Tag: West Virginia

He Pulled Me In

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

My wife, Alicia was working in the two-year-old Sunday School room this past Sunday. Normally, that means I am on my own for the main service. I will either sit with friends, my mom and dad, or alone in the back. This Sunday, though, I was in a bad mood. I had a cloud hanging over my head that was causing me some severe melancholy. Over the summer, our church goes from their normal two services on Sunday morning to a single service.

They do this because attendance is sporadic during this season due to travel and vacations. However, it can also lead to some full pews as well. So, the ministry staff asked for some select regular members to sit in the choir loft behind the pulpit to make room in the pews. My family was asked to participate. So, for the last couple of weeks, we have been sitting behind the Pastor as they gave their sermons.

Today, though, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to sit alone and wallow in my bitterness. Tromping up the steps, I went to the balcony. It wasn’t long, though, before I was spotted. Our lead Pastor happened to be walking past the balcony door (his office is near by) and stopped.

“Hey, Michl! Are you coming to sit up front this morning?” He asked.

I paused, trying to think up a good excuse. “I… well, Alicia is in twos this morning, so I was just going to sit up here.”

“She needs tube’s? Like in her ears?” He said, mishearing me.

“No, no, she has the ‘twos’ Sunday School room this morning,” I clarified, emphasizing the word.

He squinted his eyes, seeing right through me. “Come sit with me up on the platform!” He said, smiling.

Giving up the argument I knew wouldn’t stand any form of scrutiny, I followed him up on the platform and sat in my regular space, minus Alicia. The Holy Spirit immediately began working on me as the music began. I knew from the moment the songs started that I would go to the altar. 

The weight on my heart, that hidden issue that had taken hold of my mind, was not just apparent but hammering on my soul. Let me rephrase; the Lord was speaking to me. The sermon today was on allowing God to give you rest. Before the sermon was even preached, though, God called me to lay down the burden and give it to him.

There were arguments in my mind. The same old lies the Devil tells every Christian before they head to the altar. I’m sure you know them.

You will look foolish.

People will wonder what is wrong with you.

Only people who are actively sinning go to the altar.

This just proves how weak you are.

You just feel like you need to go to the altar because it’s what people do in church.

It isn’t God speaking to you, it’s just your own mind.

I saw the lies for what they were, but it took me until the third song to muster up the gumption to actually move my feet. As I did, I actually stumbled a little bit walking down from the loft. It was embarrassing. I had to walk between the band who was still singing.

My mind foolishly made up thoughts for the people in the congregation. I wondered if they thought I was going to sing. They wouldn’t have appreciated that if it were true. Making it to the closest edge of the altar, I knelt and continued the crying I had started in my seat.

You might wonder if the Lord solved the issue I had been weighed down with. Did I hear God’s voice in my ear or mind, providing me with the solution to that problem? No. He didn’t offer a solution. There was no magic vending machine that gave out answers. Life and, in turn, life in Christ is not often that simple. No, in this case, as the sermon would soon lay out in front of me, He provided me rest—a calming of my heart and mind. It was what I needed.

My own desires and thoughts; my own idea to be alone was not what was good for me. God had other plans for me. Plans to prosper me and give me rest. He used one of our ministers to lead me out of my own darkness and into what God had planned for me. It was a little uncomfortable. It was a little embarrassing. I didn’t feel safe; I didn’t feel comfortable. I felt a little like Susan from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when she was talking to Mrs. and Mr. Beaver. 

Is he quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”
“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver. “If there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”
“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.
“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ’Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.

God is like that, I think. He’s not safe, and he’s not comfortable, but he is good.

D. Michl Lowe

P.S. Thank you, Pastor Kent, for allowing God to work through you.

Roller Skating and Maturity

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment
-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

Being an Author with ADD

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

As a writer, I am often split in my attention. While I might be talking to someone or doing a task, my brain is always going over some aspect of my book. Maybe I am considering some part of the world of the book, here recently that’s been the magic system and religions of the people there. How do those things work? Why are they the way they are? Who are the major characters which will interact with those aspects of the world? How will the plot play into these things I am thinking up? All these types of questions are constantly running back and forth in my brain. I even dream about these things. The other night, I woke up and had to grab my phone to write down parts of my dream that would play into the story.

I have been told since I was a kid that I have my head in the clouds. Every single report card I ever got in grade school said that, “Michl is a great student, very smart, but he has his head in the clouds”. I get that I was ADD as a kid (it was undiagnosed), but I think that might continue today, but with very different distractions. Sometimes my wife will talk about how I don’t listen to her sometimes when she is talking. That might be true, but sometimes I think some of those times might be me being in my own head, running through characters, plots, world building, magic, and other things. Now to be clear, this isn’t a huge problem in our marriage, Alicia and I are actually doing pretty well.

However, I wonder if other authors have the same process in their minds. I keep notes on my phone and in my computer, but these things are never ending. There are always more notes, ideas, and characters to dream up and think about. I get inspired by a lot of things and new ideas constantly come into my brain.

