Austin Boyd's Blog

“I don’t read biological thrillers,” a friend told me recently, “because I don’t want to confront the ugly reality that we’re surrounded by unspeakable danger.”

I laughed aloud, surprised that Tom had been so honest about his fear. Nevertheless, he expressed a concern that I hear from at least one reader every day. “Surely it’s not that dangerous,” others insist, desperate to avoid confronting the unsettling facts about what biotechnology has thrust upon us.

We live in an unstable future. It’s time to acknowledge that reality and embrace a slippery footing on this rapidly moving boat that we call medical technology. Or, using another metaphor, it’s time to admit that we’ve slipped the seal off Pandora’s jar and begun to drink of unexpected evils that we’ve released on the world.

It was not a box. Pandora of mythology was given a jar—not a box—along with a stern warning that she was not to open the vessel under any circumstances. Curious about the gift and not dissuaded by the warnings, she slipped the lid off for just a moment . . . and unspeakable evils escaped to plague mankind. In a flash, she jammed the lid back on, sealing Hope inside. There’s a metaphor for you—a world filled with evil, and Hope of all things, sealed up where we can’t get at it.

Tom, my good friend who disavows biological thrillers, understands what he’s up against. I admire him for that. He’d have wisely left the cap on the jar if he found it at Pandora’s house. But what about the rest of us, those who don’t realize that the developments that look so promising in medicine might have some unexpected—and undesired—consequences? Technology is providing us amazing abilities to extend life, to cure disease, to improve human performance, and to overcome human frailties of all kinds. Why would anyone object to that?

Read along with me in the coming months, and we’ll unpack that question in myriad ways. Indeed, why object to advances in medicine and technology? I’ll approach this subject, in my weekly bioethics blog One More Step, exploring the core question “Just because we can . . . should we?” Just because we can grow organs and body parts in animals, is it a good idea? I have a cow’s ligament in my thigh, friends have pig heart valves in their chest, and a neighbor’s daughter depends on insulin grown by bacteria. But have we gone too far when we’re capable of growing human ovaries and human testes in mice? What happens if those mice mate?
If I could sell you a pill that would guarantee you’d make a 36 on the ACT or ace the MCAT exam for medical school, would you pay me a hundred thousand dollars for that pill? Would it be fair to those students who could not afford the magic tablet? Or, if you’re near death waiting on an organ, what’s a kidney worth? Is it wrong to sell your eggs if you’re a young woman desperate for cash? It’s your body, after all.

First female DNA sequence. From www.sciencedaily.com

It’s an inconvenient truth, to paraphrase a recent movie, that we’re immersed in a world of remarkable technological achievement that pounds like a jackhammer, chipping away at the foundation of ethics built on millennia of wisdom and faith. Despite the amazing good of many biotechnology and medical breakthroughs, actions have unintended consequences. In my weekly bioethics blog I’ll explore both sides of questions about technology and their unanticipated penalties. “Just because we can . . . should we?”

That’s the question that keeps me awake at night, inventing new book plots . . . and it might just be why my friend Tom stays away from biological thrillers.

The post Breaking the Seal on Pandora’s Jar appeared first on Austin Boyd.

“Exploitation of women.” The word conjures up many images, none of them good. Cashing in on women, unfair treatment, abuse or oppression.

When I write about women selling their bodies, most readers immediately jump to conclusions about prostitution, or the sex slave trade of young girls trafficked out of central Europe and Asia. Yet few people consider the other trafficking, the exploitation that takes place on college campuses and in third world countries every day. Women selling their eggs for cash, lured by promises of “generous compensation,” a greedy wolf wrapped in the “sheep’s clothing” of altruism.
Egg donation. It’s anything but donation. Harvesting women’s eggs for money is part of a $6.5 billion dollar fertility industry that targets young women, particularly those who are tall, attractive and physically fit. Women with high IQs and a desire to assist another woman to conceive a child. Women exploited by an industry that tells them too little about research that is too sparse and a procedure that can cost them their own fertility—or their lives.

Harvesting a woman's egg through the abdominal wall

The Center for Bioethics and Culture Network (www.cbc-network.org) in San Ramon, CA has recently produced an excellent documentary entitled Eggsploitation that speaks to this issue, one highlighted in my upcoming novel Nobody’s Child. Poor women and cash strapped co-eds drive their bodies into hyper-stimulated ovulations, producing a bountiful crop of genetic material for money. “Selling your body” takes on a new wrinkle in an unregulated industry desperate for human eggs. Women donors—and their sperm-selling male friends—have ushered in a new global market in gametes: DNA for sale.

I have friends who’ve been blessed to conceive through In Vitro Fertilization (IVF). I’m not here to bash their experience and their gift of children. However, I agree with the ethicist quoted in the CBC documentary Eggsploitation who stated that women become little more than walking egg factories as part of this chilling social experiment in the harvest and sale of anonymous gametes. Whether stem cell research, cloning studies, or in-vitro fertilization, the fertility industry and medical research are completely dependent on a woman’s egg. When a market is allowed to emerge that pays for DNA, there will be women desperate for money who turn to their own genetic material as a source of cash. Then the trouble begins.

