Meet Lindsey. She’s a loyal friend, thoughtful mother, supportive wife, fabulous travel buddy, loves the outdoors, and she’s not afraid of hard work. She’s an excellent listener, sees and loves people for who they truly are, and is someone who will go to bat for what she believes is right. She also has a brain tumor. My eyes are brimming with tears as I write this. Lindsey is one of my dearest friends. Three and a half years ago I woke up to an email from Lindsey letting me know she was in the hospital with a brain tumor and would be going into surgery later that day. She apologized for “dumping” bad news on me and simply asked that I say a prayer for her and her family. (She later confessed she hesitated emailing at all because she didn’t want to burden me; that’s the kind of person she is.) I immediately drove to the hospital to spend that day with her. It’s still a day I treasure. We talked, laughed, reminisced and cried, and she shared her fears and hopes. In those moments, Lindsey was a giant to me. She was strong beyond belief. Lindsey is strong in quiet, subtle ways, and in big, awe-inspiring ways too. Her surgery was pushed back one day, so her husband was able to bring her kids to the hospital to see her that day I was with her. She was so worried she would fall apart when her kids came to visit her, and somehow she managed to hold it together. She hugged them, loved them, told jokes and even talked about the surgery. She was so brave for them, even when the future was so uncertain. I still cry when I think of that scene of Lindsey in a hospital bed, surrounded by her five kids (one was 3 months old), comforting and loving them. She didn’t cry. She was so unbelievably strong for them, because that’s what they needed. Lindsey ended up needing three brain surgeries. What we thought (and hoped) was a pituitary tumor turned out to be a ganglioglioma. The doctors were able to remove most of it, but some remains. Lindsey is a miracle to me. An example. A hero.