The Open Door at Station 12

On the night of September 14, 2003, Hurricane Isabel tore through the Virginia coastline. Eight-year-old Maya Hendricks huddled with her mother in their darkened living room as the wind peeled shingles off the roof like playing cards. When a transformer exploded two houses down, her mother grabbed the car keys. "We're going to Daddy."

They drove through flooded streets to Fire Station 12 in Norfolk. Maya pushed through the heavy front door, past the engine bay where firefighters were suiting up, past the dispatch desk, past the kitchen where exhausted crews drank coffee between calls. No one stopped her. No one asked for ID or told her to wait. Every person in that building knew exactly whose daughter she was.

She ran straight into Chief Robert Hendricks' office, soaking wet and shaking. He scooped her up without a word, wrapped his turnout coat around her shoulders, and held her until the trembling stopped. In the middle of the worst storm that station had ever faced, the chief made time for his child.

This is what the writer of Hebrews means when he says, "Let us then approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." The Almighty who commands the armies of heaven is not too busy for you. You are not interrupting. You are not imposing. You are His child — and the door is always open.