One of the most powerful images of my wife's childhood came when she and a neighbor girl were playing in some woods behind their homes. The neighbor girl wandered from the path and stepped into a nest of ground bees. As the bees began to swarm and sting, the girls began to scream for help. Suddenly, out of nowhere—like superman, my wife says—her dad came crashing through the woods, leaping over fallen logs, hurdling vines and bushes. He swooped up a girl under each arm and tore through the woods at full speed to get away from the bees. As he ran, the father's grip bruised the children's arms, branches scratched their thighs, and thorns grabbed at their clothes and skin. The rescue hurt, but it was better than the bees.

The image is not so unlike our heavenly Father's work. He sees the danger and, at times even before we call out, comes crashing into our worlds. From some throne above the universe, he hurdles galaxies and the infinite expanse of time to enter our realities and take us from spiritual danger. His rescue may hurt us, but the goal is always our safety, and the motive is always his love.