A family went on their annual Christmas trek to Chicago. Each year they brought family to spend time with Grandpa and Grandma and visit the museums. This particular year they decided to finish Christmas shopping at suburban Woodfield Mall. In the midst of all the fun and excitement, they noticed that little three-and-a-half- year-old Matthew was gone. Terror immediately struck their hearts. Aware of the horror stories....little children kidnapped in malls, rushed to a rest room, donned in different clothes and altered hairstyle, and then swiftly smuggled out, never to be seen again...they split up, each taking an assigned location. The father of the little boy was assigned the parking lot. Kicking through the newly fallen snow, he called out his little boy's name at the top of my lungs.

Unsuccessful, the father trudged back to the meeting point. His wife had not found him, nor had the grandmother. And then the grandfather appeared, holding little Matthew by the hand. Their hearts leapt for joy. Interestingly enough, Matthew was untraumatized. He hadn't been crying. To him, there had been no problem. When asked where they had found him, the grandfather replied, "The candy counter. You should have seen him. His eyes came just about as high as the candy. He held his little hands behind his back and moved his head back and forth, surveying all the luscious options." Matthew didn't look lost. He didn't know he was lost. He was oblivious to the phenomenal danger he was in. This is a candy-counter culture, where people who don't look lost and don't know they're lost live for consumption.