It was only one line--two words--but it was his turn to shine. Tears glistened in more than one eye as those who had come to love our special child watched.

Why do we call our slow learners, mentally impaired, learning disabled "special"? Is it because we don’t like the other labels? Or is it because God has given them to us to love in a special way?

We have found a warm and loving place for our special child in our church. When we first began to visit our present church home, I was very uncomfortable. We had recently adopted Donny. We still were learning how to cope with the developmental handicaps that kept six-year-old Donny functioning at a two- to four-year-old level of ability. How would these strangers

accept him? Would they leave him to fend for himself or help him to join inn? What would they think of us, his parents? Nervously, we returned for a second and third visit.

On the third Sunday, as I walked Donny to his Sunday School class, I noticed his teacher standing in the doorway. Donny let go of my hand and, in his awkward way, ran to Mrs. Whisenhunt. She bent down and wrapped her arms around him.

"Donny," she said enthusiastically, "I’m so glad to see you. I love you."

I turned away quickly, my eyes filled with tears. "Thank You, Lord," I prayed. I knew we had found a new church home. God had led us to a place where people would love us and our special child.

Donny is not the only special child in our children’s department, but he is the most handicapped developmentally. He challenges teachers and classmates as well as being challenged by them. His classmates are learning how to relate to someone like Donny. As second graders, they may not understand why he is the way he is, but through their growing relationship with him, they are learning acceptance and love. I can think of no better way to learn to love as Jesus would have us to do than by learning to love someone a little different form ourselves.

Donny’s teachers have had to spend a little more time to help him with things he cannot do and concepts that are difficult for him to understand. In return, he loves them with a deep dedication. When his teacher was recently hospitalized, Donny insisted we pray for her each evening at dinner. It was his idea, not one prompted by Mom and Dad.

Because our children’s director is so keenly aware of the importance of making Donny feel a part of the group, he has been able to do things many other special children would not have the opportunity to try.

"Don has a solo part in the Christmas cantata," Cheryl, his sister, announced on the way home from church one Sunday morning..

"I don’t think so," I said, smiling at her obvious over enthusiasm and trying not to make her feel foolish for misunderstanding.

"Yes, he does," she insisted. "Tell her, Don. Tell her your line."

"We’re done," Don said proudly.

Sure enough, Donny had one line, a special line added to the program just for him. It was a reward for his courage to come forward to try out for a solo. That courage had been fostered through caring children’s workers who had accepted and loved Donny--our special child.