Renewing of the Mind

We spent the evening out on the water tonight.  This is our third trip around the area with our new boats - actually loaner boats while we wait for the new ones to come in.  There is something transforming about spending time in silence gliding over the water's surface, meeting and surprising birds, experiencing the water from another perspective.  The view from on the lake is much different, giving us the opportunity to see things normally hidden, expanding our understanding of the natural world.

In Sunday's sermon, the pastor defined miracles as something that happens outside of our reality.  They are defined, he said, by some external action that suspends the natural physical laws of the universe.  I would add that there are other laws that we don't normally include, things we often don't see from our limit shoreline perspective.  These expanded laws of nature extend into other spiritual realm, beyond into our imagination and capacity to see deeper.  They are like elements in the last row of the periodic table that keep getting added to as more discoveries are made, suggesting endless expansion if we only look.
The weakness of that analogy is that the process of scientific discovery will not uncover all of the laws at work that impact our lives.  Spiritual laws are beyond the scientific method of empirical analysis.  But they are there.  There is a border area, where the physical and the spiritual intersect and overlap.  It is discovered by internal processes, but also has roots in the physical world.  This is what I look for when out hiking or kayaking.  Others have called these "thin places", where the separation of heaven from earth is very thin and God's presence and glory can be experienced.  It's popularly known as a Celtic idea, mistaken for paganism often, but experiencing God defies those kinds of limited human definitions.
So we kayak, looking for the Presence that will restore us and transform us by the renewing of our minds.
This weekend we went to Park Lake, a small lake near East Lansing.  It sits right next to I-69 on its northern shore, only separated from the highway by a row of trees and the road that rims the lake.  The boat launch is on the northern edge, and once out into the lake, it is mostly shallow near the edges.  The lily pads have pushed buds up out of the water, promising more beauty to come.  The lake bottom is visible in these areas, covered with weeds.  There is the usual collection of cottagy-houses and expensive new houses, crammed on small parcels of land, all extending their hands toward the water.  On the south side of the lake, further away, there is an entirely different area.  Away from the sounds of humanity's strife provided by the highway, there is a marshy grassland area full of birds.  As we neared this area, the sounds of the birds took over, and extended peace and solitude our way.  A pair of sandhill cranes stood on a small tuft of land, and as I got closer to these huge birds, I noticed their fuzzy chick between them.  He was already a good foot tall.  Thinking that I didn't want my eyes peck out by upset parents, I quickly turned the boat and paddled away.  The birds barely regarded me, noted my presence, but did not especially care that I was there.  Hovering silently over the surface of the water in the boat allows for easier integration into the peaceful surroundings.
This was a refuge after a busy, hectic day with family - a beautiful retreat into peace.  "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God."  Romans 12:2  Today, as always, God wills peace for our souls, and tonight we paddled out to meet it.

Baptism and the Triumphal Entry: Palm Sunday 2014

The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.  Genesis 1:2

This week was Palm Sunday, celebrating Christ entering Jerusalem for Holy week.  As a bonus, there were also three baptisms in the church we attended.  There is something about the sacraments on display that resonate with me, a certain energy that is present when the eternal touches the ordinary.  The sacraments of the Church are the visible signs of the unseen graces.  Of all the sacraments, baptism is my favorite, for reasons many of you will know.

This Sunday, since we have been visiting new churches in our area, I wasn't expecting the baptisms and was completely unarmed with no tissues.  This church is a new start-up congregation inhabiting what was once a Baptist sanctuary, and they were able to do the full submersion in all of its glory.  On ordinary Sundays, the dunk tank isn't visible, being partially covered by a curtain.  Today the curtain was off, revealing a low glass wall that allowed view into the first twelve inches or so of the water.  The interface between the water in the tank and the air above was a thin straight line. 

After the worship and the sermon, attention turned to the main event.  One by one, the associate pastor entered the tank with the souls-in-waiting, waiting for their turn to be marked by the Holy Spirit.  As they entered, the line on the glass marking the boundary between the water and air danced with waves.  Each bapitizee was given a moment to share their testimony; moving stories of rebellion, obedience, and gratitude; all stories of tearful grace.  The first was a Sunday school teacher; her kindergarten class seated the front pew as she renewed the baptismal vows made by her parents when she was an infant.  As the pastor pronounced her baptized in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit; he leaned her backwards into the water.  Under the water only briefly, that moment of symbolic death quickly gave way to the resurfacing explosion into life.  The congregation joined and erupted in cheers.

