The Ability to Dream Again

Editorial by Minha Lee

“I Have a Dream” by Martin Luther King Jr. stands as one of the most profound and consequential speeches in history. These four words articulate a vision for a brighter future where equality, freedom, social justice and nonviolence prevail, inspiring generations with hope and purpose. Yet for some, the act of dreaming itself can feel unrealistic, a luxury that is too far-fetched from reality. Within this tension between suffering and hope, the meaning of a dream shifts, shaped by the circumstances of the dreamer.

I came to understand this through an unexpected encounter with a mother raising a son with autism who was nonverbal and faced significant behavioral challenges. She had stepped away from her career to become his full-time caregiver, advocate and teacher. As I spent time with them, I witnessed not only the complexity of her son’s needs, but also the quiet strength of a mother whose life revolved around loving and protecting her son.

One day, I gently asked whether she had ever considered sending her son to school, hoping it might offer her a few hours of rest. Her response stopped me in my tracks. “Minha, I have a dream,” she said. “I just want to live one day longer than my son.”

I had never heard a dream like that before. For most parents, dreaming means hoping their child will grow, thrive and live independently. For her, dreaming meant survival. Her words revealed a profound fear of a future in which she would no longer be there to protect her child, and a painful lack of trust that the world, or even the community around her, would care for him with the same dignity and compassion.

That moment changed me. I realized that for many families living with disability, the greatest burden is not the diagnosis itself, but the fear of being alone. It planted within my heart a calling to advocate, to serve and to help build communities where families do not have to shrink their dreams to mere survival.

As God’s people, we have been called to become a part of God’s response to these fears. When we choose compassion, inclusion and presence, we help restore the ability to dream again—not dreams born of fear, but dreams rooted in hope, trust and love that reflect the heart of God.