This 10-Year-Old Boy Was Released by His Kidnapper After Singing a Gospel Song Continuously for Three Hours

What do you do when fear grips your throat and the world as you know it vanishes in an instant? For most adults, the answer might be unclear. Now imagine you’re only nine years old.

One spring afternoon in Atlanta, a boy stepped outside to play and was confronted not by a playground mishap or a scraped knee—but by a man who would snatch him off the street and throw him into a car. No one heard him scream. No one saw where he went. And yet, just three hours later, that boy was walking free.

He didn’t escape by force. He didn’t talk his way out. He sang.

Over and over, Willie Myrick lifted his voice with the words of a gospel song—loud, insistent, and fearless—until his captor had heard enough. What followed is a story of spiritual grit, the quiet power of faith, and how one child’s voice turned fear into defiance.

A Terrifying Abduction Met with Unshakable Faith

The events of that day might suggest panic, chaos, or silence—but Willie Myrick’s first instinct was praise. Raised not by his biological parents but by his godmother, Codetta Bateman, Willie grew up in a home where faith was more than ritual; it was a way of life. Though his parents were atheists, his godmother made church attendance and scripture study part of their daily rhythm.

“Faith is important to this house and believing in God is important,” Bateman said in an interview. “I said, ‘In this house, we go to church.’ He knows God. He knows Jesus.”

Willie wasn’t a casual churchgoer. By age nine, he was already memorizing scripture and books of the Bible, reciting passages like Psalm 23 by heart. While other kids played video games, he spent time immersed in the stories and messages of the Bible. He had a favorite song, too—Every Praise, a gospel anthem by Hezekiah Walker—and he knew every word.

So when a man in a silver or grey Honda Accord snatched him off the street, covered his mouth, and drove off, Willie’s fear was instant—but so was his response. Locked in the back of the car, with nowhere to run and no one to call, he began to sing.

“I was thinking that he was going to hurt me bad, real bad,” Willie later said. Yet instead of crying or pleading, he clung to the one thing that felt stronger than fear: his voice and his God.

What unfolded was an act of both spiritual conviction and psychological defiance. As the kidnapper cursed and ordered him to be quiet, Willie kept singing. For three hours, through threats and intimidation, he didn’t stop.

By the end, the man gave up. He pulled over in East Point, opened the car door, and threw Willie out—physically unharmed, emotionally unbowed.

Willie’s decision to lean into his faith during a life-threatening crisis wasn’t rehearsed. It was reflex. And for him, the message was clear: “If you praise the Lord, He will help you in mysterious ways.”

The Power of a Child’s Faith

Faith, for Willie Myrick, was not a concept reserved for Sunday mornings or moments of convenience—it was part of his identity. Long before that harrowing day, Willie had developed a spiritual life that belied his age. Raised by his godmother, Codetta Bateman, after being born to atheist parents, Willie was introduced early to the rhythms of prayer, scripture, and worship.

“We study the Bible together,” Bateman said. “He knows God. He knows Jesus.” Her commitment to faith shaped the household, and by extension, shaped Willie.

At just nine years old, Willie wasn’t simply attending church—he was participating. He listened to sermons, remembered scripture, and eagerly memorized the books of the Bible. Asked by reporters about his favorite verse, he cited Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” When asked who his best friend was, he didn’t name a classmate or cousin. “I always think that God is with me everywhere I go,” he said. “Like, when I’m in bed, He has a chair. He just watches. And when I’m in the car, He’s just on the other side.”

It’s a faith that speaks not only to theology but to trust—pure, unwavering trust that he is never alone. And it was this same trust that manifested itself when he was abducted. In the face of real, tangible fear, Willie didn’t break. He turned to what was most familiar to him: praise.

Psychologists often speak of “protective factors” in child development—elements like a stable home, loving relationships, or strong belief systems that can help a child withstand trauma. Willie’s faith, reinforced daily by his godmother and community, acted as a shield. In a moment where many might freeze or panic, his spiritual training kicked in, grounding him not in fear, but in belief.

A Song that Transcended Fear

In the backseat of a locked car, Willie Myrick chose not to plead or cry—he sang. The song was Every Praise, a gospel anthem written and performed by Grammy Award-winning artist Hezekiah Walker. It’s a song of unity, declaration, and unwavering belief: “Every praise is to our God / Every word of worship with one accord.” For Willie, it was more than melody—it was spiritual muscle memory.