The second young man gave a recounting of his rebellion and the love of a step father that brought him back into the family of God.  Again, the line played on the glass, emphasizing what is between the two worlds of water and air.  This time I saw something different.  The Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters, like a buoyant oil floating just above.  As the pastor brought the young man back out of the water, the Spirit clung to him all over.  Again, the explosion from death into life.  Again, the explosion of cheers and worship from the congregation. 

And at the third baptism, the Spirit now visible and hovering, a woman came into the tank with her husband who tenderly and tearfully performed her baptism.  As the Spirit is present at these gatherings, it is usually an energy that ramps up, and was so in this case.  There was no response possible except for shouts of joy and tears that came on their own accord. 

The sermon that morning had been about the triumphal entry of Christ into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.  Since the crowds did not understand His purpose they heralded Him as King of the Jews, anticipating a military coup to throw off the Romans.  Instead of taking in their misunderstanding cheers that would shortly yield to cries for crucifixion, Jesus sat on the back of the donkey, viewed the city and wept with deep compassion for what was to come for Jerusalem. 

In our small world, in our small corner of the Church, we cheered for the triumphal entry of the Spirit into the lives of three people -lives that are now eternally sealed and marked for God.  The tears were in response to the very nearness of the Spirit, through the words of the testimonies, the loving actions of those performing the baptisms, and the crackling energy of the Spirit filling the room.   In these moments, the sacraments that are the visible signs of the unseen graces provide a view into things eternal - the truth found in the ineffable mysteries.  A brush with the eternal, a triumphal entry. 

Paying it Forward 1 of 5

MSU College of Natural Science Graduation Day Speech

The view from my prime spot on the podium during Spring Commencement
For the full panoramic view, see the short video at the end of this post!

This year, Dave Isbell of MSU Alumni Career Services has challenged Spartans to "pay it forward" by helping other Spartans.  To seal the deal, he offered kick off the good deeds by sending Green and White surprise packages to the first five Spartans to respond to his invitation.  I was the first to sign on, and am in process of helping my Brothers and Sisters-in-Sparty!

How many does this count for Dave?
As my first assignment in paying forward my gift from Dave Isbell via Spartans Helping Spartans, I accepted the offer to speak at the College of Natural Science Spring Commencement.  I represented the MSU CNS Alumni Association Board of Directors, and had the privilege of giving a short address right before the turning of the tassels for approximately 700 new alumnus!  It was an exciting event - ok a bit horrifying too, being by far the largest group I have ever spoken too.  The Breslin Center was full of thousands of cheering, happy grads including families and friends.  I got a chance to meet some of the amazing faculty and share the stage with some real superstars.  The people of MSU are by far the friendliest, most helpful, down-to-earth folks I've ever met.  This was an experience I'll never forget.  I can't remember the last time I sang both the fight song and MSU Shadows, and I still knew the words.  Since I did not throw up, trip, or pass out, I'll call it a win!  And Dave, just to show you what a good sport I am, I will only count this as "one".

Since I'm sure you are dying to know what I said to the new grads, here it is:

It is an honor to be speaking to you today representing your Michigan State University Alumni Association.  On behalf of the Board of Directors for the MSU CNS AA, congratulations on your achievement.  We truly appreciate the hard work and sacrifice that has gone into this.

            In a few moments, you will turn your tassels then walk across the stage and hear your name called – a moment you have been waiting for, for years, some of you for more than four years! And now you are here.   Whether or not you believe something magical happens today  when you turn your tassels, at minimum ceremonies mark the important milestones in our lives.   At best, they carry the spark of the Divine and symbolize much greater things.  I believe something magical will happen – you will become something new, a Spartan Alumnus. 

            With that comes great privilege and responsibility.  Your diploma will open doors, and what is beyond those doors is yours to determine. As you carry the Spartan name and reputation out into the world, you carry with you the multitude of alumni worldwide, the current students, and those yet to come.

            When I thought about what I wanted to say to you today, I thought back to my own graduation day from CNS in 1992.  The speaker that day told to watch out for other Spartans in the world – it was our responsibility to do so!  Especially professionally, whenever you have the opportunity to support, mentor, advocate for or help another Spartan, do it.   It is what makes us great.