I was a poor college student at Rice University in 1973, living near Houston’s Baylor Medical Center. An intriguing flyer on a campus wall promised $25 a visit for healthy students willing to be research subjects in drug trials. A roomate urged me to give it a try. “Easy money,” he promised. I did, and I never went back, reeling with dizziness from the strange drug I took in an unmarked office. 37 years later, I wonder at that experience, curious what long-term impact the drug may have had on me. Probably none, but women who donate eggs can’t always say the same. Ovarian cancer, stroke, breast cancer, Ovarian Hyper-Stimulation Syndrome, cervical cancer, inflamed or scarred ovaries—or the nastiest twist of fate—infertility . . . all are potential results of egg donation, spurred by an industry that demands large harvests from its donors in return for “generous compensation.”

Fertility drugs boost a woman's egg supply for harvest

Stroke, cancer, or infertility. Is it worth it? The egg donor industry exploits women; those who lose in the deal will drift into a nameless void, their loss of life or health grim statistics that rarely track back to the industry that bought their eggs. The purchase of human ova exploits women around the world, an untold number of them suffering lifelong repercussions in silence. Is it worth it? Are we ready to embrace the genetic industries and anonymous fertility of Huxley’s Brave New World as our model for the 21st century?

I hope not. You can’t undo a harm.

The post You Can’t Undo A Harm appeared first on Austin Boyd.

It is theoretically possible, using modern genetic processes, to create a mouse that carries the gene for human testes or ovaries. While possible in theory, some say possible in practice, the question is, does it make sense?

It is theoretically possible, with two mice, each carrying the genetic code of a human being in their modified reproductive organs, to suction the gametes from each mouse and create a “test tube” human being, just as we bring ova and sperm together today through in vitro fertilization, or IVF.

Is This Your Mother?

Therefore, it’s not a far stretch to propose that mice with these modified genetic structures be allowed to mate, and create a human embryo within the uterus of a mouse. Sound far-fetched? Think again.

The question we find ourselves faced with, in these remarkable scenarios of biotechnology, is this: Just because we can, should we? If we can learn to grow human kidneys in pigs, or human livers in sheep, should we proceed down that path in medicine? 80,000 people need a kidney, and a third might die waiting for a donor. If we could grow kidneys in pigs, people would live. On the other hand, we might bring a porcine virus into the human population that could sweep like the plague through dense population centers, and nullify any benefit that swine-bred kidney brought us. Sound far-fetched? It’s not.

Where do we draw the line in the determination of what’s right, moral, loving, and compassionate . . .  and what’s too dangerous to attempt? Twenty years ago, no one might have considered bearing a child to create the blood and donor tissues for a sister in dire medical need. Nevertheless, author Jodi Picoult’s novels about families, relationships and love have captured the imagination of many with her novel and movie My Sister’s Keeper, a story about a child conceived for the explicit purpose of helping save the life of a dying sister. That it does not seem remarkable we can do this thing, this conception of one child for the saving of another, says much about how far we’ve slid down this slippery slope of biological ethics.

Infertile? No problem. There are many options available to the couple seeking a child, and I applaud the desire of men and women to bring children into the world. Children are a gift from God. But where do we cross the line of enjoying God’s gift, and controlling the outcome to meet our needs? I would not deny any IVF family the joy of bringing their children into the world, but how far is too far? Is it appropriate to shop for a donor egg, a donor sperm, then a surrogate mother, and finally a wet-nurse to feed the child? We’re there, folks. It’s happening today. At some point, our technical abilities outstrip our ethics and then we find ourselves in dangerous moral territory.

From National Geographic's "Womb Animals"

Readers will gawk at this blog, in wonder that I propose we have moved too far too fast. But before you critique my “condemnation of progress,” do a little survey on the Internet. Shop for a donor egg, surfing through the many sites that offer you a broad choice of ethnicity, physical features and intelligence, with gametes for sale from beautiful women all over the globe. Check out the numerous sites where men offer to fly to the woman and inseminate her for a fixed price, men who brag that they “enjoy the experience more than the end result.” Shop for a surrogate mother, willing to carry your child for a fee. Where do we cross the line of altruism, and cross into Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World? I propose that we crossed that line long ago.

I commend medicine and biotechnology for the advances that have saved so many lives. But I’ve come to a realization that some advances may better be left in Pandora’s Box than released without careful prior consideration of their impact. It’s important for us to search out God’s will in this new world of medicine that we’ve encountered, and with each new tool we find in the biotechnology toolkit, ask the fundamental question: “Just because we can, should we?”

Better to ask, and prepare, than to dash into an uncertain future with no moral compass and no plan.

The post Just Because We Can . . . Should We? appeared first on Austin Boyd.