I was rewriting a section where one of my characters is teaching a class. I decided to have the character open up to his class about a different part of his personality that I thought would be neat to explore. The issue was, I hadn’t written out that aspect of the character yet, so for the last couple of days my brain has been running through that part of his nature. I finished writing that new section yesterday and feel good about it, but it just makes me realize how much more I need to unpack the characters beliefs.

Am I alone in being borderline obsessed with the book worlds I am creating? I feel like it’s hard to talk to people about my ideas though. Partly because I don’t want to always be talking about my books, but also because there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe my writing is good. I think every author feels that way sometimes, but it’s still something I am acutely aware of. Does anyone else have feelings like this? Let me know in the comments below.

D. Michl Lowe

River’s Edge Cabbage Soup Recipe

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

I considered writing an article about this recipe first so that you all would have to scroll through it to get to the recipe, but I hate it when websites do that, so here is the recipe at the beginning. You’re welcome!

Cabbage Soup Recipe

Yields around 6 quarts. However, I often double this recipe and freeze what my family can’t eat in one sitting.

Ingredients:

  • 1 medium-sized cabbage chopped into 1-inch squares, (or enough to fill the bottom of the pot several inches up with chopped cabbage).
  • 5-6 stalks of celery (enough to cover the top of the cabbage).
  • 1 (28-ounce) can of crushed tomatoes.
  • 8 ounces of tomato juice or V8.
  • 1.5 tablespoons salt.
  • 1 teaspoon of black pepper or white pepper, if you want a cleaner look.
  • 1/2 a teaspoon of crushed red pepper.

Directions:

  • 1. Take your cabbage and cut it into 1-inch squares. Place this in a large steep-sided pot, enough to hold all the ingredients.
  • 2. Put the chopped celery into the pot on top of the cabbage. I usually just do a rough chop to the size I want.
  • 3. Fill the stock pot up with water to cover the cabage and celery a good 5 inches.
  • 4. Place the pot on the stove and bring it to a boil. Reduce the heat just enough to keep it at a steady simmer and cook until the cabbage and celery are tender but still firm; around 35 minutes.
  • 5. Then add the remaining ingredients (crushed tomatoes, tomato juice, salt, pepper, and crushed red pepper) and cook an additional 5 minutes to allow the ingredients to get to know one another.

Notes: You may want to adjust the salt, pepper, and crushed red pepper to suit your taste. I personally like to add some chopped Polish Style Smoked Kiolbassa Sausage, the pre-cooked kind. I know it’s not traditional to the Rivers Edge Restaurant, but I really like it with this addition, your mileage may vary. Anyway, enjoy the soup!

The River’s Edge Restaurant was originally a restaurant located in Saint Albans West Verginia. It was closed around 2010, unfortunately.

D. Michl Lowe

Addendum: I did not come up with this recipe myself, I found it years ago on the web at Delishably.com and have rewritten and reworked it over the years into the format you see here. To be completely fair, this is as close as I have been able to get to the original recipe that I remember it as a kid. It’s the closest to the original taste and trust me I have tried a lot of other versions. Howie, the original website author writes a very good article that goes into a lot of details about the town of Saint Albans, the restuarant, and the recipe, so check out his article below.

https://delishably.com/soup/Cabbage-Soup-RiversEdgeStyle#gid=ci026c5f58300727c9&pid=cabbage-soup-riversedgestyle-MTc0NjE5MzE3NjU5NTc2MjY1

The Boat

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

Time spent at Aunt Sherry’s house was cathartic in a lot of ways. Thinking back on that time there was a lot of downtimes; time spent just lazing the days away. However, there were also times when Randy and I would come up with some crazy idea and start something that would be special in some way. Ideas that in retrospect were stories from childhood that would stick with my mind and grow into tales of meaning and adventure.

There was an old barn across the road from Randy’s house. It was falling apart. The walls were leaning at an odd angle and walking into it, you always had to watch your feet for fear that there might be a copperhead lurking under each board. Truthfully, there most likely was, but when we entered that place, it was with a purpose. Usually, it was to get boards. The rusty nails didn’t offer much resistance to our yanks as we would cart tons of this stuff over to the river and up into a tree to make our treehouse. One summer I came back to Aunt Sherry’s only to find that Randy had built an elaborate spire of platforms and walls, and even trap doors into the tree.

At one point we were “fishing” for catfish one night and decided that building a fire on the wooden floor of one of the platforms was a great idea. Twenty minutes into the fire and the fire itself suddenly disappeared in a bright flash. Having burned a hole through the floor, the entire campfire fell right through it and landed on the ground twelve feet below in a spectacular explosion of sparks. We howled in laughter.

One time, we were hunting through the old barn and came across a large tractor tire insert. It was the large rubber part that would go inside the hard ribbed rubber outsole of the tire. Upon examining it, it was clear that if we blew air into this tire, it would expand and become a huge innertube. At first, we were thinking about how neat it would be to go down the river with this large innertube, but as we talked about it, an idea wormed its way into my mind. What if we strapped boards to the top of this and made it into a boat?