            The MSU AA world wide has a strong network of Spartans helping Spartans, and is one of the truly great things you have yet to discover about our school.  You may have come here for academics and the culture, but you will leave with something much more than your diploma.  You are part of the Spartan Nation and you have a network for life. 

            Ten or twenty years from now, the Alumni Association will be here to help you connect.  No matter where you go or how much time passes, you can always come back and participate.  The Alumni Association has a lot of great resources for any stage of your career, and local chapters nation and world wide. 

Peace and blessings on your journey!  Go Green!

Paying it Forward

Back in January, there was some social media campaign bouncing around Facebook that was calling for people to “pay it forward”.  There was some twist on the typical meaning, I can’t quite remember what.  It was one of those chain-letter-ish things that works to guilt people into doing nice things.  I am relatively immune to guilt trips, unless they are competitive and there are prizes!  Then I am all in.  At the same time, my MSU Alumni Association career coach, Dave Isbell, picked up on this theme and enhanced it Sparty-style.  On the Spartans Helping Spartans blog,  the challenge was for Spartan Alumni to pay it forward by doing good things for other Spartans.  Specifically, the first five people to comment on his post would be included in a year long effort to do a separate good deed for five other Spartans.   In return, Dave would send out “something green and white” as a paying-it-forward kick off of sorts. 

That was January.  Now in April my package arrived, full of all sorts of goodies from the MSUAA prize closet, including a hand written reminder of the contract.  Well Dave, I have not forgotten!  For the last few months, I have been noodling on all the good things that are within my power to do for other Spartans in the world. 

Not hard, since from the day I graduated, the message from MSU has been to watch out for other alumni and give them a hand whenever possible, especially professionally.  It was preached on graduation day, from then-MSU President John DiBiaggo.   Being helped by another alumnae was how I got my first job, actually.  In the terrible job market of 1992, another Spartan advocated for me at Butterworth Hospital; a complete stranger!  Out of a large pool of applicants, I was singled out to become a lab tech at the fertility clinic.  Now, of course I got the job because of all my great qualities and the fact that I nailed the interview (of course!), but it is always good to have someone on the inside looking out for you.  Since then, I have always pulled for a fellow alumnus when I have had the chance.

Now I have five chances – five ways to make a difference for another Spartan this year.  How will I spend it?  I have some surprises in store for you Dave, and I will be sharing them here as I tick them off my list.  To get a head start, just incase I run out of time at the end of the year, I gave one of the goodies from the package to my son Jacob, who will be attending MSU next year as a freshman.  Is that cheating? Also Dave, there is that coffee date that you and I still have pending, and if I buy the coffee, maybe that could be another spare good deed for insurance….

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

There is one beach, among all the Lake Michigan beaches I know, that holds special spiritual sway with me.  So much that I have not visited there in nearly twenty years, for fear that it has changed.  It is the property that was once the church camp I went to as a kid, Pilgrim Haven near South Haven, Michigan.  Church camp was a special experience for me, a time of testing independence away from my family.  Not only independence in living apart from my parents for a week, but also spiritual independence from them and my church family.  It was a time to really stand on my own, being challenged by the camp counselors to think of myself as a spiritual individual; but in an environment of like minded people.  For a ten year old that is a pretty safe test, unlike the spiritual test of attending Michigan State University as an eighteen year old.  But that is a whole nother story.

Pilgrim Haven Camp was on Lake Michigan front property, extremely valuable real estate, a beautiful spot.  There were two rows of wooden cabins that ran perpendicular to the beach, set back slightly behind a row of trees on a low bluff. At night, when it had been stormy, we slept to the sound of waves crashing on the beach.  When it was foggy, we could hear the fog horn from the South Haven light house nearby.  Both were very comforting sounds, adding to the peace that was easy there.  Pilgrim Haven was a good name. 

It was not the first time I heard God’s voice, but so far it was the loudest.  At camp, part of the daily routine included evening Vespers, a worship service that wrapped up the events of the day.  Instead of doing this indoors in the main lodge, Vespers were held on a high bluff overlooking the lake, at sunset. We sat on benches made of wooden boards perched on logs, and faced the waterfront where there was a rugged wooden cross near the edge of the bluff.  This is where I learned to worship God in sacred outdoor spaces, seeing Him in the colors of the sky and the endless water that seemed to stretch on eternally.  God called His creation “good”, and here that truth was unmistakable.    

