play with you and then order some pizza for lunch as well. Does that sound like a deal?” It did. Like I said, I don’t remember what I had done, but to this day, that lesson has stuck with me. Take away what is most important to a child and be willing to give it back with a bonus… good parenting advice.

Speaking of eating pizza, it shouldn’t be understated that getting pizza was a big deal when I was a kid. We didn’t have a lot of money because mom and dad were shoving all their extra money into savings to be able to afford to build a house later. Once, Chris Bloss and Mom took all of us kids to McDonald’s so that we could play on the playground there. You weren’t allowed to play on the playground unless you bought something, so Chris and Mom bought a Diet Coke to split. All of us kids had Fox Kids Club Cards. A card you could get from the local radio station that would get you all kinds of cool stuff as a kid, but mainly for us, would get us a free small fry from the Mcdonald’s. So, we brought peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, got our free fries, and then all ordered water, also free and since a diet coke was bought, were allowed to play in the play place.

Looking back at that, it was a little sad, but we didn’t care. We got to play on the playground and had some of the best fries around. Once, when the Bloss’ dad Tom got a bonus at work, Chris decided to buy all of us kids a Slurpee from the Kmart. Back then the only flavor was cherry. She handed them out to us kids and each time she gave one to a kid that kid would say, “Thank you!” and then she would move on to the next kid. Not me though, she handed me that thing and I immediately began downing it. I only made it several slurps in when it was suddenly snatched from my hands. “Next time, you will remember to say thank you.” My mother said. I cried, but you better believe the next time something came along like that, I was the first to say thank you. Manners were important. To this day, I still have a habit of saying, “Yes sir and no sir”, which has fared me well.

D. Michl Lowe

My Grandfather Was A Coward

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My mother knew nothing about her real father. Even when her mother was brutally murdered by another man, she knew nothing about her real dad; believing her father to be a different man. When her real father revealed himself in her fifties, she was taken aback. A mutual friend apparently was having breakfast with her “dad” down at the local Hardy’s every Tuesday. When she confronted this man who she was told was her “real dad” she was understandably hurt and angry. She asked him, “When my mother was murdered, why didn’t you come to get me? I had no one!” He hung his head, “I was just a poor boxer.” He said, “I didn’t have nothin to offer.”

So why did he contact her then? After all these years, why did he have his breakfast friend reach out to her? Why now? As far as she could tell, it was so he could have a dance partner down at the local Moose Lodge. He was in his late eighties and a little senile, barely able to really comprehend who his relations were. I (her son) went to meet him for the first time and spoke to him about my wife and my kids. “These are your Great Granddaughters”, I told him, showing him a picture of the girls. He smiled and said they looked nice. He didn’t ask anything about me, my wife, or what his great-grandkids liked, or what type of kids they were. Really, there was no discussion about us at all. He either didn’t care or didn’t understand what was really going on.

His days were spent in meaningless pursuits that at his age seemed silly. After a year of knowing about him, all my mother had been a couple of one-sided visits and several uncomfortable phone calls asking her to come dance with him at the Moose Lodge.

Then, he got sick. Sick to the point that it was clear he was going to die. he didn’t ask for any of us. Mom went first to visit him and came away numb. She said, “You don’t have to go.” I went.

I went by myself. I entered the room and saw him lying on the bed, haggard. I ignored the three other people in the room; a friend, his current wife, and his son from another marriage (he never actually married my grandmother). He was unable to speak. Staring at the ceiling he just watched, as if he was expecting something to happen. I stood by the bed and held his hand for some time.

If I am being honest, I hated this so-called man, right or wrong I did. I hated that he wasn’t up to the task of being the father he was called to be. I hated it that he hadn’t stepped up! That he hadn’t ridden in on a white horse and rescued my mom from a childhood of horrors. I hated that in some part, I could see his failures in parts of myself that I abhor. With his hand still in mine, I struggled with what to say. Do you really talk about dying to a person who is facing it? It seemed almost cruel to talk about the encroaching line of eternity that I assumed he was more than aware of.

The pause I took seemed to last for a long time. In the end, I made a decision.

It was a decision that I didn’t care if he wanted to know me or my family. I didn’t care if he was a horrible person who had abandoned his child for the sake of convenience. I didn’t care about any of that. I wanted him to know us. We were worth knowing. However, he would never have the opportunity to do this during his lifetime. His life was over.

I gently squeezed his hand and began to pray over him out loud. “Dear God, my Grandfather doesn’t know you Lord, but I do. I ask you now to open his eyes dear God to Your truth. Help him Lord to ask for Your forgiveness and to believe that you save him even now. So that he might be with you in paradise God…”

After leading him through the sinner’s prayer, I ended it. He couldn’t speak of course. He couldn’t even write or even really smile. I have no idea if he accepted Christ, ignored me, or was even coherent enough to understand what was going on. I kissed his forehead and walked out of the hospital room. I sat in the car beside my wife and wept. I wept for his wasted life, what he had missed. All the amazing relationships and love he had missed out on. He had missed it all.

