Saturday night we were on our way home from a day of parties. Jon had gotten back into his truck, which we left parked at the birthday party location. I was driving the kids home in the van. As I came to a stop, I heard an awful grinding sound. I turned off the radio, listened again -- it was still there. I'm sure Jon thought I was nuts, riding my brakes the way I was.

As we pulled into the driveway, I got down on my hands and knees, sniffed around (literally, because there was a funny smell), and tried to diagnose the problem. This is funny, considering I know nothing about cars... except that they're not supposed to sound the way mine did.

Sunday morning, we piled into the van to leave for church. I told Jon not to turn on the radio, so that he could hear the noise, too. We got to the top of the hill and there was the noise. He looked at me, said, "We're not taking this thing anywhere!" and turned back down the hill to take his truck instead.

This morning, I was a chicken when it came to driving. I sent the kids with Jon, because I didn't trust my vehicle. I called the service center, who came and picked it up for diagnostics.

They just called:
- Front right brake is metal on metal
- Front rotors need replacing
- 3-5 days to get parts in

They told me they could bring it back to my office, but only if I promised not to drive it and only to get my belongings out of it! Yikes! I told them I didn't need my belongings that badly and Jon will pick me up from work.

Like I said... Sometimes it's the Little Things... and Praise God that He's in them! That "little thing" could have become a "big thing" if He wasn't.