He knew every word by heart. It was his favorite song. And as the kidnapper’s patience frayed, Willie’s voice never faltered. For three hours, he repeated the song, his small voice filling the car with lyrics that turned terror into testimony. In a strange way, Every Praise became both protest and prayer—disrupting the control the abductor tried to exert, and re-centering Willie in something far more powerful than fear.

News of Willie’s resilience traveled quickly, and eventually reached Hezekiah Walker himself. Moved to tears, Walker described the moment he first heard about the boy’s courage. “It’s just emotional to me,” he said. “You never know who you’re going to touch.” Determined to meet the child who found refuge in his music, Walker flew from New York to Atlanta to attend a church celebration held in Willie’s honor.

Inside Mt. Carmel Baptist Church, Walker entered to a standing ovation, embraced Willie in a heartfelt hug, and together they led the congregation in singing the very song that had become a lifeline. It was a full-circle moment—artist and listener, united by a melody that had once echoed inside a kidnapper’s car and now rang triumphantly through a sanctuary.

“I really believe that God spoke through me to save that young man’s life,” Walker later reflected.

Community Response and Broader Conversations

What began as a terrifying act of violence quickly evolved into a powerful story of hope, sparking a wave of public response that rippled far beyond Atlanta. Within days of Willie Myrick’s release, the local community gathered at Mt. Carmel Baptist Church—not only to celebrate his safe return, but to recognize his bravery and the deeper significance of his actions.

The sanctuary was packed. Church leaders, neighbors, and families turned out in force, many bringing their children to witness the story firsthand. It wasn’t just about faith—it was about preparedness, courage, and the quiet strength children can possess when equipped with emotional and spiritual tools. Law enforcement officials used the gathering to remind families of practical safety measures and encourage vigilance. At the same time, faith leaders emphasized the importance of instilling spiritual resilience in children—not just for church, but for life.

The presence of Hezekiah Walker brought a symbolic weight to the moment. His hug with Willie—shared in front of an emotional congregation—became a snapshot of unity, a bridge between artistry and real-world impact. And while the man who abducted Willie remained at large, the gathering offered something the community sorely needed: reassurance that goodness and grace could still overcome fear.

But the response didn’t end in Atlanta. Willie’s story gained national attention, sparking interviews on major platforms, including a feature on The Arsenio Hall Show. Radio stations picked up the story, and headlines around the world framed it as a triumph of faith over fear. For many families, it became a catalyst for conversation—about personal safety, the value of spiritual guidance, and how to empower children in moments of danger.

Willie, for his part, remained humble through the attention. Though he enjoyed the spotlight, he consistently redirected the focus to something bigger than himself. “It really doesn’t matter to me,” he said in one interview. “As long as I still have Jesus and He’s still working and doing His magic… well, it’s not magic. It’s just power.”

Lessons in Courage, Faith, and the Unexpected Tools of Survival

Willie Myrick’s story is one that lingers—not because of its danger, but because of its response. In the face of terror, he didn’t react with panic or aggression. He relied on something deeply internal, something many might overlook in discussions about child safety: spiritual conviction and the steady rhythm of a song.

From a psychological perspective, Willie’s actions demonstrate a remarkable level of emotional regulation for a child his age. Trauma experts often cite the role of “coping anchors” during high-stress situations—mental or emotional tools that help individuals maintain composure when circumstances spiral out of control. In Willie’s case, that anchor was praise. Singing gave him focus. Faith gave him strength.

It’s a powerful reminder that the tools we give children don’t always look like what we expect. While physical safety protocols and self-defense training are critical, emotional literacy, spiritual grounding, and the ability to self-soothe under pressure are equally vital. Willie didn’t overpower his kidnapper—but he outlasted him.

There’s also a broader lesson for adults: resilience doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it sings softly, insistently, against the noise of fear. In a world that often undervalues spiritual development in favor of measurable metrics, Willie’s story calls us to re-examine what we pour into the hearts of our children. What are we teaching them to fall back on when life doesn’t make sense? What habits or beliefs will surface when they are tested?

For communities of faith, the message is profound: worship isn’t confined to pews or pulpits. For families and educators, it’s a case study in how intangible traits—like hope, trust, and discipline—can make a tangible difference. And for all of us, it’s a reminder that even when we feel powerless, we are never without options.

Willie’s survival wasn’t accidental. It was spiritual, emotional, and deeply human. And perhaps that is the most striking takeaway: the smallest acts—memorizing a Bible verse, singing a song—can one day become the very things that carry us through the darkest moments.