He was so focused on himself that he had missed the awesomeness God had placed right in front of him. Dear God, help me never miss the goodness you have given to me. Help me not to embrace the cowardice in my blood. Help me to grab life by the throat and wring out every good thing you so generously provide. Help me not to be afraid of living life for You, of being the father you have called me to be.

D. Michl Lowe

The Importance Of Writing For Your Children

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I’m going to be headed home today to meet with my wife and two kids, along with my parents to cut into a cake. It’s not a birthday cake or a retirement cake or anything like that, it’s a gender reveal cake.

My wife will give birth (God willing) to our third child in September of this year and she wanted our current kids (8 and 6 years old) to have some fun guessing the gender along with us through this now iconic practice of the pink and blue inner confection hidden inside a cake.

Maybe I’m just a weird dude (I admit it, I am), but I can’t help but think about my own death today, hopefully, years down the road. With the new life rapidly developing within my best friend and lover, I wonder what I am actually leaving my children. I’m not a rich man, so money isn’t going to be a legacy I leave behind. I’m also not a powerful man, I don’t leave them a company or family business to run. I’m not a politician or influential man.

I am a Christian man.

I hope before everything else, I am leaving them a legacy of living out Jesus in front of them. The leftists often accuse the right and Christians of “brainwashing” our kids into following our religious beliefs.

-raises his hand-

I’m guilty your honor. I am doing everything within my power to lead my children into a relationship with the God of all creation. Let’s be honest, if you held the belief that God became a human being and came down to earth to save everyone and actually did it through His death and then resurrection, you would be a fool to NOT lead your children into a relationship with this being.

The reality is, the left doesn’t believe there is a God and therefore doesn’t believe we should teach our children this “myth”. The reality is, they indoctrinate their own children just as strongly into the myth that something came from nothing.

It’s not a matter of faith or no faith, but rather where one’s faith is placed.

I also am a writer. So far I’ve written nearly three books, only one of which is physically published, Modern Chivalry (can be found on Amazon), the other two I’ve published on this site for people to read and enjoy.

Many of the articles that I’ve written I wrote with the knowledge that someday my kids will read them. I have a series of letters I’ve written to my girls, just in case I am someday gone too soon. I’ve written down all my good dad talks about life, love, relationship, God, etc. in case I’m not there to give these talks in person.

I’m so excited to know if I will be having my first little boy, or if I am going to be so outnumbered by girls that I have no hope of surviving 😳.

However, more than anything else, I pray that God will allow me to continue to write so that someday my kids can read my writings and find comfort in having a small part of their dad still alive. Still fresh. Still vivid upon a page.

A long time ago my dad received a cedar trunk with a latch holding it closed. It was his dad’s trunk. Opening it, it was full to the brim with yellow spiral notebooks and newspaper clippings. My grandfather wrote thousands of letters to the editor of his local paper. There were poems and letters and short stories and histories. I remember sitting in my dad’s attic for hours pouring over these writings and even though my grandfather died when my dad was just 13 years old, I felt as though I knew this man.

I think I can honestly say, I know this man.

Someday, I hope to meet him when I die. I believe I will have that chance. This is the power of writing, to live on after death, not in a spiritual sense, but in a very real physical sense, for those who get to know you after you are gone.

D. Michl Lowe

Abortion Is The Man’s Fault

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The sin of abortion that is plaguing the world right now, is the fault of men. This crown of death should be laid squarely at our feet. The failure and sin of men have resulted in this unborn holocaust. We are to blame. Our failure in stepping up as fathers has forced the hands of women into accepting the extreme solution of murder. Do our ladies have blood on their hands as well? Of course, but if certain sins could be called worse than others, ours as men is the greater by far.

I am not surprised by the left’s attack on the unborn. It isn’t surprising when evil people support and come up with, evil ideas. However, as I sat there thinking about abortion and what it’s doing to our country, I thought about my own role (or lack thereof) in the death of these millions of children. What should be done? Legislation and voting are important, but how do I respond to this? It’s not like this is a new issue. This was an issue before I was even born.

I can’t help but look at men. Yes, the welfare system and its substitution as the provider have given men an “out”, but that is no excuse. I watch as I see man after man, fading into selfish listlessness. Are there no men left willing to take on the role of father? Sadly, I think fathers are far and few between. Too few men are stepping into the role with the vigor and haste that was the norm in the past. Where are all the warriors ready to live out lives of selfless sacrifice? I think of my own father. The nights he spent driving from one place to another to fix computers; hours and hours on the road servicing computers in three states for General Electric back in the 80s and 90s.