When I was a teenager in the ‘80s, the United Church of Christ closed the camp and sold the property.  At the time, it seemed like just another change associated with growing up.  My BFF/co-camper Ginger and I learned about it while at another church camp up North that summer.  Immediately I felt the loss and wanted to return.  A few years later, my husband and I went there while visiting his aunt who lived nearby.  It was the early ‘90s then and most of the buildings had been removed.  The high bluff was gone; it had been eroded away by the wave action during the period of high lakewater, when many cottages were lost to the lake all along the shoreline.  The property was overgrown a bit, but I could still easily make out all the former locations of the cabins, buildings, and play areas. 

The changes I saw were pointing toward inevitable development.  Sadly, much of the shoreline, particularly in Southern Michigan, is overdeveloped.  This has made me move Northward in my beach visits and has now pushed me all the way up to the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Shoreline, where the sacred space is preserved.  For years, thirty years now actually, I have assumed that my whole beloved Pilgrim Haven had become a condo development, closed off forever.  I couldn’t even look. 

This spring, I happened to Google the camp, looking for better pictures of the high bluff worship area.  I was shocked to find that the woman who bought the land held it undeveloped, and had recently donated it to be made into a park.  Amazing!  I emailed the organization to ask more about it; what’s happening now and when can I go?!  The answer was that it is still in process, and there are no-trespassing signs and fences currently while plans are made.  Hmm.  Immediately I knew that there would be no fences on the lakefront.  Michigan law has established public access to all beaches, up to the high water line.  And while I was there, maybe I could take a peek (or walk) inland.  Maybe.  Camp is an hour and a half away, in a direction I usually don’t travel.  Until this weekend. 

I was heading back from a business trip to Chicago Saturday near sunset.  As I got closer to the highway exit, I felt a pull or a call to go.  Sunset!  But could I find it again?  As the sun got closer to the horizon, I took the exit and drove around on memory and instinct, looking for the right spot.  Would I find and recognize it now, among all the expensive new houses?  The first road I followed to the lakeshore came out close, but not the right spot.  I stopped the car and got out anyway, and the sound filled my ears.  The lake was churning, large waves crashing crashing crashing on the beach.  For all the years I have been to beaches on Lake Michigan, this sound was unique.  I hadn’t heard it anywhere else the exact same way, the way I heard it while I slept in my cabin.  It was a greeting that made my heart leap, the Spirit inside me jumping with joy.  To the north, I could see the South Haven light house.  There it was!  I must be close.  Determined to do better, I hopped back in the car, and took off. 

As darkness was getting closer, and the sun moving toward the eternal line of the horizon, I zoomed through the neighborhoods.  Then I caught sight of the right street, turned the corner, and again caught full view of the lake down the road that ended above the beach.  Parking in the near darkness of deep twilight, opening the car door, the sound returned, but with it this time was the smell.  A mix of pine and other trees, a smell that brought back everything in my memory of this place. There was a line of tall trees along the road, with a fence and the expected No Trespassing signs.  I went quickly to the beach and, regrettably wearing high heels and a skirt, climbed down the slope. 

Home at last!  My soul rejoiced and connected to the place in an indescribable way.  As much as I love words, there were no words for this moment.  The water was deep blue with the clouds echoing the color, while the sky was reds and oranges, changing by the minute.  The waves rolled in, crashing with the sound of God’s voice again.  Saying the same thing He said when I was ten; welcoming me and inviting me to follow, like an outstretched hand.  How could I refuse? 

Turning back toward the land, I looked at my camp.  Should I go?  How could I possibly be trespassing when my soul owns a piece of this property?  This was certainly not a violation of the intention of the woman who protected and donated the land.  Climbing up and in, I followed a small trail made by other pilgrims, careful to not disturb the dune grass.  Once in past the trees, it was darker and cooler.  The spaces were still open in the same ways, but clearly haunted by the oldest trees and their memories.  I was only able to stay there a few minutes, this time, as it was getting pretty dark. 

I went back the way I had come, staying as long as light would allow on the beach, then climbed back up to the road.  As I sat in my car, with the door open, I dumped the sand out of my dress shoes onto the pavement.  Any day where I have to clean beach sand off my feet before driving is a good day.  And God said it was Good. 

