Leave it to a little black bear to give me some perspective.

Our car died this weekend.  

(Picture me and the kids stranded on Broadway extension in 105 degree heat.  Also picture both kids crying and Bode yelling, "I don't want to get dead," over and over again while huge semi-trucks whizzed by us missing our car by millimeters.  Fun times, I tell ya.)

Satan loves to throw Andy and me a huge curve-ball on Missions Sunday weekend.  

It happens every single year.

And yesterday the verdict came back on the car.  I'll spare you the details but let's just say I kind of wanted to curl up in the fetal position, rock back and forth, and cry for my mother.

But then this little black bear came into the kitchen and growled in my face.  And I couldn't help but smile.

And then I laughed at the sight of my daughter in this ridiculous get-up, so happy and carefree.  

And I quit worrying about that silly car.