EVER BEEN ATTACKED BY BEES?

This September I'm working through Jon Acuff's SeptemberJanuary challenge. The idea is to use the momentum of back to school just like a New Year's resolution. I've got six (maybe seven or eight) speaking events between now and Christmas so I'm working on these speeches as my goal every day this month. 

This story and application to life came to me this week while I was thinking about the idea of God as our father.   Let me know what you think.  Do you have other insights about Father God? 

When I was about ten years old we went camping. Not fancy camping. Out in the boonies, no bathrooms or electricity camping. My dad would take us fishing weaving our way around high mountain streams.  The trout we caught would shimmer in the sunshine. We’d cook the trout over the fire and finish the night with marshmallows.

One time my sister and a friend and I were out playing in the woods just to the side of our campsite.  I’m not the most observant person so I didn’t see the large yellow jacket hive until I stepped right on top of it.
 
The yellow jackets were not impressed.

 Imagine if you had your house crushed.  You’d probably fight back. The bees certainly did. 

I started to yell as the stinging spread. My friend grabbed my little sister and ran for cover. I started to try and head back to the campsite while flailing my arms about and yelling and screaming. As I crashed through the brush I had bees in my shirt, down my pants, stinging - stinging - stinting - crying.

And then my father showed up. He’d heard me screaming and came running. He grabbed me, picked me up and ran toward camp. He held his arms with me in them over the campfire. I was freaked out by the bees and now the fire but I trusted my dad.

Turns out my dad knew bees don’t like smoke and it worked like a charm.

Off the bees went and left me alone.  My mom brought out the meat tenderizer and we made a paste for each of the stings.  I was covered head to toe.  My dad was stung as well.  He didn't complain.

You see this is what a father does: 
    Hears his child’s cry.
    Runs toward the pain even at risk of himself.
    Knows sometimes being held over a fire is the way to the cure. 

I see this same story played out in the Bible.  Do you?