A Lost King Bible or a Forgotten King Dream?

My father was not Dr. King, but he was my king. He died when I was only seven years old. The fathomless hole that my father's death opened is still at times painful, almost twenty years later. It was an ugly place for me; but even in death there seems to be a small but pretty horizon of hope. Death is indeed ugly but what he left behind was quite pretty. He left me a library of his hand written sermons, personal Bibles, and a cache of vinyl records. These are markers of the legacy that he had left behind for me. It is with these things that he still lives, speaks and directs me. 

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is long gone. His voice can only be heard by recording, his touch can only be remembered, and his smile is only captured in photo. However, his legacy has transcended his death. His work for humanity cannot be undone with an assassin's bullet. The markers of his legacy are all around us. We all see the public markers of his legacy, but his children hold the sacred private markers of his endowment, namely his traveling Bible and the Nobel Peace Prize. 

The benefaction of the harbinger of justice is now up for grabs. These sacred items have been defaced by sibling rivalry. Will the King Bible become the next suggested item on Amazon? Will the Nobel Peace Prize become a dusty collector's item to the highest bidder? When did the promise of cash trump our sense of civility? When did greed cause us to barter our treasured memories? 

This no doubt is ugly, but I must ask what is worse? A lost King Bible or a forgotten King dream? Will the people who stand in line for Jordan's stand up for justice? Will the churches that shamelessly beg for cash, cultivate a better future or hoard an endless building fund? Will the oppressed who strive for the edge of life demand to be placed at the center of life? Will babies be seen as another stream of government income or a source of undying hope?

My father left things behind that I will never sell and the Father of Fairness left things behind that we have long ago placed on the clearance rack. The markers of his legacy are us but have we been sold? Humanity is wrapped up in an ugly sibling rivalry, and while we bicker, the dream suffers.