An article in National Geographic several years ago provided a penetrating
picture of God's wings.
After a forest fire in Yellowstone National Park, forest rangers began their
trek up a mountain to assess the inferno's damage. One ranger found
a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground
at the base of a tree. Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked
over the bird with a stick. When he struck it, three tiny chicks scurried
from under their dead mother's wings.
The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring
to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively
knowing that the toxic smoke would rise. She could have flown to safety
but had refused to abandon her babies. When the blaze had arrived and
the heat had singed her small body, the mother had remained steadfast.
Because she had been willing to die, those under the cover of her wings would
live.
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