 

In my my last post I was very focused on getting out of New Jersey and showing better progress in terms of my daily mileage. That’s the post where I opined that “time is mileage.” That was the “through hiker” coming out in me, frustrated by my pitifully slow pace.
I also have a Henry David Thoreau side to me that deserves equal time. Perhaps better than “equal time” because the “get it done and get on with it” mentality can lead a guy focused only on mileage to completely miss the beauty and the message that God has imprinted on this beautiful creation of His. So… I will muse for a moment about how the Appalachian Trail is like life. This post has some pictures in it, so be sure to check the post on my web site (austinboyd.com) if your filter strips off the images.

Nobody wants smooth sailing more than I do. Last spring I calculated that I’ve run or hiked more than 35,000 miles on these knees. If they were radial tires I would be trading them in soon. Anything but smooth sailing is painful at this point. But not all of life’s paths are smooth. Just as the Appalachian Trail had a designer… many designers in fact… so our lives and our souls have a designer. We hope for and strive for lives where the paths are smooth, like the one in the attached picture. Soft undulating shaded leaf-strewn paths that wind through cool woods with blazing fall colors. God places paths like that in our lives. But He recognizes that a life full of such ease does not challenge or refine us for service in His kingdom.

We are also allowed to negotiate the rocky path, like the picture I have attached. I talk to myself often when hiking, especially on days like Wednesday when I spoke to only one human being, a Southbounder like my intrepid daughter Alice. When I spoke to myself on this trip I found myself criticizing the sadists who deliberately routed the trail up and down cliffs and boulders. Then I realized that, like the refiner purifying gold in the heat of the flame, life has boulders and cliffs to refine us. The path has a designer. God allows us to be tested, for our own good. True, we sometimes travel rocky paths because we live in a fallen world. Or we choose the wrong path, sometimes even littering the path with sharp boulders of our own making. Nevertheless, negotiating tough trails makes us stronger, and gives us the insights that we need to lead others through similar trials.

What about those others who help us? In New Jersey the trail volunteers have laid down over 600 “puncheon,” the two-board walk planks laid across swamp in the New Jersey “drowned lands.” Someone, a designer, went ahead of us laying down a path to help us through the toughest of times. We can object and in our headstrong way wade into the swamp of life and slog it out on our own. Or we can accept help from others and from God, but it may require walking a narrow path. The “narrow path” was not meant for us to be constraining or a punishment. Like the attached picture of the New Jersey “puncheon” we are directed to follow the narrow path for our own good. Otherwise life is a swamp.

What’s the takeaway from all of this? Celebrate the diversity of paths that life dishes out. Understand that life has a designer and that He wants the best for all of us, allowing us to be tested so that we are better shaped to help and lead others, and in better shape for the eternal life that He offers us as a free gift.

I start to berate the designer for the next knee-killing descent. Then I realize that I have walking sticks, I have plenty of time, and I am able to walk. I slow down, enjoy the rocky plunge and smile a little. The Appalachian Trail imitates life. If it were all a smooth walk, then what kind of shape would we be in?

I am learning to accept a slower pace where I learn more, and develop new strengths. Thank you, Lord.

The post Fall Log #4 appeared first on Austin Boyd.

“The hills are alive… with the sound of music.” Those words from the famous movie and Julie Andrews put the exclamation point on a wonderful walking day headed toward the William Brien shelter.

Leaving my “Walden Pond” campsite I followed the shores of Little Dam Lake for about a mile and then took a climb up Arden Mountain. At the bottom of the mountain the Palisades Parkway was an interesting challenge to cross at NYC rush hour. Only 34 miles outside the city, the parkway was loaded with cars screaming by. I didn’t have to run across but did have to wait for a while to find a break in the insane flow of cars.

From the Parkway I spent nearly ten miles of amazing walking through beautiful forests with grass floors, across gentle knobs covered with oaks and acres of blueberry bushes, and through quiet carpeted forests with the few firs that have not succumbed to the larvae problem that is killing off local evergreens. All day long I saw only three people, all headed south.

I met two of them at the Lemon Squeezer, an incredibly narrow passage between two hunks of bedrock. A petite lady was stuck and trying to remove her pack to squeeze through. Once she pried herself free I tried the passage and got through with my pack on. The key was to lean while you walked and not get claustrophobic. A wider pack or larger man would have gotten stuck.

I pulled into William Brien shelter earlier than I would normally stop, but I was out of water. New York has so many lakes, but remarkably few springs on the trail. The pollution in streams means you need to plan your water gathering with care. “Trail Angels” place water jugs at many road crossings to help hikers stay hydrated. Frankly I would rather filter a polluted stream in a state park than drink water from an unmarked jug I find by the side of the road.

At the shelter I learned from Cindy by text that her dad has some heart issues that need to be dealt with soon. She decided to leave her Maine trip a day early, and together we decided that I should meet her when she arrives in Huntsville on Saturday night. So… I made the decision to pull off the trail on Friday at Bear Mountain in the Palisades, just a few miles south of West Point on the Hudson River.

