Panic. I could hear it in her voice.

"She's only two years old! She's wearing a brown top and a leopard print skirt - her name is Avery! She's only two years old!"

We were at COSI, an immense hands-on science center in downtown Columbus. My family and I were waiting in line for our tickets. That's when I heard it -- the panic.

It's unmistakable. It floods your heart with images of strangers and "Have You Seen This Child?" posters. My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes searched the crowd of people.

"AVERY!"

Her voice rose in desperation above the din of the happy visitors. I saw that her eyes were wide and red with crying, her cheeks were flushed, a sense of hopelessness . . .

"AVERY!"

I turned to my wife, "I'll be right back." I ducked under the rope and stepped out of line. I saw that Avery's mother was heading to the right, so I also headed to the right, but off a little bit to the left, hoping to cover more ground. I searched the faces as fast as I could.

Did anyone look like an 'Avery'? Leopard print. I think she said, 'Leopard print.'

Was anyone carrying a crying little girl? Did anyone look out of place? My heart raced as I felt the desperation beginning to pound in my own heart.

Off to my right, I could hear Avery's mother. Her voice was still too high, too stressed; she hadn't found her yet.

"AVERY!" she cried, pleading with the open air, tears running down her face.

That's when I saw her. The long blond hair, the brown top, and the leopard print skirt. A nice lady was holding her by the hand and walking with her toward the information desk. Neither of them was crying. They looked like old friends.

"Is that Avery?" I asked hurriedly, running up to them. "Is that Avery?"

"Yes, I think it is."

I turned to the right. I could see Avery's mother; her head turning this way and that, eyes frantic. "She's over here!" I waved to her. "She's right here."

I must admit, I couldn't watch what took place next. The relief, the weeping, the joy - it was too personal and too intimate for me, a stranger, to watch. I had done my job. I'd helped bring Avery to her mother. I'd helped her get home. I played just a small part, but it felt awesome. The joy welled up inside of me, and a smile spread across my face.



This morning, on my way to work, I heard it again. The same panic. But this time it was a Father's voice. Desperate. The same intense love, seeking and searching for a lost child.

"PLEASE! You have to help me! I can't find them by myself!"

My heart began to pound again, just like before.

"PLEASE!" He cried, and I knew that it was with every ounce of strength in him. Tears rolled down his face. He was begging me.

My breath caught in my throat, and I began to look at their faces.