He worked hard. He provided. I am everything I am today because he was a man. A real man. Work wasn’t something that was questionable, it was how he was able to dig himself out of the poverty he was born into. Hard work was how he came to give me and my mom a home, education, and honestly nicer things than we could have ever thought. He wasn’t worried about the next thrill, the next personal ambition, the next woman he could con into his bed. He was worried about making his family better off than the generation he came from. It’s that unselfish ambition for the family that should be pushing and fueling our men.

Beyond even family, Christ calls all men into service for others. A man who takes care of his wife is a man who has a purpose. A man who serves Christ is a man with meaning in his life. It doesn’t take much… be there and be a dad to your kids. Be a husband to your wife. If the relationship doesn’t work out, then realize that your devotion to mom and the kids doesn’t end because you are no longer together. How is Christ calling you to love your ex-wife? How is he calling you to serve her? Even when she is unfair to you. Even when she doesn’t let you see the kids as much as you would like. How does Christ call you to serve her and the kids? I know this is an overly simplistic thought. “It’s not that easy I hear you saying.” I know. I know it’s not that easy, but Christ still calls us to serve and be a man. Being a man is about sacrifice. It’s about learning you aren’t the most important person here. Get up and get your head on straight; be a man.

D. Michl Lowe

What I Believe

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I believe that God came to earth to reveal Himself to the world. There might be a lot we still don’t understand about him, but I believe that He gave us his Word to make knowing Him easier.


I believe He is a God of reason and understanding and that He is not bound by those things. He can do things outside of the bounds of reason and can accomplish things beyond our human understanding. I also think that it doesn’t matter if He does these things because we wouldn’t understand or be able to reason it anyway.

His thoughts are higher than mine.
I believe He is all-good, all-knowing, and all-powerful. I also believe that part of being all-powerful is the ability to limit the powers available to Him at any given time to be able to converse or directly affect humanity. As an example, just because I have access to the nearly infinite knowledge available on my phone that has access to Google Search, I don’t have to choose to have access to that nearly infinite knowledge at all times. Even if God did decide to have complete access to all known outcomes and knowledge, He can choose to keep that knowledge outside of His perceived knowledge if He would so choose.

I believe in absolute truth. I think that we as humans are able to know some things that are true and some that are not true. God in His ultimate knowledge gave us reason so that we might be able to discern truth as filtered through scripture first, prayer second, and then the counsel of Godly peoples third. In this way, we can understand the will of God and how we play into that will.

I believe Jesus died to pay the ransom of the sin we owed. Because of this, we are able to believe in Him, repent of our sins, and put our trust in Him. We will have eternal life with Him in heaven if we do that. It’s that simple, yet also that complex. I believe in marriage between one man and one woman as God’s ideal union for humans here on earth. He gives us this example in Genesis with Adam and Eve and continues it through scripture. I believe sex outside of marriage is a sin. Because of this, I believe all homosexual sex is a sin. It can’t happen within the bounds of Biblical marriage and therefore is a sin.

We can also see homosexual acts mentioned throughout scripture that are said to be in as well. I don’t believe that the state marries anyone. They might recognize “marriage” as they define it, but this is not the same as marriage within a Biblical context. I believe beyond specific scriptures, that the overall tone of the Bible gives us a model for marriage. We (as the Church) are called the “bride” of Christ. God uses the model of a man and woman engaged in marriage to symbolize his relationship with the Church. It is clear that his intention for marriage is one man and one woman.

I believe that God calls us as His children to love Him above all else. Because of this, I give priority in my life as follows:

  1. God
  2. Family
  3. Others
  4. Liberty
  5. Self
  6. Sword (The call to be a protector)

God, family, and others should be pretty clear as the order of relevance, but I’m sure Liberty, Self, and Sword cause you to have questions.


Liberty is the idea that our country (the USA) is special. In the USA, we have done things no other country has ever dreamed of. God has truly blessed this country. I believe we are a shining city on a hill. Without the USA, the world would be a dark place indeed. So when I say the pledge of allegiance to our flag, I mean every word of it. I believe in our Constitution and the Bill of Rights.


Self is next on the list. It is a call to preserve the body I have been given as a temple to the Lord. I am to honor the Lord with my body. This means I should keep it safe, feed it well, keep it fit, and make sure everything it does brings honor to Christ on his throne.

The Sword is the last one. It has to do with a man’s calling to protect what the Lord has given to him. This takes many forms, but mostly covers the protection of others and self through force of arms (if need be as a last resort), protection of truth (through standing up for it in the public square), and protection of finances through providing money through work. It should be noted that this includes the defense of one’s homeland through the Military and/or Militia.


I believe the state may take life as punishment for terrible crimes. Humans may take life in defense of themselves or others. This is not a legal statement, but a moral one.

I believe that once the egg and sperm combine, it is a human life and should be considered sacred. All peoples are created in the image of God and therefore have innate value. To end a human life for convenience or when it is not in defense is murder. If there is a choice between the life of the mother or child, whichever has the most viability should be given preference to survival. Each life is equal in value, the mother and the child.

D. Michl Lowe