A Change Gonna Come

My mom played oldies but goldies when I was growing up, so some songs didn’t just play in the background. They got planted.

And I remember A Change Is Gonna Come.

Not because I fully understood it as a little girl, but because my mother made sure my sisters and I didn’t stay ignorant. She told us what happened in the 60s. She explained what our people lived through. And she explained why that song wasn’t just music. It was a message.

Grief. Resistance. Hope with tears in it. Somebody saying, “I’ve seen enough to know this can’t stay the same.”

And here we are, on the first Thursday of Black History Month, and I’m sitting with an uncomfortable truth. Some of what we’re watching right now in America feels like history trying to circle back.

ICE in cities rounding people up. Stories involving children. American citizens being killed. Raids connected to election facilities.

These are crazy times.

So the question isn’t whether I’m paying attention. I am. The question is what I do as a believer when the country feels like it’s shifting.

I don’t get to pretend. I don’t get to numb out. And I refuse to let fear disciple me. I have to go back to what God already said, because He is not confused about justice, mercy, and human dignity.

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8

That word require is strong on purpose. Not suggest. Not recommend. Require.

My mother didn’t just give me a music lesson. She gave me context. So when I see people being treated like targets, I can’t call it normal. When I see fear spreading through communities, I can’t shrug it off. When I see dignity being debated like it’s optional, I can’t look away. Because when you know what happened, you stop acting like it can’t happen again.

This week, I’m keeping it simple. If this song is the soundtrack, Micah 6:8 is the instruction.

I’m choosing to act justly in how I speak, what I support, and what I refuse to excuse.

I’m choosing to love mercy even when it’s easier to stay hard.

I’m choosing to walk humbly, which means I’m staying close to God and letting Him check my heart before I check anybody else.

And I’m not making obedience a public performance. This has to be real in my everyday life. In my words. In my choices. In what I tolerate. In what I correct. In what I pray about, and what I do after I pray.

A change is gonna come, but I’m not placing my hope in people suddenly doing right. I’m placing my hope in the God who requires justice, loves mercy, and calls His people to walk like they belong to Him.

So I’m praying. I’m staying steady. And I’m choosing obedience, not silence.