When the Dream Was Shot: A Black Woman’s Lament and Call

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day Reflection for Jonahville AME Zion

By Minister Dearest Price

On April 4, 1968, Black women did not just lose a leader.

We lost a son.

We lost a brother.

We lost a reflection of what our boys could become.

And in many ways, we lost the permission to believe that gentleness in a Black man could survive this world.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was not perfect.

We must say that out loud in order to honor him truthfully.

He struggled.

He wrestled.

He was human.

But he was also brave enough to carry a dream larger than his own flaws.

And when he was assassinated, something fractured inside the Black home.

We did not lose all Black men.

But we lost the illusion that brilliance would protect them.

We lost the belief that righteousness would shield them.

We lost the comfort of thinking obedience to God guaranteed survival.

From that moment, Black women learned to raise sons with both faith and fear.

We taught them to pray and to look over their shoulder.

We taught them to love and to brace for hatred.

We taught them to dream and to prepare for disappointment.

We loved them harder because the world loved them less.

We have turned Dr. King into a holiday, a quote, a mural, a street name.

But he was once a little boy.

He had a mother who worried.

He had a wife who prayed.

He had children who waited for him to come home.

And when he didn’t…

Every Black woman felt it.

Because we knew:

If they could take him, they could take any of our sons.

Yet, Dr. King’s assassination did not kill the dream.

It tested whether we would still carry it.

It tested whether we would still teach our sons to be gentle in a violent world.

It tested whether we would still believe in love when hate had the loudest microphone.

It tested whether Black women would still raise prophets instead of prisoners.

We must teach our sons that:

You are not disposable.

You are not a mistake.

You are not a threat by design.

You are not your worst moment.

You are God’s breath walking in history.

We must teach them that Dr. King’s life mattered not because he died, but because he dared to live boldly in truth.

I grieve Dr. King.

I grieve what he carried alone.

I grieve the burden placed on his brilliance.

I grieve the way we sanitize his courage while ignoring the cost.

But I also thank God for him.

Because he taught us that faith can speak in public.

That love can be political.

That dreams can be dangerous.

That Black men can lead without becoming monsters.

Today, we do not worship Dr. King.

We honor him.

We do not imitate his perfection.

We inherit his courage.

And as Black women, as mothers, as daughters, as ministers, as community builders, we declare:

We will still raise dreamers.

We will still teach our sons to love.

We will still believe in God’s justice.

We will still walk in hope.

We will still dare.

Because the dream did not die in Memphis.

It moved into us.

Closing Prayer

Lord, teach us to raise sons who know they are seen.

Teach us to love our daughters into safety and strength.

Teach us to remember Dr. King not as a moment in history, but as a mirror of what is possible.

And let us dare to dream again.

Amen.