Rocks

I have a rock collection.  It is made up of the smooth beach rocks I have picked up over the years on the shores of Lake Michigan.  Every time I am there praying, I walk and pick up a rock as a reminder of that prayer and of my connection to God.  The rocks are in my car, in all of my purses, stacked in my bathroom, and stacked on my desk at work.  They line window ledges in my house and serve as small mementos to rub and hold until they are polished by my hands.  Or there are the larger ones that are palm sized; they are a grounding tool.  Their cool solidity serves as a reminder of what is real when things get unreal.  Different locations on the shore contain different shaped rocks, produced by the unique wave action and water conditions present.  The rocks are all rounded by tumbling in the sand below the water; some are perfectly round and they have varying degrees of flatness.  Some are so flat they would be perfect skipping stones if I could truly let go of them and send them off across the water. But I hang onto my prayers.  

The Lake Michigan shoreline is a sacred space for me, and has been since I was a kid at church camp, worshipping outdoors on a bluff overlooking the Big Lake.  Seeing water with no land on the other side, the endless possibilities, stirs the imagination and suggests the Infinite.  So, that’s where I go to meet God.  Never fails, He’s always there, and I’m always praying. 

The lake always speaks differently, sometimes the waves are gentle and quiet, other times crashing.  The color of the water is magical, changing from one visit to the next.  I always come away from time at the shore with a renewed mind, having listened to the eternal rhythm of God found in all that is natural.  I try to teach my children to listen too.  On a hike through a state park this summer, we stopped to listen to the gentle sounds of a small stream, moving over rocks.  I asked them what the stream was saying.  Listening carefully, we thought it was saying, “stop and rest, peace.”  Later I asked them "If a stream can say that, what does Lake Michigan say?"  My daughter immediately answered, “Something Bigger.”

This connection has drawn me to the shore more and more in the last few years.  So much so that I began to volunteer with a nonprofit group that supports the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in Northern Michigan.  Now I have a wonderful excuse to drive the three plus hours there year round, allowing God to work on me through all of the seasons and see His good work even in the winter, when beach solitude reigns.  This quest has also drawn me to visit the wilderness of the Manitou islands of the Park, about twelve miles off the mainland.  The water there is crystal clear, and near the shore it reflects off the sandy bottom of the lake like a swimming pool.  Lake Michigan beaches to the south don’t have this clarity; it only intensifies the mystical effect. 

This year, in the midst of extraordinary personal struggles, I traveled again to the North Manitou Island, this time with my group, Preserve Historic Sleeping Bear.  We continued a multi year restoration project on a historic cottage, and the companionship and physical labor was healing and soothing.  In my free moments, I spent time alone with God, either on the trails through the deep old forests or on the shoreline.  With the rocks, both physical and prayerful, I watched the sunrise every morning. 

Where I live in Michigan, with Lake Michigan to the West, the sun always sets over the lake, dropping brilliantly into the line where the water meets the sky.  This time, on this trip, from the Manitou Island looking in the other direction, the sun rose over Lake Michigan, a surreal sight on any day.  Although I could still clearly see the mainland to the East, the sun came up far enough to the Northeast that it was rising out of the water.  Sunrise is the beginning of the day, and since God’s mercies are new every morning, I love being there when the mercy bank is reset for me.  Lord knows I need it.

So on the first morning as I waited in the twilight on a sandy bank right near the water, I was sitting in the cool sand, as yet to be heated by the sun, among the rocks.  The waves lapped gently on the shore, repeating a phrase that can only be heard when listening mindfully.  I prayed for God to take care of me and my family, to show me His direction, to help me face my problems.  Would He?  Silence.  As the sun broke over the watery smooth horizon, and the glory of the Lord shown fully, it was clear that the prayer, the questions, were wrong.  God is so good, so holy, so beautiful; it is impossible for Him not to take care of me.  It would be impossible for me to fall away from or beyond His care.  The response was so much larger and fuller than the question, completely eclipsing it.  As I looked around me, at the rocks covering the sandy beach and slope where I sat, they were no longer the prayers, they became the answers.  They became Something Bigger.  After the trip, as I return home to my world with the rocks in all the rooms of my house, my car, my desk – I am surrounded by God's answers, and I always have been.

Created on Purpose

http://uuhsc.utah.edu/andrology/photo_gallery.html 

(A reflection on my work as an embryologist, from 2006.)

Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed
And in Your book they all were written
The days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them.
Psalm 139:16 NKJ

     There is a purpose instilled in each of us at the beginning. Actually before our beginning, known by God alone, until our physical lives are set in motion and our purpose begins to be manifested. But when I refer to the beginning, it is the beginning of our physical being; when egg meets sperm in a narrow fallopian tube. Some beginnings don't start there though; they start in a petri dish, where life is aided by a medical team. Couples hoping to be parents, but unable to have children on their own, turn to a fertility clinic to deliver them from childlessness. Among a team of many, I am an embryologist; a lab technician trained in the nurture of early human life.
     In the lab where I work, eggs and sperm are combined to produce embryos for infertile couples. By the time patients get to that stage in their medical odyssey, they have endured months, if not years, of invasive, embarrassing, expensive treatments. Each month is valuable; one less month until the wife’s menopause, one more month of empty arms among her circle of friends with babies who are growing so fast. Each month is another chance at pregnancy. The menstrual cycle is meant to launch a new life; the new life of the baby, the new life as parents, the newness of all the family relationships viewed through the lens of the child. If only this month it would work, then they could finally put this nightmare behind them and move on into the future, never looking back. The whole clinic, from the medical director on down to the clerical staff, knows the desperation and the hope. It permeates the air. Although the whole medical team participates during treatment, creation of life is not achieved by us. It is a divine yet natural process that we can only aid, not force.
      During the course of the medical treatment, the fertilized eggs become embryos. The fertility drugs given have enhanced the woman’s egg production, so a single month’s cycle could yield between 6 to 24 embryos. All embryos are infinitely precious to the couple. Each fertilized egg is a real baby to them; they imagine a personality, a soul, a sun-browned laughing child in their back yard. They each have that potential, but they can't all be transferred back safely to the woman’s body at one time. So the lab technician looks the embryos over carefully, grades them, and unsentimentally selects the best. Two days after the egg retrieval, two to four embryos are loaded into a thin catheter to be returned to the patient’s uterus.
     At this point, the extra embryos have now become a by-product of a medical treatment. Because of their much debated human status, they must be dealt with in an ethical manner. To our clinic means that any embryo of average quality or better gets cryopreserved, or frozen. The freezing process involves chemical dehydration to prevent the cells from bursting (as the water in them expands), loading them into small plastic containers and very slowly cooling them. Lastly, they are kept frozen in a storage tank of liquid nitrogen at the clinic until the couple comes back for them.
     Should the excess have been produced in the first place? The medical team has limited control over the number of embryos produced without sacrificing successful pregnancy outcome. For example, if three eggs were used for fertilization, some may not have fertilized at all or been of good quality, leaving little or nothing to put back in the uterus. Complete fertilization failure, probably the worst disappointment, results in no embryo transfer and a cancelled cycle. Fertilizing more eggs than are needed directly improves the likelihood of pregnancy by increasing the pool of embryos to choose from. Reducing the need for repeat treatment cycles is better for the patients financially and emotionally. Many patients are unable to withstand repeat failures, and seek aggressive treatment plans which maximize the number of embryos produced in each cycle. 
     At our clinic, around fifty five percent of the women get pregnant on their first try with this therapy. For those with frozen embryos, it means a long wait to be reunited with their mother, if ever. If she is pregnant, especially if there are multiple babies expected, she won't come back for her embryos for at least two years. That is, if she even wants more children. Now the couple must consider their choices as to what to do with the excess embryos.
     The patients are offered four choices. Embryos can be stored indefinitely, donated to another infertile couple, donated to a research lab, or destroyed. Not only is their fate decided, but also the reality of what they are. If storage is continued, they are still the promise of future children. If they are donated to another couple, they are the promise of future children plus a beautiful and unselfish gift. The option of donation to a research lab makes the embryos an unselfish gift also, but they lose their humanity, becoming a biological specimen of curiosity. To choose to destroy them can also deny their humanity; or be viewed as an act of respect; letting them go instead of holding them in frozen storage.
     Many embryos have waited frozen more than a decade with couples unable to return for them. Some couples have finished their families now, with enough children to fill their lives. Others have divorced, exhausted their ability to pay for the expensive treatments, or are emotionally unable to face the strain of continued therapy.
