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Golden sunlight danced in the treetops, and children's laughter filled the park. The smell of popcorn played on the breeze, and life seemed good. It was one of the happiest Saturday mornings I had spent with my little daughter, Gigi. That is, until two strangers threw her into their car and sped away. It seemed like a bad dream. I could barely whisper when the police questioned me. For hours we waited, but there was no word on the whereabouts of the car. Tears would start to come. Then nothing. I was numb with fear. "Go home, Ma'am," the sergeant said. "I'll have an officer drive you. We'll also want to monitor your telephone. The kidnappers might call, and we'll want to get a trace. Trust me, these guys can't get far." After what had just happened, it was hard for me to trust anything. My friend Gloria came over that afternoon. "I heard about Gigi on the radio," she said. "Everyone is looking for the car. The interstates are all blocked." She took my hand. "Look here," Gloria said. "I want you have this picture, and I want you to pray with me." It was a picture of a little girl sound asleep in her bed. Standing by the bed was a tall, blond angel. His hand was touching the girl's shoulder as he smiled down at her. My nerves were frazzled. "You know I don't believe in that kind of thing!" I snapped. "I'm too exhausted for any hocus-pocus right now, Gloria! I want my daughter home!" I started to shake, and then I began sobbing. | 
