Thirty-nine years is just too short.

     From 1929 to 1968 is only 39 short years, yet it’s
     Too long to be crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination, it’s
     Too long to stand in the quicksand of racial injustices, it’s
     Too long to receive threatening phone calls, often at the rate of forty per day, it’s
     Too long to live under the sweltering heat of continuous pressure, it’s
     Too long, 39 years is just too long.

     From 1929 to 1968 is only 39 short years, yet it’s
     Long enough.
     It’s long enough to journey all the way to India to learn under a great teacher how to walk
     through angry crowds and keep cool.
     It’s long enough to be chased by police dogs and lashed by the rushing waters from the
     fireman’s hoses because you are dramatizing the fact that justice has a way of eluding me and
     my brother.
     It’s long enough to spend many days in jail while protesting the plight of others.
     It’s long enough to have a bomb thrown into your home.
     It’s long enough to teach angry violent men to be still while you pray for the bombers.
     It’s long enough.
     It’s long enough to lead many men to Christianity.
     It’s long enough to know it’s better to go to war for justice than to live in peace with injustices.
     It’s long enough to know that more appalling than bigotry and hatred are those who sit still and
     watch injustices each day in silence.
     It’s long enough to realize that injustices are undiscriminating and people of all races and
     creeds experience its cruel captivity sooner or later.
     It’s long enough.
     It’s long enough to know that when one uses civil disobedience for his civil rights, he does not
     break the laws of the Constitution of the United States of America - rather he seeks to uphold the
     principles all men are created equal; he seeks to break down local ordinances that have already
     broken the laws of the Constitution of the United States.
     It’s long enough.
     It’s long enough to accept invitations to speak to the nation’s leaders.
     It’s long enough to address thousands of people on hundreds of different occasions.
     It’s long enough to lead 200,000 people to the nation’s capital to dramatize that all of America’s
     people are heirs to the property of rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
     It’s long enough to enter college at 15.
     It’s long enough to finish and earn several degrees.
     It’s long enough to earn hundreds of awards.
     It’s long enough to marry and father four children.
     It’s long enough to become a drum major for peace.
     It’s long enough to earn a Nobel Peace Prize.
     It’s long enough to give the $54,000 prize money to the cause of justice.
     It’s long enough to visit the mountain top. It’s certainly long enough to have a dream.

     When we note how much Martin Luther King packed into 39 short years, we know it’s long
     enough for any man who loves his country and his fellow man so much that life itself has no
     value - unless all men can sit at the table of brotherhood as brothers. Thirty-nine years is long
     enough - for any man to knowingly flirt with death each day of his life - because to spare
     himself heartaches and sorrow meant two steps backward for his brother tomorrow.

     Martin lived for several centuries, all rolled into 39 short years. His memory will live forever.
     How wonderful it would be if we could all live as well.

     Martin, like all others, would have welcomed longevity - yet when he weighed the facts, he said,
     "It’s not how long a man lives, but how well he uses the time allotted him."

     And so we salute and honor the memory of a man who lived in the confusion of injustice for all
     his too short, too long, long enough 39 years- "For He’s Free At Last."

                                 One year when I was teaching second grade, a new child entered our class mid-year. His name
                                 was Daniel, and he brought a special light to our class.

                                 Daniel came over to me one afternoon at the end of the school day. He said, "Ms. Johnson, I have
                                 a note for you from my old teacher. It's not on paper though, it's in my head." Daniel leaned over
                                 and said, "She wanted me to tell you how lucky you are to have me in your class!"

                             I was 16 when I met and fell in love with Bob. Two years later we married and it seemed like a
                             fairy tale come true. A day never went by that we didn't profess our love for each other or for our
                             three beautiful kids.

                             Every night as we drifted to sleep, we'd make plans for the future. But then Bob was diagnosed
                             with leukemia - and after an 18-month struggle, he died at age 42. I felt as if I'd died too.
 
                             That night, friends came over to comfort me. As I forced myself to eat, the six-year old daughter
                             of one of my husband's close friends asked. "Miss Alice, are you getting another husband?"

                             "Hailey!" someone admonished, but as I looked into her wide eyes, I realized she only wanted
                             me to be happy again.

                             "When you've had the best husband in the world," I sighed, "you don't want another one."

                             But three years later, I had to tell Hailey there were two "best" husbands - when I married her
                             father, Mark, who brought joy back into my life. Hailey's 15 now, and we still smile over her
                             innocent question, which was a very wise way of reminding me life has a wonderful way of
                             going on.

                                                                                   By Alice Cravens Moore
                                                                                Excerpted from Woman's World
                                                                         from A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul
                                                 Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Barry Spilchuk