So that’s what we did. Taking rope we lashed a platform of boards to the top of the innertube and created a fine boat. We went into the woods and cut down some small trees and removed the limbs to make some twelve-foot-long poles to act as quant poles used to push us through the water instead of paddles. My Uncle helped us to load the boat into the back of his truck and then drove several miles up the river. After unloading the boat into the water, we set sail down the river back towards Randy Allen’s house.

Several times during the journey, we got stuck on sand bars or other obstacles, but we managed to get ourselves free and continue on. After what I remember to be a long time, like nearly an hour, we arrived at the section of the river behind Randy’s house. Since things had gone so well, we decided to continue going. We continued sailing down the river until we got to the old swimming hole where the snakes hung from the giant beach tree. We continued on. However, it was just after this point those things got a little hairy. With the addition of the creek water entering the river at the swimming hole, the river itself got much swifter, deeper, and wider.

It was becoming much more difficult and often impossible for us to steer, slow, and especially to stop our boat. In the end, after trying for some time to get the boat over the side of the river so that we might walk home and have Uncle Randy come to retrieve our boat with his truck, we were unable to stop it. We abandoned our boat, which continued to sail down the river without us. I like to think that somewhere down there it made it out to the ocean and saved some shipwrecked sailors.

D. Michl Lowe

The Bear

D. Michl LoweLeave a comment

When I was a young boy, I spent some time at my Aunt Sherry’s house around ten or twelve. My parents would send me there when I was driving them bananas. There were several times that I went to her house which was always fun for me because my cousin Randy was there. He was several years older than me, but we played well together. Her house was a small one-story place with a large kitchen in the front and a little living room set in the back.

In front of the house was a large mountain and their house was set in the middle of a small field with a river that ran behind that.

One day, we had been playing down in the river below the house trying to catch craw-dads. Coming out of the water onto the sand bar, we saw large tracks. Having studied Boy Scout books (even though neither of us were a part of the Boy Scouts), we knew these tracks were bear tracks. They were very large! We followed the tracks up into the field behind the house and moved up the yard following the tracks in the wet grass.

Yet, upon coming to the paved road we lost the trail. Seeing bear tracks of course made us excited, but also a little frightened. Black bears in these parts were no joke. We had heard stories of hunters who had shot bears with an arrow only to have the bear continue to charge them and kill them when the arrow had not done enough damage.

Several days later, we were coming back from our swimming hole when we decided that we needed a snack. While ideas like this were not common, we decided to not go home to get a snack but to head up onto the mountain to get some blackberries. Randy knew of an area on the side of the mountain called the Blackberry Maze where there were many bushes of blackberries. There were so many in fact that the paths between the bushes made a large maze on the side of the mountain, thus the name.

So off we trudged into the mountains. It wasn’t a difficult climb, but the closer we got to the maze, the thicker the brush became. Coming out into the maze, the bushes were taller than me and the winding paths were close nit. They hadn’t been created by people, but by the animals who frequented the area. Off we went sampling the fresh berries. Picking and eating the berries was fun and made you feel like you were a part of the land. We were natives in a natural world living off of nature—freedom in the truest sense of the word.

That’s when we heard it; a snorting sound coming from the edge of the maze, outside of it, and inside the dense brush of the forest. Both Randy and I stopped. Turning we looked at each other.

“Did you hear that?” I asked. “Yes,” Randy replied, whispering.

“Is that what a bear sounds like?” I asked. “Um, I’m not sure,” Randy said.

We heard that distant snorting again, and this time the brush on the side of the maze began rustling and swaying. Something significant was coming this way. Something that made our skin crawl and our imaginations light up.

“We need to get out of here,” I whispered and Randy nodded his head. He led the way out of the maze and once he got to the edge of the area, he jumped up and swung himself into a tree. I followed and soon we were both sitting in the highest branches of a tree off to the side of the Blackberry Maze.

“Can’t black bears climb trees?” I asked, upon settling myself into the crook of a limb. Randy looked over at me, “Yeah” he said. We both began hopping from limb to limb down the tree as fast as we could, but upon coming to the bottom of the tree once more, the noise from the side of the maze came again louder this time. We both froze.

Then, out from the brush at the side of the maze, stepped the largest example of this creature I have ever seen. A buck stepped into the area of the maze. Not a bear, a buck. A deer with antlers as wide as a car bumper stepped through the brush. He snorted and bounded over to our tree. Now in the years since this happened, I have been told this is not normal deer behavior, but I can attest this is true nonetheless. That deer came directly below our tree and scraped his antlers on the bark. He then proceeded to stamp his hooves and circle the tree for the next hour, not letting either of us come down.

I can only guess as to his motivations, but my assumption is that he had himself a girlfriend somewhere nearby and our presence was disrupting his ability to give her attention in a “baby-making” sort of way, but this is only an assumption. Maybe he didn’t like us eating his berries. Either way, after that hour he seemed to lose interest and wandered off. We were able to come down and head home. That’s the story of how I thought we were being chased by a bear, that turned out to be a deer.

D. Michl Lowe