The trail to Bear Mountain was three up-downs, ending with a long descent down stone steps into the Hudson River Valley. Bear Mountain and the nearby Hessian Lake were set aside as a park in the 1920’s when competing interests for the relocation of Sing Sing prison and rock mining of the Palisade cliffs along the Hudson threatened the local natural masterpiece of this area. Now, it’s home to the Bear Mountain Inn, a chestnut log resort between the lake and the Hudson. A stunning setting!

I was sad to leave the trail early, but did not complain about the shower, the tub bath, the hot dinner, and the continental breakfast the next morning. Considering that I lost about 11 hours over the last 8 days dealing with various “emergencies” I figured I had really hiked for 7 days. From the Delaware River to the Hudson River in about a week and 110 miles. Next year I will walk from Bear Mountain Inn to Bear Mountain at the Connecticut-Massachussetts line. One day, God willing, I’ll reach Mount Katahdin in Maine. All in His time.

It says in the Book of Romans in the 10th chapter, 28th verse that “all things work to the good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” My trip ended with the most remarkable experience, one that could not have happened if I’d not been delayed at the start, delayed to repair the car tire on day 3, or had not decided to terminate at Bear Mountain Inn. God placed the most amazing people in my path, a remarkable “bow” on this beautifully wrapped gift of an Appalachian Trail hike.

As I descended Bear Mountain I passed one of many Jewish families I’d seen in New York and New Jersey. The mountain park had hundreds of visitors this day, many of them trying their legs on the long hike up or down Bear Mountain. A gentleman my age and a daughter in her mid twenties were speaking what sounded like Hebrew. As I passed they asked about the hike to the top of the mountain in the direction from which I’d come. That conversation led to the gentleman sharing in broken English that he’d always dreamed of walking the Trail since he’d immigrated to the US and to his new home in New Jersey. This trip, with his daughter Amy and her new husband, Rafael, a French Jew studying to be a rabbi, was his chance to set foot on the famous path. It was a lifetime dream that moved him deeply, and he was thrilled to meet someone who had chosen to hike the path.

We talked for a long time about how to hike and where, how to get started and when to start, as we walked down the long flight of stone steps and gravel path. I learned that his daughter and son-in-law lived in Jerusalem and that day there had been five terror attacks in their neighborhood. They were all very concerned about their return to their home in Israel, and dad feared for them. Amy and Rafael are pictured with me in the attached photo.

In the progress of things, our discussion turned to the Israeli-Palestinian problem. They poured out their hearts about a desire to have peace, and their frustration with the constant struggle that Israel faces where it’s planted in the middle of Islamic nations. I began to share with them my background in writing and speaking about Islamic issues, Constitution issues, and the danger that we face by ignoring the rise of Islamist extremism in the US. By the bottom of the descent, standing at the door to the Bear Mountain Inn, I realized how blessed I had been to hear the passion and heart of some of God’s people suffering directly from the events in Israel, and how they had been blessed to meet someone who understood all of the dynamics of their struggle. It was an instant bonding. Benjamin, the father, left our hour-long encounter encouraged to hike the trail, and encouraged that some Americans did in fact understand the struggles faced by the people of his faith. His son-in-law, who cannot wear his Kippah (skullcap) in France now for fear of retaliation by Islamic groups, smiled for the first time that day when I told him “Do not fear. You are welcome here.” And his daughter Amy, translating English, French, and Hebrew among the four of us, was beaming. Something in her smile and her demeanor said “someone cares.” When I met her, she was texting friends in Jerusalem about the attacks, speaking with her dad about the danger of returning home while her new husband walked ahead of us, deeply concerned. At the bottom of the mountain, their minds had… for a time…. been taken off the brutal reality of their situation and they were at ease. My mind was taken off the knee pain and the last mile of the descent. I’d made new friends and they truly felt welcome, not afraid. I was refreshed in a wonderful way, and I sensed that they were too.

God is the designer. He laid out these woods and I am sure He placed Benjamin, Amy and Rafael in my path. He cares for them and for me, and in some way we all needed each other this day.

What lies ahead on your path today? Is there an “Agony Grind” climb facing you, or is today a “Sound of Music” kind of day? Has God put Benjamin, Amy and Rafael in your midst, trusting that you will minister to each other this day? Has He placed a Mark and Deb Ripka on the path going your direction to encourage you? Are you camped in the dark gloom of a “bear’s den” struggling with real fears? Have you encountered Greg, lost in the woods, trusting that someone will show him the way? Whatever He has allowed in your path this day, trust in Him for the strength to persevere and endure. Thank Him for the blessings and for the strength that you will develop in the trials. We are all being shaped for His service.

And … very important… don’t focus too much on the trail’s end, whether it’s Mount Katahdin or just getting through this day. The one thing I’ve learned is that life is a journey, not a destination.

Enjoy the hike, wherever it takes you. Trust God every step of the way. He will not fail to walk with you, to guide you, sustain you, and to forgive you. You only need to ask.