     The embryos wait. The lab begins billing a hefty quarterly storage fee. The tanks are full; more tanks are purchased, taking up considerable space in the clinic. The abundant blessing the lab has helped produce now becomes a curse. Many patients continue to pay the storage fee out of obligation, but are unsure of what to do with their embryos. Some just don’t pay and their accounts go to a collections agency. Although these embryos are abandoned, the lab has no other option than continue storage. All these lives are still left waiting. In a decade or two, the patients will be physically too old to attempt a pregnancy. The billing defrays the storage cost for the lab, but more importantly also puts pressure on the couple to make a decision. “Don’t leave these here forever,” is the unwritten message.
     Now the embryos are a burden, once they were precious. Have the embryos themselves changed? No. They contain exactly the same physical and spiritual components as the day they were frozen. They remain unchanged; only our perception of them is different. Does our perception of life dictate truth? What happens next is the result of hard, tearful, sleepless choices made by people desperate to have children. Who defines what the embryos are? Is it the opinion of the parents, the medical staff, or society? Is it the courts of law, varying from state to state?
     There is a truth to each embryo that transcends all of these factors. How can it be a child one day, but garbage the next? It has no less human potential based on our thoughts toward it. All that is lacking is the willing womb. The biological purpose of embryos is to grow, divide and expand, eventually connecting to the uterus wall. Their God-created purpose is to become fully human, to be those smiling children in the yard. Making these hard choices about embryonic life has left us all weaker for it. The joy of a new baby is incomparable; it is the hope that drives us on. There are countless families that would not exist without medical assistance. So many lives have been positively impacted by the sheer miracle of life where there once was none.
     Do we go too far? Are we trying to act as God? Are we causing more harm than good? These are my own hard, tearful, sleepless questions. The benefit of working in the lab is being shielded from the most painful parts of the patients’ experience. Often it is easy to manage; retreating to the lab during the worst times, but gladly coming out when the families visit later to show off the babies.
     Recently though, a female patient of our office came in to claim and destroy her last frozen embryo. It had been more than ten years since the day that I had cryopreserved the small life, along with several other embryos of hers. This one embryo had been accidentally misplaced, floating in the liquid nitrogen tank in a sealed straw, separated from the rest. This one had been left behind when the others were thawed and transferred back to her uterus. When I finally located the errant straw and recaptured it, too much time had passed. The patient was no longer seeking treatment; actually she was unaware that we still had it, at first. Although she hadn't become pregnant, she stopped treatment; likely financially, physically or emotionally exhausted. Probably it was all three.
     She and her husband kept in contact with us. The storage fee had been waved due to their circumstance, since they had intended to thaw them all at the same time. For years they didn't come back; although checking in several times to review their options. One day not long ago, they did return, but only the woman came to the office. I had always refused to participate in the destruction of embryos; I had been promised by the doctor many years ago that our practice would never do it.
     The embryos don't belong to us though, and that promise didn't anticipate the overriding rights of the patients to direct an embryo’s fate at will. Instead we pass them over to the patients, still frozen - though quickly thawing, inside their tiny plastic container tucked in a brown paper lunch sack. "What should I do with this?" is often the question. I answer, "Some people bury them, some people throw them away, it's really up to you. You just can't dispose of it on the hospital's property." That is our standard answer, although it is somehow lacking. So as they turn to leave, it is the patients who ultimately are responsible for the act. Obviously the staff is an accessory to this, and I could never bring myself to pull them out of the deep freeze with the intent of destruction. Except this one time.
     This embryo felt like mine, I remembered the patients, their case, everything so vividly etched in my mind. Back then, we didn't see the volume of people we do today. Back then, I could hope and pray desperately for each of them, the embryos. I saw much more of the embryos than I ever did the patients. I knew them before they were; as eggs and sperm. Through the microscope I saw them first as fertilized eggs, then dividing into multicelled embryos. I'd be the last one to see them before they were transferred to the patient, or before they slipped into the treacherous slumber of cryopreservation. Not knowing if they'd survive the thaw, or the wishes of their parents.
     "It's been a long time" was all I could think to say, as we stood face to face. She agreed slowly, this exchange containing more than the words spoken. She explained to me, as though I needed to know (which I did) that she was ok. She had just completed the adoption of two beautiful children, it had been more than a two year process while they foster-parented them. The other embryologist brought out the tank, and her brown bag was prepared. With small smiles and tears in our eyes, we parted she and I. This embryo, this last left behind, but not forgotten human mass of cells, had fulfilled its purpose that day. It had been her vessel of hope; which on that day, seemed like quite enough.