The only time I had ever been to Canada was as a toddler visiting Niagara Falls. This time we started off by climbing two suspension bridges-- one over a botanical garden and another over a river with a waterfall. My siblings thought it was hilarious to run over them as fast as possible. My mom, on the other hand? She rubbed her hands raw by clinging for her life to the rails.
Sunday morning when we were driving to church, Dad blew through a red light. I chastised him, but a few minutes later as he slowed while turning left into the parking lot, suddenly the car wouldn't stop. It took a moment and he was forced to reverse in the turning lane in order to make it. As it turned out, brake fluid was gushing from the vehicle, and had he not run the light, he would've rolled into the intersection! To make matters worse, the church was locked and completely empty. Apparently today was stake conference. Luckily a member of the bishopric happened to stop by and, after taking us to conference, rounded up a bunch of people to chauffeur us, feed us lunch, and fix our car. Basically if you combine Mormonism with Canadianism you get the kindest people in the world. Although it was Sunday, these mechanics were clambering over each other to make repairs {our caliper had shattered!} and refused to take payment for the labor. They also couldn't believe how the Lord had protected us-- the days before we had been driving on thin, windy, cliff-drop roads and we'd be doing the same tomorrow. If the brakes had gone out any of those times.... I'll just leave the rest of that sentence to your imagination.
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