“For I am with you,” Jesus said, “even unto the end of the age.”

The post Fall Log #6 appeared first on Austin Boyd.

I’ve been delinquent again in my writing as I pounded out the days north through New York. On post #3, the “mileage post,” I wrote to you from near Prospect Rock at the NJ/NY state line. A flag, erected on a slim tree trunk, flies in tribute to those lives lost on 9/11. It was an awesome place to view NYC at sunset, only 30-40 miles away. I camped that night in what I call a “bears den”, surrounded by dark caves at dusk. I have not ever been afraid in the woods at dark before but that evening I felt fear, knowing the aggressiveness of the local mountain black bears. It’s both humbling and a cold dose of reality to be afraid when fear is not an emotion that you commonly experience. I learned a lot about myself that night. PS: I saw no bears. Many fears may be reasonable but our worst fears are often not realized in the end.

My walk the next day started like a stroll along the bellies of stone whales. The 350M year old stone, smoothed over by the last ice age, rolled on for miles as I strode a bedrock road scarred with deep gouges that looked so much like the belly of a sperm whale. Greenwood lake lay to the east and in the cool clear October morning I could see the hills stretching out for miles.

The beauty of being atop a solid rock ridge also means that there is no water nearby. When I pulled into Wildcat shelter I had only a few mouthfuls of water left from my 3-liter supply. A lunch of peanut butter and jelly tortillas rounded out the stop and I began the long descent into the valley and Sterling Forest State park.  A man about my age whom I passed earlier had turned around, and passed me when I was getting water. I found him wandering in the woods some time later desperately searching for a white blaze denoting the trail. I guided him back to the path. We laughed about the situation, since I’d also gotten lost before, and we walked together for a mile or two. He was hiking 7 mile segments one way, then another 7 miles back to his car. That’s a slow way to finish the 2,189 mile trail. He was thrilled to learn about “trail shuttles” and the ability to hike “one way” with a guaranteed pickup. I was glad to have some fellowship. His name was Greg and we had much in common.

It’s lonely out here this year. Virtually everyone is southbound. Mark and Deb Rifka got off at Lake Greenwood for a well deserved day of rest. I met six gentlemen, all in their 70’s, on a stroll and we spoke for a few minutes about the trail. But mostly it was lonely. I am a classic introvert, or so the personality tests tell me, because I like to recharge my emotional and spiritual batteries in private. But to say the last few days have been private is an understatement. I craved someone to talk to. My batteries are all charged up. Bring on the hikers!

So, I railed at the designer again.  I know. I just told you how important it is to suffer trials and persecutions. Well, I hit a doozy… known locally as the “Agony Grind.” I estimated the rock climb pitch at 70% but my rock climbing daughter would laugh and say it was less. I do know this… climbing sticks were of no use. It was all hands and elbow grease to summit that very tall and very scary bouldering climb. I kept reminding myself “you have conquered worse.”  I was lying to myself and I knew it.

On the other side of the “Agony Grind” I found a Thoreau-perfect respite at the shore of Little Dam Lake. I was giddy. From a real fear of local bruins at last night’s stop to the exact opposite tonight… a calm lake with ready access to water. In truth, the bear problem was no less. But it felt good. How we feel about a situation has more to do with some of our fears than reality does,  I suspect.

I am not a fan of public nakedness. Nevertheless, after five days without a bath, I caved and took a cold but much-appreciated bath in the dark. I slept like a baby and woke up to fall colors and ducks and a clear morning. I was in my “Walden Pond” moment.

Lesson learned: When faced with an “Agony Grind” in your life, do your best to grin and bear it with your best energy. You can’t see it coming, but often there’s a Little Dam Lake (Walden Pond) over the next hill or two. Trust in the long term and don’t focus too much on the pain of the moment.

 

The post Fall Log #5 appeared first on Austin Boyd.

 

In my my last post I was very focused on getting out of New Jersey and showing better progress in terms of my daily mileage. That’s the post where I opined that “time is mileage.” That was the “through hiker” coming out in me, frustrated by my pitifully slow pace.

I also have a Henry David Thoreau side to me that deserves equal time. Perhaps better than “equal time” because the “get it done and get on with it” mentality can lead a guy focused only on mileage to completely miss the beauty and the message that God has imprinted on this beautiful creation of His. So… I will muse for a moment about how the Appalachian Trail is like life. This post has some pictures in it, so be sure to check the post on my web site (austinboyd.com) if your filter strips off the images.

Nobody wants smooth sailing more than I do. Last spring I calculated that I’ve run or hiked more than 35,000 miles on these knees. If they were radial tires I would be trading them in soon. Anything but smooth sailing is painful at this point. But not all of life’s paths are smooth. Just as the Appalachian Trail had a designer… many designers in fact… so our lives and our souls have a designer. We hope for and strive for lives where the paths are smooth, like the one in the attached picture. Soft undulating shaded leaf-strewn paths that wind through cool woods with blazing fall colors. God places paths like that in our lives. But He recognizes that a life full of such ease does not challenge or refine us for service in His kingdom.

