I’ve always been a lover of history. Especially American history. And I don’t just mean I didn’t mind it, I seriously LOVE it. I read books, watch documentaries, look up speeches…I. Love. It.

One of my favorite eras to study is the 1960′s. When you look at the massive changes that our country went through in one decade, it’s overwhelming. It was the decade of JFK, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Civil Rights Movement, the Women’s movement, Woodstock, the Vietnam War, protests, sit-ins, love-ins, drug use. So much happened so quickly.

This past weekend I got to visit one of the places I’ve always dreamed of going: The National Civil Rights Museum. The museum is on the site of the Lorraine Motel where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. I was thrilled to get to see this historical site, and instantly sobered by standing at the site of such an awful act of violence.

When you first walk up, you pass the original sign and see the original facade of the building. That iconic balcony where Dr. King stood and asked a friend below to play “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” at the upcoming rally that night–it’s there with a large wreath marking the spot where he was shot.

Once inside, you’re led through a giant timeline dating back from when slaves were first brought from Africa to America. You see through pictures, newspapers, and documents the struggle that African-Americans faced simply because of the color of their skin. Before long, you reach the pinnacle of the civil rights movement—the 1960′s. The museum, though housed at the assassination site of Dr. King, wasn’t a museum for or about Dr. King, but about the movement as a whole. It amazed me the number of regular, everyday people who participated and even gave their lives for the movement. I’m not sure I can ever forget the feeling that I got in one particular section of the exhibit. I knew about the lunch counter sit-ins in the South, but the exhibit hit me hard. There was a replica of a Woolworth’s lunch counter sat up with statues of four black young adults sitting at it and two white men standing behind them taunting them. Above this was a television that played actual news coverage of the sit-ins. Some of the interviews made my stomach turn. The footage was worse. In one, three middle aged white men stood smoking cigars behind some black twentysomethings sitting at the lunch counter. They were picking on the young man in particular. They would taunt him. They broke his glasses. They tapped the ashes from their cigars into his hair. All the while, this young man never moved, never said a word, never threw a punch. He wasn’t looking for an excuse to be violent, although no one now could blame him. He was excercising his right as an American, as a HUMAN, to sit and have lunch. In other footage you saw some white kids join in the sit-ins. I’m sure they lost friends because of their stance, but they were doing what was right. It was heavy stuff to watch.

It would’ve been easy to get caught up in the past, but right next to me was an African-American man, his wife, and teenage daughter. As we stood silently next to each other reading placards, the man began to openly weep, then wrap his arms around his family. He couldn’t seem to hold them tight enough. This experience wasn’t just history to him—it was real life.

At the end of the exhibit, I arrived at a television showing Dr. King’s final speech given in Memphis the night before he died. Next, the path led me to a recreation of his hotel room. Before I knew it, I was looking out a window right on the balcony where Dr. King died. It was a heavy moment. Trying to imagine what millions of people felt when that shot was fired, knowing they lost their leader, who many felt was their only hope–I began to cry. I cried because their should have never been a need for the civil rights movement. I cried over the fact that so many had so much hate in their hearts because of the color of skin. I cried because I still wonder if we’ve come far enough.

I will forever be glad that I was able to have this experience. I would love to go back again and spend more time there. There’s so much more I want to soak up and learn. One of my favorite quotes of Dr. King’s is from his speech in Memphis the night before he died. I’m not sure if he had a premonition that his time on earth was coming to an end, but this is inspiring none the less:

“Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

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