It’s not that time….Elegy for a murdered son Trayvon Martin

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born,
And a time to die;
A time to plant,
And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill,
And a time to heal;
A time to break down,
And a time to build up;
A time to weep,
And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn,
And a time to dance;
Ecclesiastes 3:1-4(NKJV)


“...I pray your death will not be in vain. We will stand for you and see that justice is served in your senseless murder.
Rest in peace, dear son...rest in peace." JC

Sybrina, I cannot imagine your pain at sending a son to eternal rest; saying goodbye rather than saying goodnight. I cannot fathom the hole in your heart, but this I know; “to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven…a time to be born and a time to die,”… this cannot be that time.

I too held a brown boy under my heart, carrying him as part of me until the day he came to the world. It was a time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time of great promise in America where I never imagined that being mother to a young black man meant I had given life to a gravely endangered species. This cannot be that time.


We give our sons both roots and wings, holding our breath as they learn to fly. You never expected Trayvon to take wing for the heavens so soon. There is a time to plant, and a time to pluck what is planted. Trayvon was yet so green. It was not his time.

My son stood between his father, sister, and I in Washington, DC to hear a President who looked like him take the Oath of Inauguration in 2008. That same year, the Children’s Defense Fund reported a firearm death rate for black boys ages 15 to 19 more than four times higher than for comparable Whites. What time is this?

It is said that love, endless and relentless, redeems all wrong. Just how much time does that take? All I can do in tribute to the memory of your young prince is pledge my voice to the cause of Justice; offer my prayers to you and those that mourn; and assert that though there is a time to mourn, a time to dance will come.

To everything there is a season. Knowing this season cannot last reminds me once again that God is Good.

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Tags: Martin, Trayvon, motherhood, murder, sons, time

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