I have an old story to tell you. I heard this from my pastor during the early years of my conversion to Christianity. I learned later that this story dates back to the 19th century. It gives us a picture of a God who really longs to save us. Some of you might know the story. But I’m going tell it anyway.
During a long, dry summer in the north-west, of America, a prairie fire suddenly sprang up in a district where there were many settlers. It raged along the country burning in its course several farmyards and wooden houses in some cases the farmer and his family being unable to escape. After the fire had passed over, a relief party rode out from a neighboring town, to see if any one might have escaped the flames and would be requiring relief. Riding past a charred cottage one of the men saw what appeared to be a black hen sitting on the ground. On going up to it, he found that it evidently had been a hen, but was quite dead, the head and back being burned almost to a cinder, but the bird sat in such a striking way, with her wings partly spread out, that he gave her a kick with his foot, when three little chickens ran out—alive.
Bravely the poor mother hen had covered them, in face of the roaring fire; and bravely she had sat still in the midst of the scorching flames choosing rather to be burned to death than that one of her chicks should perish. She saved her chicks from the fire. (http://www.caterhamchristiancentre.org. uk/messages/20030504.htm)