We are also allowed to negotiate the rocky path, like the picture I have attached. I talk to myself often when hiking, especially on days like Wednesday when I spoke to only one human being, a Southbounder like my intrepid daughter Alice. When I spoke to myself on this trip I found myself criticizing the sadists who deliberately routed the trail up and down cliffs and boulders. Then I realized that, like the refiner purifying gold in the heat of the flame, life has boulders and cliffs to refine us. The path has a designer. God allows us to be tested, for our own good. True, we sometimes travel rocky paths because we live in a fallen world. Or we choose the wrong path, sometimes even littering the path with sharp boulders of our own making. Nevertheless, negotiating tough trails makes us stronger, and gives us the insights that we need to lead others through similar trials.

What about those others who help us? In New Jersey the trail volunteers have laid down over 600 “puncheon,” the two-board walk planks laid across swamp in the New Jersey “drowned lands.” Someone, a designer, went ahead of us laying down a path to help us through the toughest of times. We can object and in our headstrong way wade into the swamp of life and slog it out on our own. Or we can accept help from others and from God, but it may require walking a narrow path. The “narrow path” was not meant for us to be constraining or a punishment. Like the attached picture of the New Jersey “puncheon” we are directed to follow the narrow path for our own good. Otherwise life is a swamp.

What’s the takeaway from all of this? Celebrate the diversity of paths that life dishes out. Understand that life has a designer and that He wants the best for all of us, allowing us to be tested so that we are better shaped to help and lead others, and in better shape for the eternal life that He offers us as a free gift.

I start to berate the designer for the next knee-killing descent. Then I realize that I have walking sticks, I have plenty of time, and I am able to walk. I slow down, enjoy the rocky plunge and smile a little. The Appalachian Trail imitates life. If it were all a smooth walk, then what kind of shape would we be in?

I am learning to accept a slower pace where I learn more, and develop new strengths. Thank you, Lord.

The post Fall Log #4 appeared first on Austin Boyd.

“The hills are alive… with the sound of music.” Those words from the famous movie and Julie Andrews put the exclamation point on a wonderful walking day headed toward the William Brien shelter.

Leaving my “Walden Pond” campsite I followed the shores of Little Dam Lake for about a mile and then took a climb up Arden Mountain. At the bottom of the mountain the Palisades Parkway was an interesting challenge to cross at NYC rush hour. Only 34 miles outside the city, the parkway was loaded with cars screaming by. I didn’t have to run across but did have to wait for a while to find a break in the insane flow of cars.

From the Parkway I spent nearly ten miles of amazing walking through beautiful forests with grass floors, across gentle knobs covered with oaks and acres of blueberry bushes, and through quiet carpeted forests with the few firs that have not succumbed to the larvae problem that is killing off local evergreens. All day long I saw only three people, all headed south.

I met two of them at the Lemon Squeezer, an incredibly narrow passage between two hunks of bedrock. A petite lady was stuck and trying to remove her pack to squeeze through. Once she pried herself free I tried the passage and got through with my pack on. The key was to lean while you walked and not get claustrophobic. A wider pack or larger man would have gotten stuck.

I pulled into William Brien shelter earlier than I would normally stop, but I was out of water. New York has so many lakes, but remarkably few springs on the trail. The pollution in streams means you need to plan your water gathering with care. “Trail Angels” place water jugs at many road crossings to help hikers stay hydrated. Frankly I would rather filter a polluted stream in a state park than drink water from an unmarked jug I find by the side of the road.

At the shelter I learned from Cindy by text that her dad has some heart issues that need to be dealt with soon. She decided to leave her Maine trip a day early, and together we decided that I should meet her when she arrives in Huntsville on Saturday night. So… I made the decision to pull off the trail on Friday at Bear Mountain in the Palisades, just a few miles south of West Point on the Hudson River.

The trail to Bear Mountain was three up-downs, ending with a long descent down stone steps into the Hudson River Valley. Bear Mountain and the nearby Hessian Lake were set aside as a park in the 1920’s when competing interests for the relocation of Sing Sing prison and rock mining of the Palisade cliffs along the Hudson threatened the local natural masterpiece of this area. Now, it’s home to the Bear Mountain Inn, a chestnut log resort between the lake and the Hudson. A stunning setting!

I was sad to leave the trail early, but did not complain about the shower, the tub bath, the hot dinner, and the continental breakfast the next morning. Considering that I lost about 11 hours over the last 8 days dealing with various “emergencies” I figured I had really hiked for 7 days. From the Delaware River to the Hudson River in about a week and 110 miles. Next year I will walk from Bear Mountain Inn to Bear Mountain at the Connecticut-Massachussetts line. One day, God willing, I’ll reach Mount Katahdin in Maine. All in His time.

