Sitting in a meeting, stressing because the non-violent approach isn’t working. Tired, hungry, missing your wife and young child; someone runs into the church! “Martin! Martin!” They scream, out of breath, fear in their eyes. “Someone shot at your house!” The first thought racing through your mind, “Is my family okay?” The second thought, “I want revenge but revenge goes against the movement. Revenge means that they won.” Going home to find your family hurting, afraid, crying because they’re safe but hating you were working instead of there to protect them. This was the life of Marin Luther King.
Coretta packed up and went to Atlanta, Birmingham wasn’t safe anymore in her eyes. She loved Martin, she loved the movement but she just needed time. Needed to breathe. Driving all night, worried State Troopers might recognize him and pull him over. Worried about sit-ins and beatings he drove. “I’m here for my family, I can’t do this by myself Coretta. I need you.” Holding her hand, embracing her, his heart racing, his heart calming. She sang to him when they were alone, her voice the calm before the storm that was the South.
You can the full story on www.stylemagazine.com