I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. —Martin Luther King Jr.
That statement has stayed with me for as long as I can remember. I often listen to and read King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. His cadence, delivery and power move me to different kinds of tears each time I hear it. Naturally, several lines resonate deeply with me, but none hit home more than his dream for his “four little children” and the future of this nation.
King’s words prophetically and persuasively expressed a shared dream that shifted and stirred many hearts on that momentous day in 1963. When my father, the late Vernon R. Graham, heard those profound words, they planted a seed that would forever transform his life and that of my mother, Ellen. Five years later, my father joyfully embraced God’s calling into ministry. He decided to leave his graduate studies behind and ventured on a new path that took him and my mother, along with my oldest sister, Dawn, to Wartburg Theological Seminary.
My parents embraced King’s dream. They wanted to participate, to be the change they hoped to see, to help tear down the walls of hatred, and to show that God’s love knows no bounds when it is fully embraced. They were courageous and trusted in God against all odds!
A dream for his “four little children” and the future of this nation.
Amid the hectic nature of seminary life, heartbreaking news arrived: my mother’s arms could no longer embrace another child from her womb. Even in this moment of sorrow, hope flickered as they decided to adopt a son. As life often weaves its beautifully messy tapestry, my parents were given the opportunity to welcome a Black or biracial child. Three months later, I was cradled in their embrace at just 3 weeks old.
Two more children followed, bringing our number to four. My mother had one more child, Kristina (sadly, she died of breast cancer in 2016, but she lived a remarkably faith-filled life, and we miss her). Then my parents adopted my youngest sister, Melissa, who is also biracial.
I understand that there are many different perspectives on interracial adoption, and I have my own challenges with the complexities of this issue. My intention isn’t to judge, criticize or engage in that discussion. Regardless of opinions, this is our story, my story. It’s simply how things unfolded. It can’t be changed! To be clear, I wouldn’t want it to change because I have been loved!
Understand me, it wasn’t a bed of roses! There was no roadmap and nearly everyone was a critic—seriously, everyone! What were my parents to do? They loved me the very best that they could!
As for me, the everyday experiences of racism and the weight of internalized oppression fueled a raging storm within me, and I searched for a way to express and understand all those feelings bottled up inside. I often felt out of place in the white community and disconnected from the Black community. It was as if I didn’t quite belong anywhere in this world. God had made a mistake.
For a while, it seemed like alcohol and drugs were the solution, but that quickly spiraled out of control. Alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, jails and halfway houses became my reality during my teens and 20s. While recovery has equipped me with the tools to navigate life one day at a time and I’ve enjoyed continuous sobriety for 24 years, I still find it challenging to feel like I belong at times. But I am at peace with who I am and who God has called me to be! No mistake about it!
A dream for his “four little children” and the future of this nation.
So, have we achieved the dream King envisioned for our nation 62 years ago? No, not even close! I know that will offend some people, even those close to me. People point to progress—a Black president, a Black bishop and so on—and believe that racism has been eliminated. To the contrary, the deep roots of racism still flourish at every level, and the disparities in economics, wealth and homeownership are now greater than they were in 1968! Quite simply, at least from my perspective, blame is placed on those who don’t possess the power or wealth to turn the tables.
Does King’s dream still have a chance? It’s happening slowly but surely. I know it isn’t fast enough. If you dig a hole for 400 years, you can’t fill it overnight or in 60 years. It will take at least 400 years to fill and level the hole. And even when you fill it, it will take longer due to the time required for the cracks and crevices to fill up with dirt. In fact, you may even need to bring in more dirt to fill it so that it becomes truly level.
I believe the dream is still alive, although it won’t be achieved in my lifetime. But it will require God to transform hearts and inspire genuine reconciliation by the power of the Spirit. With God, all things are possible.