It says in the Book of Romans in the 10th chapter, 28th verse that “all things work to the good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” My trip ended with the most remarkable experience, one that could not have happened if I’d not been delayed at the start, delayed to repair the car tire on day 3, or had not decided to terminate at Bear Mountain Inn. God placed the most amazing people in my path, a remarkable “bow” on this beautifully wrapped gift of an Appalachian Trail hike.

As I descended Bear Mountain I passed one of many Jewish families I’d seen in New York and New Jersey. The mountain park had hundreds of visitors this day, many of them trying their legs on the long hike up or down Bear Mountain. A gentleman my age and a daughter in her mid twenties were speaking what sounded like Hebrew. As I passed they asked about the hike to the top of the mountain in the direction from which I’d come. That conversation led to the gentleman sharing in broken English that he’d always dreamed of walking the Trail since he’d immigrated to the US and to his new home in New Jersey. This trip, with his daughter Amy and her new husband, Rafael, a French Jew studying to be a rabbi, was his chance to set foot on the famous path. It was a lifetime dream that moved him deeply, and he was thrilled to meet someone who had chosen to hike the path.

We talked for a long time about how to hike and where, how to get started and when to start, as we walked down the long flight of stone steps and gravel path. I learned that his daughter and son-in-law lived in Jerusalem and that day there had been five terror attacks in their neighborhood. They were all very concerned about their return to their home in Israel, and dad feared for them. Amy and Rafael are pictured with me in the attached photo.

In the progress of things, our discussion turned to the Israeli-Palestinian problem. They poured out their hearts about a desire to have peace, and their frustration with the constant struggle that Israel faces where it’s planted in the middle of Islamic nations. I began to share with them my background in writing and speaking about Islamic issues, Constitution issues, and the danger that we face by ignoring the rise of Islamist extremism in the US. By the bottom of the descent, standing at the door to the Bear Mountain Inn, I realized how blessed I had been to hear the passion and heart of some of God’s people suffering directly from the events in Israel, and how they had been blessed to meet someone who understood all of the dynamics of their struggle. It was an instant bonding. Benjamin, the father, left our hour-long encounter encouraged to hike the trail, and encouraged that some Americans did in fact understand the struggles faced by the people of his faith. His son-in-law, who cannot wear his Kippah (skullcap) in France now for fear of retaliation by Islamic groups, smiled for the first time that day when I told him “Do not fear. You are welcome here.” And his daughter Amy, translating English, French, and Hebrew among the four of us, was beaming. Something in her smile and her demeanor said “someone cares.” When I met her, she was texting friends in Jerusalem about the attacks, speaking with her dad about the danger of returning home while her new husband walked ahead of us, deeply concerned. At the bottom of the mountain, their minds had… for a time…. been taken off the brutal reality of their situation and they were at ease. My mind was taken off the knee pain and the last mile of the descent. I’d made new friends and they truly felt welcome, not afraid. I was refreshed in a wonderful way, and I sensed that they were too.

God is the designer. He laid out these woods and I am sure He placed Benjamin, Amy and Rafael in my path. He cares for them and for me, and in some way we all needed each other this day.

What lies ahead on your path today? Is there an “Agony Grind” climb facing you, or is today a “Sound of Music” kind of day? Has God put Benjamin, Amy and Rafael in your midst, trusting that you will minister to each other this day? Has He placed a Mark and Deb Ripka on the path going your direction to encourage you? Are you camped in the dark gloom of a “bear’s den” struggling with real fears? Have you encountered Greg, lost in the woods, trusting that someone will show him the way? Whatever He has allowed in your path this day, trust in Him for the strength to persevere and endure. Thank Him for the blessings and for the strength that you will develop in the trials. We are all being shaped for His service.

And … very important… don’t focus too much on the trail’s end, whether it’s Mount Katahdin or just getting through this day. The one thing I’ve learned is that life is a journey, not a destination.

Enjoy the hike, wherever it takes you. Trust God every step of the way. He will not fail to walk with you, to guide you, sustain you, and to forgive you. You only need to ask.

“For I am with you,” Jesus said, “even unto the end of the age.”

The post Fall Log #6 appeared first on Austin Boyd.

Greetings from the mountains!

You have probably heard it said that “time is money.” Here on the Appalachian Trail, that saying is easily modified to “time is mileage.” My lack of trail logs these past three days is purely a function of the lack of time, and for that I apologize. I’ve been pushing hard to make some personal goals and hit a big one last night.

I am writing from New York State, having completed the New Jersey section last night at sundown. I wanted to reach Prospect Rock, overlooking lower New Jersey with a view of New York City in the distance. It was a beautiful clear evening and the sun reflected off the skyscrapers of the city in the distance, below an American flag waving from a handmade wooden flag pole on the top of the rock. After five days on the trail another state is done.

