Her hand tightened the grip and playfully shook the hand of her son, who held onto her with one hand while the other flapped briefly a little mid-air. He rocked back and forth from one leg to the other while looking anywhere but right at us. Tears welled up in her eyes as a flood of relief washed over her flushed face. “I’ve been looking for a place,” she said. “For people who get it. For people who will really understand us.” I told her I knew. There was a whole family of us in this place that knew. Two of the pastors personally knew. Several other families knew.
We all know.
She wasn’t the only one that Sunday morning to cross the threshold of our church with a child with special needs in tow. Another couple was there, having met through the local therapy center which may as well be our church sponsor since we have so many ties there. He spoke with passion and an excited conviction about special needs ministry. How much this town needs this. How incredible it is to find a church community with such a community of special needs families. How they need a home.
Home.
