All of Us?

How in the world does Heavenly Father manage to love EVERY single one of his children?
How does he love screwed-up me and my husband the same as he loves the prophet the same as he loves the drug-dealer on the street or Hitler or any other evil, horrible human being who also happens to be a child of God?
How?!?!
The truth is, I don't think our finite minds can begin to comprehend how He manages to have perfect, never ending love for all of His children.
Being a parent has helped me start to understand--in the smallest miniscule way--how perfect and all-encompassing a parent's love for a child can be, as well as how love can be powerful but different for each individual--I don't love my hyperactive, energetic, eager 5-year-old son the exact same way as I love my obedient, easygoing, happy, stubborn 2-year-old daughter, but I love them both beyond comprehension.  That parental bond is a very real and powerful emotion.
Which is a good thing, because otherwise, I think we'd hear of a lot more parents devouring their young.
But the other day, my kind and wise Heavenly Father gave me just a glimpse into how His love works.
I had run a quick trip into Super-Walmart with my slightly self-absorbed seventeen-year-old sister and my three tantrum-throwing toddlers, and as part of the deal, I had stooped to bribery and bought a baker's dozen worth of donuts to feed the children.  We had finally loaded all of the kids in the car, and I was looking forward desperately to a well-earned naptime once we traveled the 30 minutes home, when I happened to glance over towards the bus stop that is on the way out of the parking lot, and noticed a youngish woman sitting on the curb with her face in her hands.
Instantly, the thought came to me: "She needs someone to check on her.  Go do it."
It didn't come again, but because I'm learning to follow thoughts that I know aren't mine, I flipped an extremely dangerous U-turn in the middle of the parking lot while trying to explain to my sister what I was doing (she looked at me as if I was crazy), and put the car in park right next to the woman sitting on the curb. I grabbed a donut with a napkin and climbed out of the car and walked over to her nervously, then tapped her on her tattooed arm.  She looked up, startled, tears still streaming down her face.
"Hey, um--you looked like you were having a hard time, and I thought...would you like a donut?"  I stammered awkwardly, holding the donut out to her.  "I know it won't fix anything, but maybe it'll make you feel a little better?"
She looked at me a little strangely (I don't blame her), then took the donut hesitantly.  "Thanks, I guess."  She began wiping her eyes, embarrassed.
"Is everything okay?  Do you want to talk about it?"  I asked gently, as I sat down on the curb beside her.
Her face crumpled and she began to cry again.  "I can't get my meds!"
I'll admit, my first thought was Oh, crap--I just stopped to help a druggie! 
But I didn't say anything, and she continued to tell me how her insurance company had elected to stop covering her seizure medications--the ones that cost $500 per month--and she didn't know how she could hold down a job or take care of her children without those medications--and how hopeless and scared she felt.
I didn't say anything beyond a murmured "That sounds so hard," or "I'm sorry it's so hard for you right now," because I had absolutely no advice, no solutions--nothing beyond a listening ear to offer. She vented for about five minutes (I had to keep myself from continually glancing over at my car where my hyperactive children were literally licking the windows), and as she began to calm down and get quieter, I had another distinct thought: "She needs to know that her Heavenly Father loves her.  Tell her that."
As she paused for a moment, I patted her knee awkwardly.  "I'm so sorry that things are hard.  And I know it may not feel like it right now, but I want you to know that God loves you, and I know that everything will turn out all right.  He sent me here to tell you that."
She gave me another strange look--I couldn't tell what she might have been thinking--but I knew that my job was done at that moment.  I asked her if I could give her a hug, and she let me, and then I got back in my car and drove away.
I don't know what she got out of that, and I probably will never know in this life what it may have meant to her, but I do know that I once again was reminded that my Heavenly Father knows us each on a more individual and personal basis than we can possibly comprehend.
And He loves us and sends us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it.
And that's something to think about, now, isn't it?