Time is mileage. God blessed me with shorter legs than other men my height. I discovered that early in my distance running career and I am reminded often each time I hike. I can eek out a 3 mile per hour pace, but with a pack on that’s more like jogging. 2 miles per hour is more my style, and when you factor in potty breaks, lunch, water stops, and visiting with the occasional hiker going south, my daily average is 1.6 miles per hour. Like clockwork. So… Start at 7 and walk until 7 ( sunup to sundown) and log 19.2. Lose any time and watch 0.4 miles evaporate for every 15 minutes lost. It’s a terribly clinical way to look at hiking but it’s my reality. Hence no trail log these past days. Once camp is made you fall in the sack and you’re out like a light.

No bears so far in this, the most populous bear country on the AT. I had a magical encounter with a doe and her fawn last night as I hiked in the dusk along the ridge of New York. She ambled along with me, not the least bit afraid. This ridge is 350 million year old rock, according to the trail guide, shaped in gentle billowing curves by glacial action. It’s like an undulating rock road running north.

I’ve seen more than two dozen southbound hikers, all of them starting at Mount Katahdin between June 30 and August 27. Most are headed to Harper’s Ferry, WV for what we call the second half of a “flip flop”, jumping north for the second half of the walk and ending at the middle. I struck up a special friendship with “Oscar” and “Queen Bee”, both northbound. In real life this is retired Army Command Sergeant Major Mark Rifka and his wife Deb. They have hiked almost the entire trail together. We shared many military stories walking together and we share a common faith in Christ. Married 40 years with three kids… two of them in the Army today … we have lived through common trials and joys. It reminded me that none of us is “a Lone Ranger.”

Thankfully I have left the crazy rocks of the northern New Jersey and Pennsylvania ridges. I am walking through a land of many lakes and streams, in a strange mix of wild nature amidst a populous state only 40 miles from NYC.

In about four or five days I will hit Connecticut, and add another state as a “notch” in my hiking belt. I’ve been blessed to see my beautiful wife during this trip as she headed to Maine and hope to reconnect with her as she drives home with her cousins. Hiking is bittersweet for me. I love the woods, but I like being with her even more.

So… “time is mileage” and I work to make the most of every day that God gives me on this beautiful trail.

Blessings to you all. I will write again soon.

The post Fall Log #3 appeared first on Austin Boyd.

Greetings from the mountains!

You have probably heard it said that “time is money.” Here on the Appalachian Trail, that saying is easily modified to “time is mileage.” My lack of trail logs these past three days is purely a function of the lack of time, and for that I apologize. I’ve been pushing hard to make some personal goals and hit a big one last night.

I am writing from New York State, having completed the New Jersey section last night at sundown. I wanted to reach Prospect Rock, overlooking lower New Jersey with a view of New York City in the distance. It was a beautiful clear evening and the sun reflected off the skyscrapers of the city in the distance, below an American flag waving from a handmade wooden flag pole on the top of the rock. After five days on the trail another state is done.

Time is mileage. God blessed me with shorter legs than other men my height. I discovered that early in my distance running career and I am reminded often each time I hike. I can eek out a 3 mile per hour pace, but with a pack on that’s more like jogging. 2 miles per hour is more my style, and when you factor in potty breaks, lunch, water stops, and visiting with the occasional hiker going south, my daily average is 1.6 miles per hour. Like clockwork. So… Start at 7 and walk until 7 ( sunup to sundown) and log 19.2. Lose any time and watch 0.4 miles evaporate for every 15 minutes lost. It’s a terribly clinical way to look at hiking but it’s my reality. Hence no trail log these past days. Once camp is made you fall in the sack and you’re out like a light.

No bears so far in this, the most populous bear country on the AT. I had a magical encounter with a doe and her fawn last night as I hiked in the dusk along the ridge of New York. She ambled along with me, not the least bit afraid. This ridge is 350 million year old rock, according to the trail guide, shaped in gentle billowing curves by glacial action. It’s like an undulating rock road running north.

I’ve seen more than two dozen southbound hikers, all of them starting at Mount Katahdin between June 30 and August 27. Most are headed to Harper’s Ferry, WV for what we call the second half of a “flip flop”, jumping north for the second half of the walk and ending at the middle. I struck up a special friendship with “Oscar” and “Queen Bee”, both northbound. In real life this is retired Army Command Sergeant Major Mark Rifka and his wife Deb. They have hiked almost the entire trail together. We shared many military stories walking together and we share a common faith in Christ. Married 40 years with three kids… two of them in the Army today … we have lived through common trials and joys. It reminded me that none of us is “a Lone Ranger.”

Thankfully I have left the crazy rocks of the northern New Jersey and Pennsylvania ridges. I am walking through a land of many lakes and streams, in a strange mix of wild nature amidst a populous state only 40 miles from NYC.

In about four or five days I will hit Connecticut, and add another state as a “notch” in my hiking belt. I’ve been blessed to see my beautiful wife during this trip as she headed to Maine and hope to reconnect with her as she drives home with her cousins. Hiking is bittersweet for me. I love the woods, but I like being with her even more.

So… “time is mileage” and I work to make the most of every day that God gives me on this beautiful trail.

Blessings to you all. I will write again soon.

The post Fall Log #3 appeared first on Austin Boyd.