Back when I was 26 years old, I had a brain tumor. I had it removed. They told me it would never come back. Four years later, it came back.

That was the biggest challenge I've ever done myself. It was my first marathon. I was almost relieved to see them because I knew I was only 600 yards from the finish line, at that point.

If there's a challenge, I face it head on.

Over time, there would be less and less of him and more of the tumor. His brain was being eaten by God.

He left the clinic in fine spirits. He had no intention of removing the tumor. It was the perfect solution to his dilemma: how to feed his body's desire for intimacy. He was delusional, of course. There was no higher presence filling him with love, connecting him to all things. It only felt that way. But that was fine. That was ideal. He would not have trusted a God outside his head.

My own mother died when I was 10 years old. My folks have told me that what little humor I have comes from her. I can't remember her humor, but I can remember her love and understanding of me. Of course, the mother I know the most about is the mother of our little group. She has been for 22 years trying to raise to maturity four children, three by birth and one by marriage. While she hasn't done a good job, the poor soul has done all that mortal human could do with the material she had to work with.

We recently did two benefits for a person with a brain tumor and at the first one, he was there. We love doing the benefits.