My sister just returned from China. She, her husband, and their three young girls headed first to Hong Kong and then to the southern Mainland to meet Mia Grace, their now adopted daughter. A few weeks ago, before they left, I was at their home catching up and doing something or other, pottering about as usual. On my way out the door, I turned and said, “bring our girl home.” It was a bit nonchalant, but only a few seconds had passed before the impact of those words grabbed me by the throat. My sister and her family were going on a rescue mission, one that would change this little girl’s life forever. It reminded me of another family going to save another child...

You know the story. We all do. It’s the one where the Triune God (God as family) saw our desperate situation, our miserable condition, and sent the Son down to save us. He lived for us. He died for us. He rose for us. He ever lives to make intercession for us. And one day, He will return to take us to Himself forever. We know the story. I know it well. Somehow, though, the words “bring our girl home” helped me see what might well have been the heavenly scene, or something like it, moments before the Son of God stepped off His throne, through heaven’s threshold, and into our wretched, sin-wracked world. On His way out the door, imagine the Son turning to the Father, the Father taking His Son into His arms for one last hug before the plunge, pulling Him out to arms’ length, placing His hands on the Son’s shoulders, looking Him in the eye and saying, “Bring her home. Bring him home. Bring my children home, Son.” And the Son did. Jesus did. He became one of us and did the work to bring us home. The Son of God became the Son of Man, and He did it. He gave himself up for us and brought us home to God, the Father of Lights.  

It’s been said that salvation is simply coming home to the Father. Jesus taught the same (Luke 15:11-32). And He laid His life down so that we can.